Mishap: Achtung! Baby!

I talked to a friend last night who commented that I only write about the crazy and/or unfortunate stuff that happens to me here.  While I don’t necessarily think that’s entirely true, I do think those episodes are definitely more entertaining to read (and to write).  So, on to another mishap!

Amazing, right? The park, not the bike. It's hard to miss the beauty of fall here, and also hard to miss the large red bike trailer. Or so I thought.

Yesterday marked my first attempt to ride the bike in to town to pick up T-Rex from kindergarten.  Our public transportation pass ran out, and for now we are not buying another one.  No more easy peasy lemon squeezy trips in to the city center.  Bummer.  My legs are very, very sad.

On the way in to town, I only had Screech in the family car.  Thank God.  Why?  It’s uphill, a slow and steady form of lower body torture.  I had the grand idea of stopping somewhere on the way home to eat a picnic lunch with the boys.  Until my grand idea got one-upped by a dark rain cloud with a voice like the Wizard of Oz bellowing, “think again, Mama.”

As I was enjoying the downhill ride home, I noticed two college-aged girls coming toward me.  Going the wrong way.  And hogging the entire bike lane.  I’m sure you’re aware that Germans like order and while these girls were smacking their culture in the face, one of them smacked right in to my bike trailer.

Have you ever been in a bike accident?  This was my first one.  I was a total newb.  I have to say it’s about as bad as a car accident, just a teensy eensy bit less because of the lack of crumpled metal.  But the shock and the tears are still present.  Especially when you hear your child crying.  Talk about totally freaking out.  And then you start shouting.  At the top of your lungs.  In English.  Because you can’t scream in German.

Only then did the girl stop.  I think T-Rex’s tears made her feel really bad.  I racked my brain trying to think if I had done anything wrong or could have done anything to prevent it.  No, I was half in the pedestrian lane to accommodate for their carelessness and flippancy in the face of the law.  I’m a rule follower, I have to admit.

She asked me if I wanted her address.  Why in the world would I want to go visit you?  She asked if T-Rex needed a doctor.  Thankfully, no.  I gave her a stern talkin’ to as if I was 50 years older than her and walked off shaking.  I realized later that she hit the trailer so hard that it popped open that back that was totally velcroed.  The bike path was strewn with bananas and baby carriers formerly secured in an elastic pouch.  At least my kids are okay.  Thank you again, God.

Because I am a rule follower, I started fretting later that maybe I should have done something different in that situation.  I know what to do after a car accident in the US.  But a bike accident in another country?  Doc Sci asked around at work and discovered there is such thing as personal insurance.  Think avoid-a-frivolous-lawsuit-by-purchasing-homeowner’s-insurance but for you personally.  If you accidentally open your car door into an old lady and she breaks a hip, you have this insurance.  The Germans really do think of everything.  Note to self:  consider purchasing a similar product with a hefty coverage amount to cover potentially hazardous effects of carting around two toddlers daily.

My internet search for what to do didn’t come up with as much as info as Doc Sci obtained.  But I did find this. Of particular interest to me…

5. You only get fined for cycling crimes if you cause an accident.  Again: usually. According to a cycle-themed edition of Prinz magazine which I have before me, if you cause an accident going through a red light which has been red for longer than a second (love that German precision), you can be fined €100 and get a point on your driving licence. Hurt a pedestrian while hurtling through a pedestrian zone and you can be charged €20. Pay €30 if you cause havoc cycling in the wrong direction. Interestingly, you can also be fined €25 for talking on your mobile while cycling, and if you are caught cycling drunk you can be taken to court.

I also found all kinds of totally scary accounts of people being crushed to death under wheels of semi’s turning right while the cyclist properly in the bike lane goes straight.  And speaking of opening car doors in to old ladies, it seems that this is also a popular way to die for cyclist.  Yes, I am totally freaked out now.  Wow.

Mishap: Rain, Rain, Go Away

I went out on Saturday with the intention of exploring and showing you the Farmer’s Markets here in my city.  I have heard that they happen every day of the week in different neighborhoods.  Saturday is the biggie though with a super-size-me market in the city center.

The problem?  Rain.  Not your typical Florida downpour, but slow and steady spit.  Sure we have umbrellas, water resistant jackets, and even a rain cover for the pram (okay it’s a stroller but everyone here calls them prams).  But these were no match for the spittle (except the rain cover which did hold up thank God).

We were soaked after the first market.  The second market did me in.  I was the unwilling host of a puddle party in my shoes.  If we had a paycheck in the bank, I would’ve forked over 30 euro for a pair of ugly rain boots I saw at a sidewalk sale.  Just so I could have dry feet.  Never underestimate the value of dry feet.  The comfort of your feet is somehow attached to your mood.  Drown the feet, and expect a flood of the uglies.

So we seriously need some rain gear, a la North Face or the like.  And I should never wear anything short of boots if it is even threatening to rain and less than 60 degrees.  Ugh.

However, I did manage to take some pictures of the Farmers’ Markets.  And of Doc Sci pushing a ridiculous looking contraption in an effort to keep two boys and a man dry.  I had an umbrella, but that did nothing for my feet.  Nope, I’m still not over my own stupidity.  Grrrr.

We were quite a sight - Screech lucked out and stayed dry.

My neighborhood Farmer’s Market definitely shivered in the shadow of the downtown giant.  The pictures aren’t even worth posting.  But I should note that both markets were full of flowers.

Loads and heaps of flowers.

Fresh and fragrant fruit, most was organic.

This garlic is dried; the garlic in the stores is fresh.

Mini peppers - maybe they would be good in the salsa I am planning to make?

Lots of nuts and mixes - no spices though.

Fresh apple juice.

Too many kilos of delicious squash!

I had never seen these before - Chinese lanterns http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Physalis_alkekengi.

The prices were rather high compared to stores.  Since we are thrifty around here and money is tight until pay day, I passed.  This time.  Nonetheless, I shall return.  With dry shoes.

Do you visit a local Farmer’s Market?  What kinds of things do you buy there?  Have you discovered any interesting wares for sale?  Any tips for quality, affordable rain gear? =)

Trip Report: MCO – FRA

WARNING: This is NOT a short post!

One of the ten most stressful days of my entire life happened just last week.  Doc Sci flew to Deutschland 10 days ahead of me.  In that 10 days, I was blessed by so many people who offered to watch my boys (or said yes when I pleaded), help me clean, pack, etc.  I now have such a new appreciation for single parents.  Are you a single mom or dad?  God bless you, wow your job is so much harder than mine.

When the departure date finally arrived, I had packed six, fifty-pound bags to check and two rolling suitcases, two car seats, a Kelty hiking backpack, a DSLR bag, a car seat bag, a toddler backpack, and diaper bag to carry on.  And let’s not forget I had a very tired Screech and a very hyper T-Rex to corral too.  Despite what you may think after reading that list, no, I am not the octo-mom.  Thank God I had Roadrunner and a smiley Southwest flight attendant friend to go with me through airport security.  I needed two Lufthansa agents just to get me on the plane.

Doc Sci told me to put eye masks on the boys.  Screech protested a bit but sleep eventually won out.  T-Rex couldn’t take his eyes off his very own personal cartoon screen.  Why sleep when there’s airplane food to eat, Mama?  After some bubble-gum “airplane medicine” and announcement that Mama would be going to sleep and therefore be off-duty, T-Rex caved and snored next to Screech.

To be courteous to other passengers that had to listen to the Screech before and after sleeping, we were the last ones off the plane.  Oh yes, and I wanted all those prim and proper flight attendants to help with the luggage too.  That is what I paid an exorbitant amount of money for, right?  It certainly wasn’t the haute cuisine.

The stroller bag (gate-checked) did not make it on to the tarmac with the stroller.  I cannot remember the last time I actually exited a plane in Europe into a gate.  It’s always a bus.  I loaded all 52083 kilos of luggage and child on to the bus.  In the terminal, I kept looking for Waldo, I mean the lift.  Really, this just means I kept getting lost.  There’s no following the crowd because the crowd was smart enough not to bring their two children and half their life without help across the Atlantic.

Luckily, we found Passport Control and entered the country (boy, wouldn’t that have been a real problem).  But speaking of real problems, the only elevator I could find to baggage claim came out on the wrong side (ummm that would be after customs).  But no matter, Doc Sci would be there to help, right?

Wrong.  Doc Sci was nowhere to be found.  I must have had a blinking, flashing, blinding, construction cone orange sign on me that said clueless American because a Lufthansa agent came up to me in the middle of a crowd and asked how she could help.  I explained I couldn’t find my husband.  Well, duh, ducky, just have him paged.  Paging husbands is for annoying housewives who drag bored husbands to the mall and then forget where they left ‘em.  No thanks.  But after 20 mins of looking around the only possible place he could have been waiting, I caved.  And then I cried a little bit.  I had 52083 kilos of luggage and a T-Rex (and Mama) that had to pee.

As I waited for Doc Sci, I rehearsed my sorry-to-be-so-ridiculous speech in my mind for a few minutes.  And then a few more minutes.  Before you know it, he was at least an hour late.  Horrendous Rescue 911 scenarios were flashing in my mind.  And no, I did not have a number to call him.  T-Mobile, I don’t care what you say, my phone does not work in Europe!!!

Both boys were about done with this whole circus act thing we’d been doing for the last 12hrs.  I decided to take Screech out of his cage and throw some lunch at the T-Rex.  As I was playing with Screech and trying to make the best of things, Screech laid it on thick.  Oh yes, you know what I mean.  A diaper explosion like I have not seen since he was a newborn.  A complete and total blowout – Pampers, you totally let me down.  I was covered with not just juice, but an absolutely thick & creamy spinach layer.  If you’re eating a baloney sandwich on your lunch break and reading this, my apologies.  That would be the moment that I lost it and started sobbing.  I used every wipe I had to start picking handfuls of it off my pants.

A well-meaning German lady told me to take him to the toilet (at least all I understood was toilet).  Umm, would you like to hold the poop machine while I clean myself up enough to even touch the handle of my stroller containing tens of thousands of kilos?  I am such a germophobe.

A sort-of clean and definitely half-naked Screech sat on my lap while T-Rex did who knows what.  My sobbing subsided to a halted breathing pattern while another, more sympathetic German lady put my what-if-my-husband-is-dead-on-the-side-of-the-road fears to rest.  Whoever, you are, thank you.

Just then, Doc Sci came running toward me.  Sobbing again.  Another poop to clean up.  Seriously.

Doc Sci’s story is just as good, only without poop.  He went to pick up the van at the rental car place at 730am.  Enough time to make a two-hour drive to pick us up at 1130am and allow time for traffic, figuring out how to drive a manual tranny, etc., right?  The van he previously rented was in an accident and therefore not available.  You have been requested to drive to an alternate location and pick up the vehicle there.  Whatever, should be okay.

Only the alternate location did not have the van either.  No problem, just call a third location, all the while waiting ten minutes here, fifteen minutes there, etc.  Okay, now you must drive to a third location.  Well, if Doc Sci was German and knew how to get there, maybe.  So Enterprise gave him a GPS to use for free and even programmed it.  How nice.  Well, except for the part where the agent programmed it to the middle of the woods.  No really.  Make a left into the trees.

After reprogramming the GPS out of the trees and making it to the third location, a van was finally located after more waiting, checking, double-checking, and re-checking.  Ah, German efficiency.  Here you are, finally, your van.  At 11am.  The time that I was set to arrive.  With no mobile phone or way to contact me.  T-Mobile, when the phone says “Emergency Calls Only,” you should know that this instance would have been an emergency!

Do you have a horrendous travel story?  I’d love to hear it!