Roadworks

Hello from Sweden!

Yesterday we left Germany, took a ferry to Denmark and then drove into Sweden. I must say, Sweden could very well have been the American mid-west, all that flat farmland.

I must comment on the Roadworks insanity that was northern Germany. It was really not to be believed. Of the 500 or so miles we drove in Germany, about 400 of them were under Roadworks. I'm not kidding. They take their roads very seriously. This has the benefit of creating roads that are amazingly smooth to drive on, but the downside is that they must constantly be under some sort of construction in order to keep them that way.

We would drive along 4 km of roadworks, then have 2km of smooth road, followed by another 6km of works. It kind of took away from the amazing speeds we were expecting to see on the Autobahn, because on these roadwork stretches, you can only drive about 50 mph. And those Germans obey their speed limits.

This foiled our plan to gain loads of time by driving 190mph. And I was kind of disappointed after all I have heard of the famed Autobahn, to not get to see some cars traveling at the speed of sound. I will say that even on the stretches where you genuinely could go as fast as you want, we didn't see anything that crazy; certainly nothing that seemed dangerous. They are very safe drivers, the best we've seen thus far, even in the rain that pelted down during a portion of the drive.

In fact, most of the drivers on the road seemed to be doing around 80mph. I imagine that psychologically, if you are used to being able to drive as fast as you want all the time, it's not something exciting and new to be abused, it's just normal, so you choose a speed that's comfortable and safe rather than one that makes the car you're in shudder.

I have to admit that before I went to Germany, I harbored a bit of a prejudice. I don't like to admit it, but I had it in my head that I didn't like Germans, or the German language, and that therefore I wouldn't like Germany. I know that this comes from being Jewish and harboring old grudges, or being given an impression from war movies and war footage that just isn't a contemporary representation of who these people are. Everywhere we went, the people in Germany were so wonderful to us, and they were always happy to speak English, and never made us feel bad about the fact that we can't speak any German!

And, I must add, that Germany is home to the most fab toilet ever. At some point on the road, we stopped at a rather large rest area, complete with restaurants, shops, etc. Normally I fear public toilets, especially those off of interstates, but boy was I surprised.

I had to pay .70 to get into the bathroom, but then you are given a coupon for .50 off of anything in the shops, so really you're not paying very much. The stalls are all spotless, and after you do your business and stand up, the toilet automatically flushes itself. It is then that the magic begins.

While the toilet is flushing, an arm extends from behind the seat, and releases a cleaning solution into the bowl. The seat then begins to turn in a circle-a full circle. The bottom of this arm has a kind of a squeegee on the underside of it, and this rests against the seat. So while the seat is turning, it is being cleaned with disinfectant and squeegeed dry.

It is my dream toilet. I think I may have cried a little as the seat rotated and cleaned itself. Seriously I want to figure out how to install one in my home. Although I do think, what if it broke, or just went rogue, while someone was still sitting on it, and it started turning and squeegeeing? You could wind up upside down on the seat with your feet against the wall and your head on the floor or something.

I would risk it, though.

Today we might drive up to Oslo and spend a couple of days there. Hopefully I will have internet.

Riesling Riesling Riesling!!!

Today was a festival of Rieslings.

Luckily Steve was feeling better and we were able to go to two different wineries for tastings.

They couldn't have been more different from each other.

The first place we went was Maximin Grunhaus. The website declared that they were open for tastings from 8am-12pm, and so we just showed up at around 11:15. We knocked on the door, and walked around the whole property, but no one was there.

We decided to try somewhere else, and as we drove away, my brilliant hubby observed that the sign at the driveway for the winery actually pointed up toward another driveway just up the hill. This driveway took us to another side of the property with an open cargo door in which you could see crates, bottles, cases of wine, etc.

Inside we found one lone guy, in his working overalls, who led us into a small office with a table and chairs. He brought us glasses, a brochure and price list and told us we could taste whatever we wanted, at no charge. All told, there were 64 wines from which to sample. We tasted about 10. And he opened whatever we asked him for, he never said we couldn't taste something. He even opened a half bottle of their wonderful Icewine, which they were selling for 75.00 euros a half-bottle.

He spoke very little English and we speak essentially no German, so it was impossible to get any great details about the wine maker, or winery itself, but I guess the point is for the wines to speak for themselves.

We tasted all Rieslings, from two different vineyards, and at varying levels of ripeness. The wines ranged from dry to sweet. It was interesting to taste that the wines from one vineyard were far more mineral-tasting then the wines from the other. Yet another perfect illustration of Terroir.

After that we went over to Dr. Loosen Winery. This was a completely different animal, with a formal table set up, and an English-speaking host. We were there with another American family, the parents who currently live in Illinois and their son and his wife who live in Huntington Beach, CA. The son and wife were, unfortunately dull as dirt, but the mother was lively, as was our host.

He gave us 9 wines to taste from almost as many different vineyards, each of which has a different soil composition. There are blue slate vineyards, grey slate, and red volcanic soil (this red vineyard is called Wurzgarten, which means spice garden, and imparts a slight spicy aroma to the wines).

Ultimately, there are a lot of subtle differences in all of these wines: from the sweetness levels, to the exact types of fruits and mineralities, but I can generalize and say that these wines were very bright, fresh, acidic, with a nice balance of fruit and minerality. Overall I would say the fruits ranged from green apple and gooseberry, citrus pith and peel, kumquat, and green plum to unripe pineapple. A couple of the wines were surprisingly tropical. And they age these wines on the lees, so a few of them had that pronounced toast crumb aroma.

I also learned a fun fact: I had noticed that almost all of the vines in this area are trellised upright in sort of a tall stalk, and I asked him why this was. He told me that they do "single stalk training" with these vines because it allows them to plant the vines closer together and therefore get more vines per hectare. They can do that here because with the super steep slopes that the vines grow on, there is access to sunlight even when vines are closer together.

He did say that they have to be careful to not let the vines grow too tall, otherwise the plant is spending more of its energy on growing and less on producing excellent fruit.

On a completely different note, please observe the photo. That is the toilet in our hotel room. Have you ever seen anything more odd? I just don't quite understand the theory behind it. It's like a bench....but with a toilet in the middle of it. It feels very bizarre, sitting on it, and your body has this initial reaction like "wait, I can't pee here...this is a bench!!"

It reminds me of a bad dream I would have when I was a kid, in which I would be sleeping on a toilet (as one does), and would start to pee, only to suddenly realize I wasn't on a toilet at all, after which I would start awake to realize with dismay that I had wet the bed.

To the left of the toilet is a ceramic jar filled with wine corks, and a book. Now, I understand why the book is there, but what on earth are they expecting me to do with the wine corks while I'm sitting there? There are only a couple of things I can think of, and none of those are particularly appealing. Or G-rated.

Reflections on a WC (or, My own Musee de la Poupee)

Anyone who knows me well, knows that I am persnickity about my toilets. I like 'em clean, and I like 'em to smell good. Did I mention that I like 'em clean? Like REALLY clean. Nothing stresses me out more than a disgusting bathroom.

In fact, the first thing I used to do when Steve and I were checking out a campsite when on any one of our many camping trips, was to check out the bathroom. Pit toilet was fine as long as it was clean and smelled reasonable.

Some recent stories about French and Italian hole-in-the-ground toilets have made me want to cry a little bit. I'm not sure that my thighs are strong enough for that kind of a squat without anything to hold onto. I should start doing lunges tomorrow.

One thing you don't get very often in the US is the WC or Water Closet, otherwise known as the little room that houses the toilet and nothing else.

I like the idea of having the toilet in its own separate room, it makes the rest of the bathroom feel cleaner and fresher to me, and then you also don't have to worry as much that if you've just had an unfortunate incident on the pot, you are going to inadvertently gas the poor unsuspecting person who just wants to wash his hands or brush his teeth.

So overall, I would say, yes, fan of the WC. In theory.

The WC we had in Paris however, took the "Closet" in WC to a whole new level. This space was not even a closet; it was a hobbit hole. This room was so tiny, you could barely close the door without your knees going through it. Honestly I don't know how Steve managed it.

I found that, once I had completed my transaction, I was completely unable to pull up my pants without opening the door. If I stood up and bent forward to retrieve them in one direction, I would bonk my noggin against the door; and if I turned around and tried to bend over to pull them up, I would come dangerously close to dunking my head in the toilet.

My only option was to open the door first, and then pull up my britches. This would have been fine if not for the fact that the WC essentially opened up into the main room.

So poor Steve would be sitting there minding his own business, only to have me pop out of the WC like a pants-less Jack-in-the-Box.

I think after a while though, he came to quite enjoy the spectacle of his wife throwing open the door, pants around her ankles, shouting "Aloha!" "Ciao!" or "Bonjour!"

I mean really, what's not to like about that, right?!

No posts for the next few days, as we will be in the Lake District in England without internet access. But I will get back to you as soon as I can.

After all, I still have to tell you about my boob light....

Intrigued?