Insurance Makes the (German) World Go ‘Round

Germans LOVE insurance.

It comes in all shapes and sizes and seems to make the world go ’round in the way that lawsuits do in America.  In contrast to the sue-happy American culture, the insurance-addicted German culture makes things possible here that aren’t there (say, sending your child to school with a peanut butter sandwich for lunch).

Of course, we have your garden-variety health and auto insurances here.  Both are required.  In fact, we cannot legally live in Germany without health insurance.  And auto insurance is a whole ‘nother ball game – a separate post for a rainy day.

Source

But, the flavor of insurance I find most interesting – and applicable to families with children – is the personal liability insurance, or Haftpflichtversicherung.

We found out about this insurance several months after we moved here. The policy provides protection in the incidence of all kinds of personal accidents: throwing a ball through a neighbor’s window, tripping an old lady, bicycle collisions, and any other “oops” moments that involve damages.

I’d never heard of such thing before moving to Germany, and I assumed it had to be expensive.  Wrong.  It’s actually quite cheap.  We have a family plan that costs something like 7 euros per month for a gazillion euros of coverage.  It’s the one kind of policy us non-insurance crazed foreigners really should have.

When Doc Sci finally went to purchase a policy (after we lived an entire year here without it – eek!), the agent told him that one of her clients rode his bike in front of a tram and somehow got the bike stuck in the tram track.  The tram driver slammed on the brakes, and passengers went flying.  Some of the elderly ones sustained injuries requiring hospitalization.  The guy riding the bike was responsible for the whole thing – but lucky for him, his insurance paid for it all.  Had he been without a personal liability policy, he would’ve had to pay out of pocket for all injuries and damages.

(By the way, the story wasn’t a sales pitch; Doc Sci had already signed on the dotted line.)

I recently learned that some landlords will not rent to tenants without this personal liability insurance.  In the US, renter’s insurance will cover the tenants’ belongings as well as any accidental damage to the property.  In Germany, renter’s insurance only provides protection for the stuff.  We aren’t required to carry this kind of policy where we live, but most likely we’ll need it when/if we move.

Before we had this oh-so-German insurance, I was on the edge of a freakout whenever my kids got a stick or a rock anywhere near someone else’s car.  Or rode a bike too close to an elderly person in the park.  Or visited a new friend’s house (especially if said friend had no children).

Now that we have the policy, I still maintain a level of caution, but at least that caution is several steps down from the former paranoia.  I hope we never have to make a claim, but at least if we do, we’ll be covered.

Road Trip!

I recently commented to several separate friends that I felt more comfortable and prepared to take my kids on an 8, 9, or even 10-hour flight than a two-hour road trip.

How ridiculous is that?

It’s true – we fly and travel by train a whole lot more than we ride in a car.  So when Screech barfed several times in his car seat while we headed up the Capital Beltway into Maryland on our recent trip to the US, I was caught off guard.  Embarrassingly so.

I had no paper towels, no change of clothes, nothing to clean him up or stop the flow of vomit.

Oh, and no GPS.

We just guessed on which exit would hopefully lead us to a shopping center, gas station, or fast food joint of some kind where we could clean the poor kid up.

After what seemed like hours on some random residential road, we found a McDonalds and helped ourselves to a tree’s worth of napkins.  Doc Sci remembered we had a suitcase in the trunk with too-small clothes destined for our storage unit.  As I scooped out handfuls of upchucked cheerios and curdled milk, I thought to myself, gee, aren’t you supposed to be like some TRAVEL mama or something?

I had somehow forgotten everything I know about road trips.  And I’ve been on some road trips of the 1,000 mile-a-day variety, both as a passenger and a driver.  But in the years since then, I’ve just grown much more accustomed to alternative modes of transportation.

I decided I’d better remember some skills or the next journey, a 12-hour drive to Tennessee, was going to be downright torture.

First, I made a list of all the things we’d need for the trip.  At the top – paper towels and changes of clothing.  Oh, and big note to self, and never give Screech straight up milk with breakfast.  Ever.  Again.

Then, I thought about the departure time, keeping in mind how we could avoid rush hour traffic in big cities like Atlanta, maintain our boys’ regular schedule, make stops that would allow them to burn the maximum amount of energy, and still make the entire 12-hour drive in one day.

Oh yeah, and I got myself a GPS.

And a portable DVD player.

Duh.

But not a mini-van.  I haven’t joined that club yet, but I am starting to slowly understand the appeal.

Two of the best stops we made were Chick-fil-A (for the sweet tea + lemonade and the air-conditioned play area) and Red Top Mountain State Park in northern Georgia (to let the boys be boys outdoors).

Searching for rocks at Red Top Mountain State Park.

Tossing rocks and blowing off steam.

Checking out the geese. Screech wanted to chase them in the water.

Both times (to and from Tennessee), we left at the crack of dawn so that we could get 1-2 hours of driving out of the way before eating breakfast (bagels with peanut butter, bananas, sippy cups with milk/juice, and paper towels.. lots of paper towels).  Doc Sci hated getting up so early, but shaving those extra hours off the total entertainment, er I mean travel, time was definitely worth it.

Our other favorite stop - Five Guys Burgers & Fries. YUM.

It was harder to convince the boys to nap in the car, but the strategic stops and sticking to their normal routine helped.  If you’re going to “try this at home,” just make sure to fill your gas tank up and empty all passengers’ tanks (you know the kind I mean) before attempting an on-the-go nap, because the little ones wake up when the car stops.  Doc Sci and I also like to listen to a book on CD while we drive because it helps the adults stay awake and bores the kids to sleep.

To be honest, I wasn’t too creative with the en route activities.  I just packed the boys’ backpacks full of small toys and books, brought a DVD player (which we actually only used once), and hit the library up for kids CDs and DVDs.  That’s it.

Screech and T-Rex after 11 hours in the car, goofy and not into having any pictures taken.

And, somehow we made it.  Safely.  Sanity intact.  And without further vomit.  I’d call it a success, but I wouldn’t want to do it again anytime soon.  For now, we’ll just keep to our trains and planes, thankyouverymuch.

Are you a road trip warrior?  Share your tips for traveling by car with kids below.

Thanksgiving Recap

I seem to always be giving you yesterday’s (er, last week’s) news.  I know today is December 1.  You should totally make an advent calendar if you aren’t in possession of one already.

However, I keep getting questions about my Thanksgiving, so here’s the skinny.  The dinner, fabulous.  The weekend, insane.

I cooked my turkey (and almost everything else) on Thursday.  I was on my feet something stupid like 8am to midnight.

And speaking of stupid, I invited a handful of Muslim friends and put bacon in the green bean casserole.  Doh!  At least I remembered to tell them; and they were gracious enough not to be offended.

Making the turkey a day ahead was genius.  Not only did it free up my oven on Friday (the day of our dinner) and ensure the turkey was super moist, but it also avoided a potential crisis.

Monsieur Jacques: brined, buttered, roasted... about to be hacked to pieces.

I cooked a BIG (by German standards) bird.  As such, I could barely fit Monsieur Jacques in a borrowed roasting pan.  I put foil up the sides and tented the top.  But when this dude was done, the juices started a-flowin’.  I ended up with a river of melted butter and turkey fat on the bottom of my oven that burned black and stunk to high heaven.

We tried to let it burn off, but the smoke detector wasn’t having it.  At least the turkey was done, so I could turn off the oven.  After scrubbing the cooled black bits with baking soda + water, I was back in business.

We had guests from Israel, Morocco, Germany, Russia, New York, and Wisconsin (practically countries in themselves if you’re from FL).  And, even though the kids almost outnumbered the adults, the munchkins got along.  Conversation NOT involving who-smacked-whom-upside-the-head took place.  Unexpected, for sure.

Since we had some Thanksgiving newbies again this year, I decided to write little explanations on the table cloth next to the dishes so I didn’t have to repeat 50 times what in the world that brown nasty-looking stuff (ing) was.  No one touched the cranberries though – just like at home.

Table tattoo.

My pumpkin pie was amazing.  The spekulatius cookie crust made all the difference in the world.  I’m going to include the recipe below since I’ve had a few requests for it.

Pumpkin Pie #1 of the weekend.

Since I had some time on my hands Friday morning (because I pre-cooked the bird), I busted out the markers and drew a thankful tree I found on Pinterest.  I am not addicted, really.

This year's thankful tree.

We also introduced everyone to the wishbone cracking tradition.  We chose the two oldest children to compete.  The parents had to help us translate what to do, and the first time neither one pulled hard enough to break it.  It was boy vs girl, and the boy won!

Muscles vs beauty.

After our Friday fête, I went to a baby shower, a wedding, and a Christmas event (Adventskaffee) at the kindergarten on Saturday.  If that wasn’t enough, we were invited to a Texan’s Thanksgiving on Sunday that lasted half of the day.  Sheesh.  After a MAJOR cheat weekend, we are back on track with the Abs Diet, eating our protein and greens.

Hope you all had a Happy Thanksgiving!

 

Pumpkin Pie.. from a Pumpkin

The pumpkin pie recipe is really easy.  I got it from this website, but here’s the recipe with my notes.

For the filling:
1 c sugar (I used about 3/4 c)
4 t pumpkin pie spice (or 1 1/2 t cinnamon + 1/2 t nutmeg + 1/2 t cloves + 1/2 t ginger)
dash of salt
3 eggs
3 c fresh pumpkin puree *
12-18 oz evaporated milk (I used 4% kondensmilch) **

Blend all ingredients together using a mixer.  When sufficiently soup-ified, pour into crust.  Put two sheets of foil (criss cross them like an X) underneath a springform pan and fold up around the sides because the butter from the crust leaks!  If using a flour/butter pie crust instead of the cookie crust below, cover edges of crust in foil.

Bake at 210C for 15 mins, then turn down oven to 175C and bake for an additional 45-60 mins (I did 60 mins).  You want to be able to jiggle the pan and the middle move only slightly.  It doesn’t have to be 100% set in the middle since it will still cook from the outside inward while on a cooling rack.  You just want to make sure it doesn’t still look like soup in the middle.

Cool to room temp and then refrigerate.

*for this pie, I used two very small hokkaido kurbis that I bought at Aldi on sale for 29c ea.  You could use a medium-sized one instead of two small.  Wash the outside (you will be eating the rind), cut in half, scoop out seeds, cut off the stem and any weird-looking parts of the skin, place on a baking sheet cut side down, and roast at 200C covered in foil for about 30 mins or until a fork or sharp knife glides through the skin and flesh as smooth as butter.  Let cool and then puree in a food processor or with a handheld stab mixer.  You don’t have to get the 3 cups exact.  Eye-balling is totally allowed.

**If your pumpkin is wet like it looks from the can, you only need 12oz of the kondensmilch.  If it’s dry, you’ll probably need the 18oz.

For the crust:
I used this recipe.
1 1/2 c finely ground graham cracker crumbs
1/3 c white sugar
6 T butter, melted

I used spekulatius cookies, and I ground them in a food processor.  Since we don’t have pie pans here (only springform and they are BIG), I used more like 1 3/4+ cups of the crumbs, which is about the capacity of my food processor.  If I make this again, I will decrease the melted butter to 4 or 5 T.  I don’t think it needs this much butter, and a lot leaks out the bottom of my springform pan.

Mix the crumbs, sugar, and butter together in a bowl.  Then dump a little at a time in the bottom of the springform pan and press down with your fingers until completely covered (if you want to transfer your pie to a serving dish, line the bottom of the springform with parchment paper and then put down the crust).

Then, make little piles all around the edge of the pan so that you will somewhat evenly cover the sides.  Press the crumbs up onto the sides.  They’re very fragile, so just do what you can to hold them there until the pie filling gets poured in.  After filling the crust, I pressed the edges down because they just ended up falling down anyway, and this way they are baked into the pie and don’t look weird.

Trip Report: Seoul (Part 2)

You know you’ve had an amazing vacation when you have to work at coming up with things you didn’t enjoy.  What a hard life a blogger has, I know.

Below you will find my Low Blows from our recent trip to Seoul, South Korea.  Disclaimer: my reasons for choosing the activities I didn’t like may be lame, ridiculous, or accidental.  Read at your own risk.

Namsan Park.  One of the “must do” things in Seoul is a trip in a cable car up Namsan Mountain to the N Seoul Tower.  And by “must do,” I mean “must do if money is no object.”  The whole she-bang costs about 35,000W per person (kids included!).  No thanks.  A post card with a view better than the one I’d actually see costs only 1,000W.

Instead of forking over the cash, we thought we’d just walk around the park.. on the side of the mountain.  What we didn’t know is that you don’t walk in the park.. you walk UP the park.  From the subway to the one path that circles the mountain’s midsection is straight up.  Not fun with a stroller after a long international flight.

And, since it wasn’t a “normal” park, we couldn’t see our way to it or through it.  We ended up having to haul Phil & Ted up and down steep stairs.  At least the air was clean and smelled like a forest rather than exhaust fumes.

Expensive N Seoul Tower in the background. Ridiculously steep hill that does not look so steep in the foreground.

Jeontong Dawon Traditional Korean Tea House.  I thought it would be swell to sip the green stuff while sitting on the floor of a traditional tea house.  Swell, and expensive.  Well, whatever, it’s vacation, right?  I got over the 7,000W per cup of tea price tag and ordered only to be told that we could not order just ONE cup of tea.  Everyone in the group had to order.

Perhaps I would have talked everyone into it if we had been super jazzed about the menu.  Perhaps if we had come by ourselves, just Doc Sci and me, no kids.  Perhaps if we were independently wealthy, traveling the world in style.  Instead, Doc Sci did a great job painstakingly examining the menu while we scarfed down turkey sandwiches at an outdoor table and then skedaddled.

Ginormous kimchi pots in front of the snotty tea house.

Seoul Nori Madang.  In Dublin, I really wanted to see some authentic Irish dancing (as in not Lord of the Dance).  Didn’t happen.  In Seoul, I really wanted to see some traditional Korean dancing.  Didn’t happen.  Granted, I wanted it to be free (but only because I would’ve been livid had my kids ruined a 50,000W per person performance – I’m not opposed to paying for art, I’m opposed to paying for art that I can’t enjoy).

So we (that’s four adults and five kids aged 6 and under) high stepped it south of the Han River to go to some outdoor theatre that supposedly had folk music and dancing every Saturday and Sunday at 3pm.  Supposedly.  Okay, we showed up at 330pm, but the only evidence that any activity was taking place at Nori Madang was a flyer for an event honoring an elderly Korean man and a lone dude setting up a solitary microphone on stage.  Not exactly what I had in mind, dancing or not.

We didn’t get to see any singing and dancing, but we did get to walk by Lotte World.

Dalki Little Farmer Cafe.  After the failed folk festival, we walked to the nearby (and I use this term, uh, loosely) Olympic Park in search of this quirky cafe I read about here.  I thought this kids cafe would be a good reward for little tired legs that had been dragged all over the city all.day.long.

Perhaps my kids should have played up their blue eyes, blonde hair thing a bit more and begged for some spare change.  The admission charge to this place was insanely ridiculous.  I had somehow missed the note in the above post that children must pay 10,000W just to play (about $9).

And even if I had been prepared to pay that just for the novelty factor (this cafe features some weirdo poop character – see link above), we found out upon entering that adults also had to pay 5,000W each.  That’s over $26 to walk in the door.  Food, drinks, and peace of mind extra.  Instead, we grabbed 50 cent ice cream cones from nearby Lotteria and went home to a delicious lasagna dinner.

Topgol Park.  I love parks.  With or without kids, how can you go wrong with an interesting park?  Visit Topgol Park in Insadong, and you’ll find out.  This is the only place in the world I have ever seen that has at least five times as many bathroom stalls for men as for women. And for good reason.

The women’s bathroom is the one door all the way to the right of the building.

There must be some kind of unwritten, male-only attendance rule.  Even though the park has a famous pagoda and historical significance, I got the creepy feeling that women just didn’t go there unless some kind of risky business was goin’ on.  Try to explain that to your three year-old who wants to know why he can’t stay and play.

Going to South Korea?  Read a recap of our Blue House tour and trip to Jeju Island with Kids as well as some great tips to Know Before You Go to Korea.

Travel Insurance – Do You Need It?

Have I told you yet about our latest and greatest upcoming itinerary?  No?  Really?  Well, now would be a good time.

We’re going to South Korea!!

I’m ridiculously excited.  This will be our first trip to Asia, and all four of us will be going (would you expect anything less?).  This trip also marks a huge transition for our family as this will be the first time we have to pay for four plane tickets.  And my-oh-my those pups were NOT cheap.

I’ll tell you about buying my tickets to South Korea in another post.  Today, I want to focus on travel insurance.

The first question to ask of course is, do I need travel insurance?  For the most part, my answer is almost always no.  In fact, this is only the third time in my life I have purchased it.

Ten years ago, I went out of the country for the first time.. to Russia.  Talk about an eye opener.  I had no idea what to expect other than the chitter chatter of other travelers.  I knew that baggage was frequently delayed or lost and that medical care up to western standards can be hard to find.  I wanted peace of mind that I wouldn’t have to wear the same shirt for two weeks and that I could be airlifted out to Western Europe had I been run down by a crazy driver while wearing said shirt.  Definitely worth it.

However, most of my trips after that have been fairly inexpensive and the amount of luggage I carried decreased dramatically.  I didn’t give a thought to overseas health coverage since I traveled mostly to countries with western medicine standards and, let’s face it, hospitals are the last thing on a twenty-something’s mind.

But now I’ve paid the most I ever have just for plane tickets.  And, I have two unknown variables: Screech and T-Rex.  Should either one of them decide that the night before departure would be a great time to contract a nasty case of the norwalk virus or pneumonia or break their first limb, we’d be out more euros than I want to stress about.

And, that is exactly the point.  With travel insurance, you don’t have to worry about it.  Well, provided you did your homework and are familiar with the policy’s coverage that is.  Put on your worst-case-scenario thinking cap, make a list of questions, dial up a company, and grill the agent.  Nicely.  Please.

Reasons why I would buy travel insurance:

• My trip is very expensive and nonrefundable.
• My existing health insurance does not cover treatment at my destination.
• I’m concerned about a natural disaster or potential terrorist act at my destination.
• It would ruin my trip if my luggage was lost or delayed.
• There’s a strong chance my trip could be canceled or delayed due to illness in the traveling party or immediate family.

If you’re still on the fence, calculate about 5% of your trip costs (nonrefundable items such as plane tickets and prepaid hotel reservations or tour costs).  Ask yourself if this number is a fair price to pay for peace of mind in the event that one of the above scenarios occurs.

Most of the time (especially if travel is only within the US), I find it personally unnecessary.  I’m thrifty and determined, and I’d rather take the chance on not coughing up the extra cash for a potentially unused service.

But if you’re a newbie (new to traveling outside the US), spent a month’s salary (or more) on your airline tickets, or have two accident-prone boys, I’d highly recommend it.

If you’re interested, the company I use is Travelex.  I do not work for Travelex and receive no compensation for referring you to their services.  I also take no responsibility should you not be satisfied with their coverage.

Trip Report: French Border

Sometimes things just don’t go as planned.  Sometimes even that statement just doesn’t do the unfortunate events the justice they duly deserve.

If you’ve spent any time here on Thrifty Travel Mama, you know I have grand ideas.  And grand ideas often lead to epic experiences.. or cosmic failures.  Well the grand idea du jour was to run to France as part of my marathon training.  This week was to be 13 miles, and the route came out to be 13.6.  I knew I’d be tired, but I hoped I could pull off the extra .6.

Ha ha ha.

If I’d only known.

The challenge in training for a marathon by yourself is coming up with routes.  They have to be safe (no running in the woods alone), they can’t be too boring (no two long runs should be the same if you can help it), they can’t be too hard (uphill the whole way will burn you out too fast), and they have to be easy enough to remember.  I use MapMyRun to chart the course, and then I write the route on a piece of paper that I pin upside down on my shirt so I can read it as I’m running.

The major problem is that the real route looks nothing like the map software.  (And, p.s. – Germany has a serious lack of street signs!)  After getting frustrated one too many times on long runs, I made Doc Sci learn the route with me the night before, so we could both make decisions if we thought we might be lost.

In reviewing our route Friday evening, I showed Doc Sci a patch of forest.  It was marked differently than other forest areas we had been to before and there was no real way through it, only around.  He switched the view to satellite and found what looked like a trail.  We agreed that he would ride ahead of me on the bike and then signal on the walkie talkie whether or not it actually went through.  Simple enough.

The forest path - open street version.

Saturday morning, he started out again by going ahead of me on the bike with the boys in the trailer.  You see, we have to give those ferocious foodies some time out of the bike cage or they get a bit restless.  And we give them snacks.  Lots. of. snacks.  Walkie in hand, I was to signal when close to our meeting point.

First mistake.. charge the walkies!  As I neared the boys, I turned on the walkie.  Beep.  Beep.  Beep.  Beeeeep.

Frazzled, I made a wrong turn but fortunately figured it out after only a quarter mile.  UNfortunately, I ripped the route map off my shirt to read it and correct my way.  I tucked it back in my running belt.  Second mistake!  I should have reattached it…

A little further on, we had difficulty finding our way through a town in which every street had the same name of the one where we were supposed to turn.  I tried to picture the map in my mind and made a guess.  It turned out to be correct.. and straight up hill.  I don’t like to walk on long runs, but it was impossible not to do so.

The next section was to be through vineyards.  I thought this was totally cool.  That is, until I realized that the paths were nothing more than tall grass smashed down by tractor wheels.  Freaky (hello, snakes!) and dangerous.  The mud tracks were hardened and very uneven.  I prayed that I wouldn’t twist an ankle six miles in to the run and have to be carried all the way back home.

After a nerve-wracking spin on a county highway with no shoulder and no sidewalk, things started to look up.  We easily found our turn and headed to the fated woods.  Though the walkies were dead, we decided that Doc Sci would still ride ahead and wait for me on the other side (to give the boys a break) or come back if the path in fact did not go through.

I had two choices.  I could go along the prescribed map route or I could follow Doc Sci and just assume it went through.  I thought the second idea was the best because if I got lost, I would be alone in the fields.  When I came to where the path was supposed to be, THREE paths stood.  Waiting for me.  You. Must. Choose.

I didn’t choose.  I screamed my husband’s name at the top of my lungs.  Again and again and again.  Fortunately, he rode up quickly on the middle one and again we were on our way.

Satellite View

The path did go through.  But to a field full of wildflowers as tall as my man’s chest.  We didn’t want to turn back so we tried going through it.  No dice.  It led nowhere.  We tried going around it.  Also no end in sight.  We tried going through the woods to the south of it.  We about ended up on the Blair Witch Project.

It would have been bad enough to try to do this with just the two of us running.  But, Doc Sci was on a bike pulling 80 pounds of kid, metal, and canvas through fields, over stumps, around in circles.  If ever I doubted this man loved me, I never will again.

We had no choice.  We had to go back and return to the map route.

I should mention that the path through the woods was full of low-lying branches of a medieval torture variety.  Fortunately, I wore my dorky old man high compression socks.  But Doc Sci’s legs and arms got sliced in the sharp tendrils.

On the way back, we noticed yet another trail.  Doc Sci decided to go down it to see if that went through.  I told him I had to save my legs and would wait for him there.  He was gone only five minutes, but I felt like I was fighting off imaginary ROUS‘s in the Fire Swamp.

As my heart palpitated waiting for a beast to strike, I decided to go over the directions.  The directions.  Where are the directions!?!  Somewhere between the last town and the fated path I was standing on, we had lost the route.  I felt faint.  Could this get any worse?

Actually, yes.

No dice on the super secret trail.  We headed back around the frustrating forest, looking for the path.  The problem was we couldn’t even see the forest on the north side because it was hidden by stalks of corn as tall as skyscrapers.  We explored several smashed grass paths (with smashed field mice and ginormous orange slugs).  Only one seemed to go through.

Can you guess?

It was none other than a path leading back to the wildflower field.  As despair set in and we started totally freaking out, we prayed.  Though we were in the middle of nowhere, Germans often appear in such places.  We prayed for one.

Doc Sci thought he had seen some people on the super secret trail.  We concluded this was our last hope.  If nothing came of it, we’d backtrack to a town and find a bus home.  How disappointing.

As I ran, I tried to remember how to say, “We’re lost” in German.  I had just learned it and hoped I could say it correctly.  The Fire Swamp path led us to a Johannisbeer (red currant) field.  Lo and behold, a half a dozen or so workers were about to go on break.

Fresh from the vine

The matron of the field spoke kindly to us and understood my pathetic German (I think).  She told us to help ourselves to some berries for the boys and come with her.  She lumbered onto her bike, and we followed this stout woman through the rows of vines to her farm house.  I wanted to keep running, but Doc Sci convinced me to accept her hospitality.

This blessed lady gave us water and fresh Johannisbeer juice (and more berries to take with us).  And a map.  Oh thank God for that map!  We even somewhat understood her verbal directions.

Unexpected kindness

As we neared the end of our route and the hope that we might actually make it to our goal, the bike chain broke.  Haha, seriously?  Doc Sci tried to fix it, but that proved impossible with no tools and no other bikes around to help figure out just exactly how the chain is to be threaded.

(Almost) the end of the road.

Thank God this happened only a mile or so away from our goal.  Hot and tired, we walked.  And walked.  And walked.  And somehow, we found the bridge to France.  I left Doc Sci and the boys at McDonalds and ran across the Rhine to French soil.

Let's git 'er done.

Victory, at last.

You can think what you want of me for eating at the Golden Arches.  But it’s what Doc Sci wanted and that man saved my day.  He can buy anything he stinkin’ well pleases for getting me through.

I don't think I've ever been more excited to see McDonalds. Ever.

You’d think this would be the end of the story.  Sadly, no.

We took a train home (part of the plan).  Unfortunately, not all trains on Saturdays stop at all stations (not part of the plan).  This particular train took us all the way to the main station.  That would have been okay, but we had to carry a busted bike + trailer up and down stairs whereas the other station has a ramp.

And then there was the poo.  That Screech man certainly has a way of dropping a load at THE most unexpected time.

Weary, we returned home two hours later than expected with one of the craziest stories yet.  I must say that not everything in this day stunk.  The weather was perfect, warm in the sun with a cool breeze.  I do not know what we would have done in 90-degree heat.

Even better than that, our boys were amazing through the whole adventure.  They laughed while bumping along through tall grass.  They didn’t scream or throw tantrums while their parents did.  They listened and obeyed when asked to get back in the trailer quickly.  They hardly had a break and were still so good.

At the end of the day, I love my husband who went on this adventure with me and I love my kids who are growing up to see life as a journey with crazy side trips.  In the end, I did make it to France but even if I hadn’t, I’m still in good company.

(P.s. – My Nike+ says I ran 14.97 miles.  I turned it off whenever we walked or stood around freaking out.  We easily walked 2-3 miles in addition to what I ran.  Hokey Smokes, Bullwinkle!)

Trip Report: Hamburg with Kids (Part 2)

Some people say you learn something new every day.  Me?  I learn something new every trip.  And then I tell you.

Train Travel.  Traveling by train is not new to me.  Figuring out how to entertain a 1 yr old and a 3 yr old for six hours on a train is new to me.

• Bring lots of food.  Eating takes a while, some foods more than others (take note!).  But change things up.  I brought T-Rex’s juice but in a new container.  We brought mama-and-daddy-only cookies and shared with the boys.
• Get a compartment.  We were smart enough to reserve seats (normally for 2hrs or less, I don’t) for the whole journey.  But the obviously single reservations agent gave us a table (a good idea) in a quiet zone car (a bad idea).  Ask for a compartment (usually six seats).  We snagged an open one on the way up to Hamburg but weren’t so lucky on the return.  The boys can be their loud and crazy selves without me lowering my eyes in an attempt to dodge the meany pants stares of those around us.
  

  This is what my T-Rex spent most of the six hours to Hamburg doing. In your own compartment, the only stares you get are from the occasional passerby.

• Be quick.  I knew that train stops were fast.  Two minutes usually.  But we got a major warning on this trip.  A man put two of his big suitcases on the train and stepped off to grab the rest of his luggage.  In that time, the doors closed and off the train went, sans the man.  This can be a major headache with two kids and lots of bags but do not leave the door or your children until you have everything (and everyone) on or off.  Ask for help, though most people are kind enough to offer without me even asking.
  

  The bags without their man.

Hotel.  I am not a family bed, room sharing kind of mama.  No judgment if you are, but I like my space.  And I like some quiet after 8pm.

• Look for an extended stay or apartment hotel.  This type of lodging has rooms (and often suites with a door to close – bonus!) with more space and usually a kitchenette.  When Screech no longer insists that his milk be warm and waiting for him before his little feet hit the ground, I probably can do without the kitchenette (though it does save money to eat in).  But what’s really in it for me is the privacy and break I need when boys are sleeping.
  

  Our triple room with kitchenette (not pictured) was twice the size of a normal European hotel room.

• If you can’t get what you want, improvise.  I could not find a one- or two-bedroom apartment/hotel/thingie for the dates I wanted and the price I wanted.  I finally did find an apartment hotel, but all three beds (Europeans are all about twin beds) were in the same room.  My boys will not sleep if they can see all the partying (yeah right) their parents do.  Knowing this, I brought along a black sheet and borrowed a duvet from T-Rex’s bed.
  

  Unfortunately, it lacked the one thing I wanted: a wall to separate. So, we made our own.

• White noise is your friend.  I first tried this a few years ago on a trip to Ireland.  I downloaded a white noise track, slipped it into a playlist on my ipod, and brought a small speaker in my suitcase.  The skeptic in me was totally transformed as I saw not only how quickly T-Rex went to sleep, but how much better I slept as well.

Maps.  I don’t have a smart phone.  If you do, you are way more cool than I am, and you can pass go and collect $200.

• Customize.  Did you know you can create a custom map using Google maps?  Plot your hotel, a nearby grocery store, and two places to eat, saving each location to My Maps.  As you read your guidebook or browse attractions online, type in the address, and save to my maps.
• Print in sections.  Again, smarty pants smart phone users need not pay attention to this.  I printed my map in sections for each day at a scale close enough to read the surrounding street names and public transportation stations.  Then I only had to carry around one piece of paper each day.

Restaurants.  Ordinarily, if we can get a kitchenette, we try to eat dinner in the room a few times during our stay to save money.  But, there was no way I was going to cook and clean up with two little ones in a new place with hundreds of exciting safety hazards (wires, outlets, stoves, knives, etc) within arms reach.

• Add to the map.  For every main attraction I wanted to visit, I plotted 1-3 restaurants nearby.  Although we were going to eat picnic lunches every day, I wanted options.
  

  The second worst fish I have ever tasted. I don’t want to talk about the first.

• Some things are better left to chance.  If I had more time, I might have researched the nearby restaurants a little more.  I struck out on so many choices.  The Mexican restaurant was nonexistent.  The Irish Pub was a smokers hangout for 18 and up only.  The quaint hole-in-the-wall fish sandwich joint served room temp, bacteria-harboring, bone-filled fare.  As we walked away from that horrendous mess and seriously contemplated Burger King, Doc Sci noticed a restaurant with a beefy logo.  Turns out, it was a decent, affordable hamburger cafe.  Non-American hamburgers in Hamburg.  Brilliant.
  

  Another acciental find: a restaurant with a family table complete with books, high chairs, and a changing table in the bathroom.

  For Part 1 of our Hamburg adventure (and the fun things we did) click here.  Need help planning an itinerary with kids?  See my tips here.

The Tragedy of the Chocolate Chip Cookies

Lonely, forgotten morsels.

Thanks to my mom and my birthday, we have a bag of chocolate chips the size of your bedroom pillow sitting in our kitchen.

Last Wednesday night, Doc Sci and I decided to put those bad boys to good use.  I guess if you hate chocolate, then that would mean donating it to sandbagging efforts or propping it up as a door stop.  But, we don’t hate chocolate.  Nope, not even a little bit.

We whipped up a batch of good ol’ American chocolate chip cookies and ate way too many warm & melty ones.   And then we steeled ourselves against the forces of desire and put the rest of the batch in a ziploc bag.  Unfortunately, almost all of them are still there to this day.

Wha?!?

What happened?

I tell you – a mean, green, German stomach virus machine happened, that’s what.

While I will spare you most of the details, I would just like to mention that it’s rough to watch your kid go through his first real throw-up experience.  I never realized kids were so scared to return their meals to daylight.  Wow.  And, man, the splatter pattern can be quite impressive.  Try grape juice next time – it’ll make it easier to find during clean up.

But.. when you start hurling yourself, that’s when the fun begins.  The only thing worse than that is listening to your husband do the same.  All.  Night.  Long.

And, shall we ice the cake while we’re at it? Even worse is when  the baby cries in the middle of the night because he’s woken up in a pool of revisited PB&J.

Oh, Lord have mercy.

And, that’s exactly what we prayed.  Thank goodness, God answers.

This whole experience got me thinking.  What do you do when this happens to you in your comfort zone?  You call the doctor.  You call a friend to come over and help.  Or Grandma comes.  Or Auntie.  Or whoever.  Or you run to CVS in the middle of the night because it’s open and it carries both Pepto Bismol and cans of chicken noodle soup (albeit at prices that you can only afford when you’re THAT desperate).

What do you do in a foreign country where you can name all your close friends on one hand?

Pray, pray, pray.

And then pick a finger, call the friend, and beg for help.

But be nice.  I almost called this friend in the middle of the night and asked her to come while all the barfing was still going on.  Now, that’s a REAL test of friendship.

Now, for my two Euro-cents..

I recommend going against your doctor’s wishes and scouring the internet for information.  I mean, how else would I know that this kind of virus cannot be killed with Lysol??  (And how disappointed I am now that I found something similar to it!)

So bleach your house from top to bottom at the first sign of upchuck (or, you know, the other kind of “stomach” problem).

And become a hand-washing freakazoid.  I will now be requiring my son (and myself) to wash hands in hot water with soap to the tune of Happy Birthday (twice) every cotton-pickin’ time we return home from school.  Or the library.  Or gymnastics.  Or anywhere else on God’s green earth.  Apparently this stuff even resists Purell.  Who knew?!

Now that every sight and smell of food doesn’t leave me running for the hills, I’m ready to try those cookies again.  They’re probably crispy but to throw them out would be an even greater tragedy than leaving alone in their plastic isolation unit.  Here’s a tip: throw (or gently place, whatever your personal style may be) a piece of bread in with the cookies and in a few hours, voila!  Soft baked yummy goodness again.

Oh, chocolate, how I have missed you.

Mishap: A Thief… in the night?

Just when I think my life might get boring, something wacky happens.  At times, it seems these incidents couldn’t be more random, and yet I don’t really believe in coincidence or happenstance.

Have you ever had your mail stolen?  It’s a rather freaky thing.  I like that the US thinks it big enough to classify as a federal offense.  I have no idea what Germany’s take on the subject is.  I would find out but that whole language barrier still exists.  And somehow I don’t think that, “Ich spreche kein Deutsch” (I don’t speak German – and I don’t spell it either for any smarties out there) is going to get me anywhere on this subject.

Almost ten years ago, I lived in an apartment complex that sorted it’s own mail.  That’s a nice way of saying the post office was fed up with trying to figure out college students’ mail and thus refused to do so.  Well, the particular person and this particular property that happened to be doing all the residents a favor was, in fact, doing herself a favor.  A big, fat illegal favor.

I don’t know who busted her or how it all went down.  I lived in Russia at the time, two years later.  But when the truth was unraveled, my first passport was found in this chick’s web and used as evidence against her.  Talk about identity theft paranoia!

But which is worse, I wonder… To not know that your mail is being pilfered, sifted, read or to be fully aware but totally flipping out because you have no idea what those dirty thieves have their hot little hands on?

Welcome home. You (had) mail.

Doc Sci came home the other day to find our mailbox door ripped open.  Four of the twenty or so mailboxes were like this. Well, even a non-PhD like me can figure out that means that the thieves stole mail from only these four unfortunate souls.

For starters, I never liked this box.  You can lift the flap and peep away, knowing instantly if you have goodies in there or not.  And, though less obvious, this particular metal door sporting our name could be opened with any key.

Consider my blood pressure when I realized I have been waiting many weeks for a new debit card from my US bank.  Sweating.  Profusely.

Several hours later on the same day but now in the pitch black cover of night, a mysterious foreign voice phones us from the lobby of our building asking us to come down and get our mail.  I’m thinking, what kind of sick game is this?  Steal someone’s mail and then kidnap them so you can hold them hostage for a PIN number?  Yes, I have quite the dramatic, worst case scenario imagination.  Comes in handy at times; mostly, it’s just annoying.

What was left of the gigant-o pile of opened, read, and ripped up mail.

Turns out, this was not your average kidnapper but a nice guy who found the pile of ripped up mail and tried to return it to the four losers who got robbed.  And you know what these weirdos took?

Coupons!!

What a sad day.. coupons I can actually use in Germany.. ripped up by some grubby thief's hands. Boo. Hiss.

Seriously.

I could not make this up if I tried.

So what’s weird in your week?  My heart’s racing (again) from the stress of it all so let’s hear some more pulse-quickening stories!

The Good, The Bad, & The Ugly

It seems like every time I sit down to write I post, I feel like writing, “well, it’s been totally nutty around here.”  Every day can seem like an adventure, both exhausting and exciting.  I had intentions of starting a series on the seriously cool playgrounds here.  But since I missed posting yesterday and today is Travelzoo Wednesday, we’ll postpone the start.  Just a bit.  Don’t fret.  Lots of playplace photos to come.

The Good

Two thrilling things happened to me yesterday.  My Phil & Teds arrived!  I had glorious grand plans of flying to the UK to go pick this puppy up.  Well, okay, I wouldn’t consider easyJet glorious or grand.  But I do have a travel itch, and a flight would have scratched it.  A few details fell through, so we just had it shipped.  Boy was that more of an ordeal than I thought.

My two bundles of joy.

In the US, Fed Ex is usually called Fed Ex, they usually speak the same language as you do, and they also typically bring the package to your door.  Three strikes for me – I’m outta luck with all of the above.  Fortunately, I did put my phone number down in the shipment details, and the driver called me from the lobby of my building.  UNfortunately, he did not speak English.  Attempting to appear as anything but the clueless American that has found herself living in a country where she doesn’t speak the language, I offered another suggestion.  Rysski?

To my utter shock (and a bit to my dismay), the driver was Russian.  Bona fide from the Motherland Russian.  Oops.  Guess I should have studied up on that more.  After some crazy exchanges and lots of “sorry”‘s in several languages, I figured out that I had to go downstairs to sign for the behemoth.  And not only did I have to sign for my own package, I had to accept a package for someone else in my building.  The driver put what we would know as a doortag in the person’s mailbox with my name and flat number.  And THEN he proceeded to help me with my packages.  Good thing.  One weighed about 18 kilos.

One ridiculously awkward elevator ride and two dasvidanyas later, I did a happy dance.  And then I went to town putting together the most awesomest stroller everest.  I puffy heart Phil & Teds.

Phil & Teds Sport with doubles kit, rain cover (not pictured), and cocoon which we have no intentions of using anytime soon thankyouverymuch.

And the second thing?  Well, I botched my meal plan for the week and had nothing to make for dinner.  Nothing appealing, that is.  I loaded Screech and T-Rex in the P&T and walked to Lidl.  Doc Sci met me there to help corral kiddos because trying to grocery shop for more than 3 items with 2 boys is a total waste of time.  And brain power.  You’ll need to do some serious damage to a chocolate bar in order to recover. Not that I object to that.  But if you have a helpful husband, use what you’ve got.

As the man was wandering around, boys in tow, he stumbled upon some serious gold.  Okay, they weren’t gold.  They were peelies.  But such things are as rare as gold in Germany.  And not just 50 euro cents off some random gag-me-now, strongly perfumed laundry powder.  No.  Free Kids Meals at Burger King!

A night off from cooking for me - score!

Now, I am not usually a fast food eater outer.  T-Rex has only eaten McDonalds once.  In Ireland.  (Chick-fil-A does not count so keep your gloating about the freely available waffle fries, milkshakes, and spicy chicken sandwiches to yourself.)  In fact, we have only eaten out once since we’ve been here – our Aussie friends took us out for pizza.  Other than that, I have cooked every last measly meal of ours for weeks and weeks.  Hooray for a night off cooking.  Even if it means potato sticks fried in lard.  Walk it off, mama.

The Bad & The Ugly

T-Rex stayed home from kindergarten yesterday.  For good reason, too.  His face looks like he took on a Bengal tiger and lost.  Poor thing.  What started out as an innocent, exhilarating bike ride down a steep slope ended with a skidding stop.  On his face.  Doc Sci was there to catch him, but the bike hit a rough patch, swerved, and the Rex went down.  Lots and lots of blood and tears later, we determined that he just had a bunch of bruising and swelling.  One of his teeth seemed a little loose, but we’re on a wait-and-see course.  And he’s got a free pass out of eating raw carrots and apples for a few weeks.  I think he’s doing a little happy dance of his own about that.

p.s. – I’ll spare him the embarrassment and you the pain by refraining from posting a picture of the busted face.

How was your Recover-From-Halloween Day?  Leave a comment with your own good, bad, and ugly.