Only in Germany

That SNCF post has taken us out of chronological order a bit, but jump back to Germany with me a moment, if you would be so kind.

If that post about King Ludwig and Neuschwanstein didn't convince you that Germany has been the home to some lovable oddballs, maybe this post will.

I didn't want to overgeneralize, since I actually haven't visited many different areas of Germany extensively at all, but then I got to Dusseldorf and found something there that certainly did not disappoint.

So won't you join me in celebrating the wonderful but undeniably and lovably weird country that is Germany?

1. This fountain basically taking a jab at the motifs of every other fountain ever.

It might be a little hard to see (damn night shots!) but the standing figure has his finger over the water spigot and is shielding his face from the spray forced out by the water pressure. The face is spitting sideways, because why not?

2. Well-dressed guy running errands whilst taking swigs from an open liter-sized bottle of beer. It was ten past ten in the morning.

3. Forgot to take a picture (darn it!) but the Munich Airport had a touchscreen survey in the bathroom asking you to rate your bathroom experience on a scale of colored smiley faces. (For the record, my bathroom experience would have been a broadly grinning green smiley. It was a lovely bathroom.)

4. The automatically-changing advertisement boards in the Munich Hauptbahnhof (main train station) blare out in all caps SHIT HAPPENS, with this phrase (in English) superimposed over various cartoons, one of which appeared to feature a couple of mice, and another an antelope being chased by a lion and saying presumably something cheeky in German. I have no idea what this could possibly be advertising.

5. The Englischer Garten in Munich has an artificial surfer's wave. Of course.

There's also a nude sunbathing area just through the trees.

6. This is a person. A real, living (green) person.

Fake statues are too mainstream. Munich is innovating.

7. I know that this is only odd to English speakers and within the context of a German-speaking country it doesn't mean anything, but it sure tickled my funny bone.

I don't...I can't even...

Rage Against the SNCF

Okay guys, I know I'm really behind and still owe you stories of Dachau and Nice and my fantastic hike through the Alps, but I would just like to take a moment and share just how much I hate the SNCF, or the French train system. (And also autocorrect, for trying to correct "French train" to"oat rain." Why? I mean, really--WHY?! Do ipad users experience a lot of instances of grain falling from the sky? Is that a thing? Have things in the US really changed THAT much in the week I've been gone?)

Anyway, my hatred for the SNCF burns with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. To be fair, I'm pretty predisposed to hate everything right now, since I am sitting on an uncomfortable granite bench in the Gare de Nice (Nice train station) when I should be in a comfortable first-class seat one-third of the way to Marseille right now. Yes, ladies and gents, I have missed my train.

I should have checked out of my hostel earlier, I'll admit that. Mistake number one. Checkout time was at ten, and I headed to the desk at 9:55. There were at least ten people in line ahead of me. This was unfortunate, as it was a fifteen-minute walk to the tram and then a ten-minute tram ride to the station, where I still had to print my ticket reservation (which I'd already paid for) before hopping the 10:57 train to Marseille. It would be close, but I could do it if I really booked it to the tram, I figured.

At 10:10 I was still in line and was getting pretty antsy. Okay, really antsy. There was much toe-tapping and slapping my wallet against my thigh. At 10:16 I was checked out and running down the steepest hill known to man to try and get the tram and hopefully avoid serious injury in the process.

Made it to the tram station just as the tram was rounding a distant corner, heading my way. I ran to the ticket machine, exact change already in hand, only to find it surrounded by some tourists who looked confused. "...ne marche pas..." I heard a man telling them. "It's not working."

There was a ticket machine on the opposite platform. The tram was not far away now. I shot across the tram tracks, bought a ticket at hyper speed, and then ran back around just as the tram doors opened. I hurled myself and my 15-20 pounds of stuff into a chair and tried to fan myself with my credit cards. But I was on the tram. I did it.

It was 10:20.

I got to the train station and was in line at the ticket machine by 10:35, giving me twenty minutes to get to the front and print the ticket I'd already reserved. Except I'd forgotten one very important thing: the SNCF sucks.

The ticket machine, to give you an idea, operates so slowly that I suspect it is powered not by a computer but by a Rube Goldberg-esque device. You press the button, a marble starts running down a chute, and once it hits the tiny hammer it prompts the machine to ask you for your credit card, etc.

The machine will ignore your credit card if it happens to be an American card, however, because it does not have "le chip." Le chip is a mysterious microchip that European cards have and American cards do not. I find this advanced French card technology ironic given that their ticket machines would be be outperformed by an AOL dial-up connection circa 1996, but whatever.

Since my cards do not have the chip, I was forced to stand at the ticket machine and watch as the clock in the upper right of the screen changed to 10:57 while the bulk of the screen was blaring "CARD NOT ACCEPTED." And that is how I missed my train.

All I wanted to do was sit down and cry. Well, that's not quite true. All I wanted to do was be sitting in an air conditioned first-class compartment on the way to Marseille. Failing that, however, stomping into a corner and collapsing into a sobbing heap of sweaty clothing and chipless credit cards seemed like a pretty appealing option. I didn't care that the train station floor was possibly the dirtiest floor in the entire city, or that all the French people and tourists alike would be walking by judging the pathetic American weeping childishly in the corner. But crying would not get me another ticket, so I settled for stomping from place to place to give vent to my feelings.

From another absurdly slow machine I discovered that the next train to Marseille, at 11:27, was full. There were still seats on the 12:27 though, so I dragged myself over to the ticket sale line and waited. By 11:30ish I was speaking to a ticket guy. I managed to conduct the entire conversation in understandable and mostly correct (albeit not particularly eloquent) French, which was a small bright spot in an otherwise crappy morning. All I needed was to reserve a spot, not buy a ticket, since my rail pass covers that aspect of the trip. That was a plus; reservations are loads less expensive than tickets. The ticket guy pointed out that a reservation for the 12:27 train would cost 18€ but that a reservation for the 12:55 was free. I took the free one, so at least I didn't lose money AND time on this deal, just two hours in Marseille.

But now I'm sitting in the Nice train station (MY FAVORITE THING) with a guy jackhammering something twenty feet away from me (MY OTHER FAVORITE THING) trying to kill time. Writing this post has calmed me down quite a bit, as has helping the American tourists looking for the bathroom. I got to speak to them in English and then turn to the French guy next to me and ask him some stuff in French, which made me feel super awesome and legit, like this was the UN and I was some sort of toilet ambassador. The French guy told me I spoke French quite well, which was flattering but not entirely true, and we made a little small talk en francais, which also cheered me up a bit. So life's looking sunnier than it was when I started writing this post, typing frantically through a red haze of boiling anger and soul-crushing frustration.

Only 35 minutes to go before I'm en route to Marseille, though! Then I'm there for a couple days before I have to move on to Montpellier. To avoid a repetition of this entire process, I plan on arriving at noon for my 3:25 pm train. I just hope I'll be able to access my reservations somehow. If I can't do it with my credit card somehow I don't know what I'll do.

Oh, well, IT'S AN ADVENTURE!

Stop! It's Castle Time!

Bavaria has given the world so many wonderful things. Bavarian cream puffs. Lederhosen. And, among other castles, Neuschwanstein.

Technically the credit for Neuschwanstein goes to King Ludwig II of Bavaria, aka "Mad King Ludwig." Depending on who you ask, Ludwig was either eccentric and misunderstood or completely off his rocker. (The tour I took supported the former interpretation.) Whichever one you choose, you can't deny that Ludwig was a little...off. He enjoyed doing things like dressing up as obscure historical figures, taking sleigh rides in the dead of night, dropping in unexpectedly on his subjects in the Bavarian countryside ("Surprise! It's the king!"), and having dinner parties where the entire guest list consisted of his imaginary friends, mostly historical (dead) European kings. He was also obsessed--and I mean all-caps OBSESSED--with Richard Wagner and Wagnerian opera.

Ludwig had kind of a bummer childhood, as neither of his parents were very interested in, you know, parenting him. He and his younger brother Otto were never given quite enough food growing up. This was supposed to discipline them and make them stronger rulers when they came of age. Personally I think there's no real point in being royal if you don't get to eat dessert. Bring on the Bavarian cream puffs, I say!

Despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that he passed his childhood without ever tasting the sweet magic of a Toblerone or whatever nougaty Alpine treat was in vogue in the mid-nineteenth century, Ludwig grew up to be quite fit and good-looking. That's what history says, anyway. If we're going by personal taste I think Ludwig might be rocking just a bit too much facial hair (what is that mustache?!) but who am I to argue with history?

Anyway, nineteenth-century Bavarian dreamboat Ludwig got engaged to his cousin, who was by all accounts also very good-looking, and they live happily ever after...right?

Wrong. Because our mustachioed pal Ludwig was gay and consequently broke off the engagement. Remember when I said he was obsessed with Wagner? I wasn't exaggerating. Ludwig had the Wagnerian equivalent of Bieber fever. It's pretty unsurprising, then, that Ludwig's first official act upon ascending to the throne was to track down Wagner, who was on the run from his various debts, and bring him to the court in Munich. Suck on THAT, deprived royal childhood! Nothing says "I'm in charge now, fools!" like casually inviting your teenage idol to come and live with you. (Presumably Ludwig then celebrated by eating the Toblerones his parents had long denied him.)

Anyway, Wagner came to live in Munich and wrote operas for Ludwig, and everything was fine until the people got annoyed at how much political influence Wagner had on the king and rebelled, forcing Ludwig to send Wagner packing.

I'm going to gloss over a lot of Bavarian political history now, because I can sense that you're like, "Yeah, fine, history, whatever. But you promised castles. WHERE ARE THE PICTURES?!" I'm getting there, impatient person driven to caps lock outbursts by blog posts. I'm getting there.

Anyway, Ludwig had succeeded in royally (ha!) pissing off a lot of powerful people. The normal next step would be to lay low and not rock the boat for a while. But Ludwig, as we've seen, was not a normal guy.

He started building castles. Never mind that he had the Residenz in Munich and his childhood home of Hohenschwangau Castle in the foothills of the Alps, on the banks of the Alpsee, plus some other stuff. Not good enough. You know what would be good enough, though? A whole bunch of castles inspired by Wagnerian operas.

Ludwig's childhood home, Hohenschwangau Castle. Cozy, right?

To be fair, Ludwig drew some inspiration from his own life, too. The reason he was captivated by Wagner's operas in the first place was that they were adaptations of local myths and legends. The walls at Hohenschwangau were covered with murals depicting scenes from the tales, so Ludwig had grown up literally surrounded by stories and folklore.

One particularly bizarre and convoluted story involved the Alpsee, the lake on which Hohenschwangau was built. Trying to relate the whole thing here would take more time than I have (I'm currently on a three-hour layover in Dusseldorf, trying to catch up on blogging because I'm a couple days behind), so I will just borrow from the Walt Disney company and say that this story involves "far-off places, daring sword fights, magic spells, a prince in disguise"...and a swan. That last bit is the most important.

The Alpsee. You'd totally build a vacation castle here, right?
At the time, Hohenschwangau was called Neuschwanstein, which translates as "new swan stone"; an earlier castle on that site had been called Schwanstein as a nod to the nearby Alpsee and its legendary swan tales. (Hohenschwangau, which means "high Schwangau," refers to the fact that the village of Hohenschwangau is further up the hill than the village of plain old Schwangau. True story.)

Anyway, Lugwig decided he wanted to build his own swan-inspired castle by the Alpsee, despite the fact that the real estate market of the Schwangau area was already saturated with that particular sort of building. It was initially called Hohenschwangau, since "Neuschwanstein" was already taken; the names were switched after his death. For clarity's sake, I'm going to call them by their modern names.

So Ludwig picked a spot and started building. It was pretty high up the mountain and getting supplies up there was a pain and a half, but check out the view.

View over the countryside from Neuschwanstein

Hohenschwangau Castle and town from Neuschwanstein

I would put up with a lot of zoning headaches if it meant I could wake up to that every morning. And that's not even the side with the waterfall!

But let's step out of the past and into the present. (Or, since this all happened on Monday, the not-quite-as-distant-past, I guess.) As you can imagine, I was pretty pumped to see Neuschwanstein. I'd booked a tour with Sandemans New Europe Tours (they are AWESOME, as I mentioned in the Prague post...if you're ever traveling in Europe, check them out!) and it was a lot of fun; the guide was great and I spent a good hour of the two-hour train ride out in conversation with a woman about my age, Sophina, who also happened to be vegetarian (we swapped food recommendations, Bavaria not exactly being the vegetarian haven of the world) and share a lot of the same interests as me. The train ride was also incredibly pretty. I'll put up some pictures in a later post.

Rain and thunderstorms were predicted, but I was determined to enjoy myself regardless of the weather. And how did things turn out? I'll let this picture answer that question.

Look! Neuschwanstein Castle! No blue skies but no rain (yet) in sight!
Yes, folks, that is Neuschwanstein Castle. This isn't even its good side.

Inside, only one-third of the rooms are finished; Ludwig died before construction could be completed, and the Bavarian government was not inclined to finish a project that had pretty much burned through generations' worth of Wittelsbach royal fortune and landed the king millions of marks in personal debt. It was, however, opened for visitors six weeks after the king's death and has been a huge source of income for Bavaria ever since--and not just from tourism.

Have you been thinking, "Gee, that castle looks kind of familiar"? You've almost certainly seen it--or something very much like it--before. Just as I borrowed from the Disney Company a few paragraphs ago, the Disney Company borrowed from Neuschwanstein. This is the inspiration for the "Disney castle" that is featured in the logo before Disney films and forms the most recognizable building in Disneyland parks the world over.

Walt Disney made the mistake of telling the Bavarian government this. "Oh, hey, sweet fairy-tale castle," he said. "It was the inspiration for my imaginary fairy-tale castle!"

"Is that so?" said the Bavarian government. "That's nice. Eight gazillion dollars, please." And that is how Bavaria supplements its already hefty tourism income--with royalties from Disney.

The interior of the castle--the rooms that actually exist, anyway--is not at all what I'd expected from the outside; they're much grander and...heavier-seeming, I guess...than the light, graceful exterior would suggest.

But the best views of the castle were yet to come. We hiked uphill some more (side note: the walk was killer. Remember that picture of the countryside with Hohenschwangau off in the distance? We walked from there. Up an Alp. My soul died a little.) and came to an observation bridge. Oh, the photo ops!

Admit it, the Disney intro music is playing in your head right now.

This was already a known beauty spot when Ludwig started Neuschwanstein. The bridge was here, but he replaced the wooden rails with metal.

Locks on bridges: they're everywhere!
As we began our hike down the mountain (by a different route) it began to rain, so we had to rush a bit; according to our guide, the paths get very slippery in the rain. When we got to this steep metal walkway built into a rock face, I could understand his concern--this ramp would be treacherous even in dry weather.

The base of the ramp was serrated to cling to your shoes, and tiny bars running across it allowed you to brace your feet every eighteen inches or so.
I did still manage to get a few pictures before the rain really set in, though.

Odd little spot with loads of cairns.
We took shelter at a cafe at the base of the hill, where Sophina and I split some fries and chatted with our guide, an English guy named Jon. We then all caught the bus to the train station, took two trains back to Munich, and arrived just after 7. The rest is a story (albeit not a super-interesting one, so don't hold your breath or anything) for another day.

Whew, long post! I'd say I successfully killed this layover. I'm about to head on to Nice, but I'm also due for a post about my trip to Dachau, the concentration camp just outside Munich. It really deserves its own post and it's some heavy stuff, so I may put that off for another day.

But on a lighter note, I'll leave you with one more picture of King Ludwig's pet project. (P.S.: There is a TON more to Ludwig's story and his building projects, and I highly suggest you Wikipedia him at least. His life is a veritable smorgasbord of weirdness and quirkiness.)

Sightseeing in Prague? CZECH.

Okay, awful pun, I know. You know what the only appropriate response is? PRAHAHAHA.

So it's my second day in Prague/Praha (first full day, really) and BOY did I do a lot of sightseeing. It was a great day, though, and I felt much better/more confident than yesterday, when I sort of felt like I was the guy in the third verse of "You Can Call Me Al."

The morning started out overcast and drizzly, so my umbrella and I left at around 10:15 to meet up with the free tour that leaves the Old Town Square at 10:45. By the time I'd made it into town it was POURING, so I was quite happy to have my umbrella with me.

I wasn't thrilled about the rain or anything, but Prague is one of the things on my itinerary that I wouldn't mind having wet weather for. I'd much rather tote an umbrella around Prague than on a hike in the Alps or the Cotswolds.

We covered a TON on the tour, which lasted into early afternoon, and then I decided to take the Castle Tour in the afternoon, which covers the part of the city on the opposite side of the river. It ended up being a really good choice, so hooray.

Prague is actually a very interesting city. Architecturally, it came through World War II with almost no "casualties"--the Old Town Hall was destroyed by a Nazi bomb just days before Prague was liberated (or, if we're going to be real about things, we'd say that it was just days before Prague was taken over by the Soviets instead of the Nazis). Otherwise, the city has tons of buildings that have survived for literally a millenium.

We visited a whole bunch of these (I was walking around from 10:45 until after 6, with only a couple of 20-minute breaks in there) so there's no time to talk at length about them--or even mention all of them. I'll try to cram as many as I can in, though.

I unfortunately cannot remember the name of this church on the Old Town Square, but it's noteworthy (among other reasons) for its "Adam and Eve towers," meaning that one (Adam) is bigger than the other (Eve). The explanation is that Adam is meant to protect Eve from the elements, but it's actually more likely that two work crews working with inconsistent measurements were the cuprit (so says my tour guide, anyway).

Church and statue of Jan Huss in the Old Town Square

We stopped by the astronomical clock, a must-see Prague site. On the hour, the clock comes to life as figures of the twelve apostles parade across. Unfortunately we weren't there at the right time, but we did learn about the stationary figures on the clock, meant to represent vices--vanity and greed--along with death and pagans (the guy with the lute). The "greed" statue used to have a very stereotypical and anti-Semitic pointed beard, but it was removed because the Communists (in power from the 1940s to the 1980s) thought it looked like a caricature of Karl Marx.

Continuing around the city, we got to listen to these guys play a song written about the Vltava River, which runs through Prague.

By the time we reached the Jewish Quarter, the sun had come out and it was a beautiful day. (I haven't checked in a mirror yet, but I can tell my face is sunburned. Oh, well, it's a small price to pay for a day in Prague.)

We visited a number of synagogues constructed in several different styles and used for a number of purposes. Only the Old-New Synagogue, where the famous Golum of Prague supposedly lies hidden in the attic, still has services. The others are all museums or concert venues or the like. The Czech Republic, it turns out, has the highest number of atheists of any officially Catholic country in the world--70 percent. For that reason, many of the churches are used for a myriad of purposes as well, housing bars, restaurants, concert halls, and so on.

I'd had the chance to visit the Jewish Quarter yesterday afternoon. It was a quick visit, since it was evening and the sites run by the Jewish Museum were closing, but I did get to see Pinkas Synagogue and the Jewish Cemetery. The Pinkas Synagogue was sad and fascinating: it's inscribed with the names of the 80,000 Czech Jews who lost their lives to the Nazis during World War II. It's a really striking, impressive sight and I would have loved to take some photos, but they were not allowed. (Two other women were unfazed by this and took copious amounts of photos. I was quite annoyed by/jealous of their wanton disregard for rules.)

Upstairs there was an exhibit of art produced by children while they were imprisoned in the Terezin concentration camp. It was really moving, especially since each drawing with a known artist was accompanied by their date of birth and death--and a lot of those dates were far too close together.

Outside, the Jewish Cemetery was an odd combination of peace and chaos, as the headstones all compete for space. Since Judaism forbids cremation and Jews in Prague were not allowed to be buried outside the ghetto, bodies in the cemetery had to be layered on top of one another, making the cemetery rise above street level and leading to a mish-mash of stones jockeying for positions in the tiny graveyard.

The Jewish Cemetery

But back to the sites we covered today. In the afternoon we went across the river to the so-called "Lesser Quarter," where many nobles once had their homes. (Today most of the buildings are owned by the state or are home to foreign embassies.) The gardens of Valdštejnská zahrada, which are free and open to the public, are steps from the entrance to the Malostranská metro station (such a weird juxtaposition...to me, anyway).

Valdštejnská zahrada. There are peacocks living in the gardens!

We took a tram up the hill. (Prague is built on seven hilltops, and some of them--this one, for example--are doozies.) Our first stop was a monastery famous for its beer. The monks no longer make it themselves, but a brewery on-site uses the same recipe. I did not partake in any beer-drinking due to my general dislike for it, but I really debated it for awhile because hey, in the Czech Republic you've gotta try the beer, right? I ultimately decided against it because I was running low on cash (many places here still don't take credit cards) and didn't want to find another ATM.

We headed for Prague Castle, stopping on the way to admire the Loreta, a shrine to the patron saint of women in bad relationships. (As our tour guide noted, there really is a patron saint for everything.) Loreta wanted to be a nun, but her father forced her to marry. The night before her wedding, she asked God to prevent it. The next morning she had a full beard and her husband-to-be was like, "Awwww hell to the no!" The story ends with Loreta dying anyway, so it's still a downer, but hey, at least she scored a pretty pilgrimage site (a lot of comfort to her, I'm sure).

Step right up, see the amazing bearded laaaaaaaady!

Next up: Prague Castle. It's sort of a misnomer, really, because it's actually sort of a village unto itself--more like a quarter or borough of a city than a separate, private complex. We got to watch the changing of the guard, and then we explored some gardens. One of the highlights was a sort of ampitheater-in-reverse (an antitheater? DONE. Coining it now, you heard it here first). Anyway, you stand on the raised platform in the center and speak normally. Everyone around you hears your voice at a normal volume, but you hear it amplified back to you. Even though part of me suspected this was some story meant to lure gullible tourists into proclaiming "Hi, my name is ___!" in the middle of a little ampitheater (ANTITHEATER! Darn it!), I tried it anyway. And not only does it work, it's the WEIRDEST. You can't really understand what it feels/sounds like without experiencing it, but the closest description I can give is that it sounds like one of those toy echo microphones kids love. Super bizarre.

The castle grounds were lovely and lush. One of the emperors--I forget which--used them as a hunting ground. It's not an odd fact except that he would shoot the deer from his bedroom window and then make servants go and get the carcasses. Even weirder: he would dress in full hunting gear to do so. Personally, I would stay in my pajamas, but that's just me. It's not like I spend a lot of time hunting, though, so what do I know?

Inside the castle proper, we visited a few sites. The second courtyard is surrounded by buildings whose facades were all altered to neo-classical style (I think) by Empress Maria Theresa of the Hapsburgs, who thought that Prague Castle didn't look enough like a castle because it was too much of a collage of architectural styles and historical periods. Once you're through the second courtyard, you can begin to see some of the different architectural styles, like the Gothic and neo-Gothic St. Vitus's Cathedral. Construction began hundreds of years ago but was halted when the Protestant workers didn't feel inclined to continue construction on a Catholic church. The cathedral was finished in the 1920s--a fact referenced in the engravings above the door, which feature the twentieth century architects in business suits.

Let's play "Spot the Stylistic Anachronism"!

We also passed a huge building--the largest non-secular hall in Europe at the time of its construction--that was built so one emperor (sorry, they all run together after awhile) could have indoor jousting matches with his pals (oh, the royals).

We then checked out the Golden Lane, named, according to legend, after the alchemists that worked there. The houses were rented out as homes until the end of World War II, and one of them belonged to Franz Kafka. I personally can't imagine how anyone could live in these tiny houses, especially in modern times. I practically had to duck through some of the doorways, and we all know I'm no Paul Bunyan myself. But the street was very cute and picturesque.

Franz Kafka lived at number 22.

After some views of the city we checked out the site of the Defenestration of Prague (the second one, the one that in 1618 started the Thirty Years' War). There have actually been three defenestrations of Prague, but this one is the only one that didn't end in fatalities. Or it didn't end immediately in fatalities, I guess I should say, since it did kick off a war that killed 8.5 million Europeans. (The Catholics who were pushed out the window--which is what a defenestration is, in case you weren't up on your obscure methods of medieval murder--landed in a dung heap and survived. According to the Catholics, this was a miracle and it meant there were angels guarding them. According to the Protestants, the Catholics were both full of and covered in shit.) The history nerd in me LOVED this. It was worth the price of the tour ticket for that alone.

It's not as high up as I'd imagined.

Whew, it's getting late and this is long so I'll wrap things up. I know you guys really only want the pictures anyway.

So we checked out the view from the castle hill (where we were serenaded by a cellist playing the most beautiful and badass rendition of a Red Hot Chili Peppers song):

It was "Otherside," in case you were wondering.

Checked out the John Lennon Wall:

Originally painted (and painted over) in the Communist era, it contained Beatles lyrics and paintings of the band. Today it's open for anyone to decorate.

Observed this European phenomenon:

Couples inscribe their initials on locks and then attach them to bridge railings as a symbol of lasting love.

Crossed the Charles Bridge:

Possibly the top tourist attraction in Prague.

Rubbed this statue for good luck (only the right side, which grants good luck and a return to Prague. The left side gives you bad luck and apparently guarantees that you'll never return. This was one of many things I rubbed for good luck in Prague. Also on the list: golden curlicue designs and a statue's golden penis. I really ought to have the best luck ever now.):

You can't really see it in this picture, but there are two engraved panels on the base of the statue. Those are the parts you rub for good (or bad) luck.

After that I grabbed dinner with Jenny, a woman my age who I'd met on the tour, and then we walked back to the tram as the sky whipped itself up into a fairly impressive thunderstorm. Not a lot of rain, but a lot of thunder and lightning.

Ooh, ominous!

And now it's off to bed with me. I've been typing much longer than I'd anticipated (and I initially got on here to do some freelance work--aka the writing I'm actually paid for). Since I have to catch the train to Munich at 9:15 tomorrow, I should probably head to bed. I expect to sleep quite soundly tonight, but not as soundly as yesterday, when I fell asleep, exhausted and jetlagged, at 9 pm (after an hours-long struggle to stay awake for the sake of a normal, non-jet-laggy sleep pattern). There were some German guys talking loudly (one of them was mere feet from my pillow), and they had the lights blazing and were banging doors shut and whatnot, but it didn't even matter. I was dead to the world for a good ten hours and woke up feeling loads better than when I'd fallen asleep. WIN. If I can recapture even a fraction of that level of rest tonight, I will be so very happy (but it's Saturday night and people are definitely in a partying mood, so we'll see how this goes and what the noise level is like).

See you in Munich!

In Transit

First post from Europe, woohoo!

I'm sitting in Heathrow Airport, having cleared security without any problems. I've actually got a good chunk of time to spare, despite the fact that my flight from Boston was at least forty minutes late--no tail winds, apparently. Curse you, tail winds! You're on my list.

Nevertheless, things have been fairly low-stress since I arrived at Logan yesterday. Before that, though, it was a different story. First I was unable to check in to my Virgin Atlantic flight to London because there was no record of me in the system. PANIC. Blind panic. I called the booking agent and was rather testy with him--which I'm definitely not proud of--but he figured things out for me (passenger name was supposed to be listed as Renee [last name] but was instead in the system as Reneed [last name]. Not even Renee D. [last name]? Really? I have to say, I might hate "Reneed" even more than I hate when people pronounce my name as "Ree-nee.")

Anyway, once I was assured that I would indeed be flying to London, I tried to make up for my earlier snippiness by repeating my earlier apologies and being super polite and appreciative. With that settled, Mom and I headed off to the airport.

We were sitting in crawling traffic on 93, so-close-and-yet-so-far from the bridge, when I noticed that my handbag was closing a little too easily. I mean, I'd jampacked that thing so it could barely close, and here it was, clipping shut without any problems. Something was missing.

It was my camera. My camera was NOT in my BAG oh my GOD, you guys!!!

I let loose a string of obscenities that were still not as strong as the ones I wanted to actually use (I refrained for the sake of my darling mother) and definitely freaked out, but did not go into blind, heart-hammering Panic Mode. My mom took issue with this evaluation. "You definitely panicked," she sniffed disdainfully, after I'd found my camera shoved part way under the car seat behind my feet. And yes, I panicked, but on a scale of one to ten, with one being, "Whoops!" and ten being  Wall Street on October 29, 1929, it was maybe a five or a six, whereas the plane ticket debacle was more of an eight.

Anyway, I breezed through security at Logan, ate dinner, had a brief moment of worry when I was paged to the gate desk for "important flight information" (my seat got moved...not an upgrade, much to my disappointment), and exchanged about $100 for 1500 Czech crowns so I can buy shuttle tickets and whatnot when I arrive in Prague. The flight itself was pretty uneventful: dinner, hot chocolate, three brief hours of attempting to achieve something resembling sleep, then breakfast. I watched some TV and did some writing. That's about it.

I was slightly disappointed that I couldn't keep all my Virgin Atlantic swag, though. They always give you an eye mask, ear plugs, a toothbrush, a teeny-tiny tube of toothpaste, and socks. I was sad to leave the socks behind--I have a pair from my last VA flight and they are the snuggliest, comfiest socks, especially for being free socks obtained from an airline. But I have to be really careful not to accumulate too much stuff, especially before my flight from Munich to Nice, which has really restrictive carry-on weight limits.



Well, my boarding gate info is about to be posted, so I'm going to see about that and then try to hunt down something for breakfast. (We ate on the plane, but the first listed ingredient in Virgin Atlantic Muesli Apple Muffin Tops is sugar, so I should probably find something that won't rot my teeth and slowly kill my digestive system.)

Until Prague, then!

No Title Can Contain the Appropriate Level of Excitement

It's coming! It's coming! YOU GUYS, IT'S ALMOST TIME FOR MY TRIP!!!!

I leave TOMORROW for Europe and I won't be back for FIVE WEEKS!

FIVE WEEKS!

I'M FREAKING THE HELL OUT!!!! (Clearly.)

I finally managed to get my backpack down the paltry carry-on weight allowance. (Eight kilograms? Really, AirBerlin? Do you find that most of your passengers tend to carry on nothing but a tiny clutch containing a single sheet of paper and, like, two saltines? What gives?) The bright side to this absurdly low weight limit is that I will have no problem trekking around with my possessions (all eight kilograms of them) strapped to my back. The downside is that I had to jettison my more stylish outfits for practical things. Now all the Europeans will know I'm a tourist. I mean, if the giant backpack didn't give it away. (Okay, so maybe I'm not that much worse off than I was.)

My rail pass and train tickets have arrived. I've got fancy-schmancy Rail Pass Insurance that will protect me from Rail Pass Thieves. I have--get this--not just any rail pass but a first class rail pass for the entirety of France! (RailEurope was running a special promotion and first class rail passes were actually cheaper than second class.) You know that this means? Do you?! It means a SLIGHTLY WIDER SEAT and SLIGHTLY MORE LEG ROOM! Because if there's one thing most 5'2 women need in their public transport, it's more leg room. Regardless, I am excited to travel across my beloved France in theoretical, if not actual, luxury.

But I haven't confined my travel preparations to simply buying train tickets. Oh no! I've been--if you'll allow me to use the technical term--"GoogleMapping the shit out of everything." And I don't mean that I plugged in some addresses for directions from the train station to my hostel (although I've done that, too). I mean I went up into StreetView and spent a morning tootling around the English countryside so I could effectively plan the hike from my really remote rural hostel to the bus station. I made my mother "accompany" me. I made up a "Walking to Town" song. I think I might be more emotionally attached to GoogleMaps than I am to some people. Believe me when I say that I'm taking this crap SERIOUSLY.

And speaking of taking things seriously, can we talk about my itinerary? It is a six-tab GoogleDoc spreadsheet extravaganza that details not only my daily activities but also contains every detail of my trains, flights, and accommodations. It has directions to and from all my hostels. There is an entire tab devoted to foods I want to eat. Basically, it is your go-to reference if I disappear and you want to tell the State Department about the activities that led to my unfortunate demise. It can also double as a plot outline for the ludicrously-named Lifetime movie that will be based on my disappearance. Let's start spitballing titles now! I like The Trip of a Lifetime--it sounds suitably melodramatic and ominous and it advertises the network right in the title! Efficient--almost as efficient as my method of knapsack-packing (roll, don't fold)!

And yet, I still have a ton to do. I have to repack my backpack, since halfway through this week I realized that I was not done wearing some of the clothes that I'd already packed. There are prescriptions to fill, checks to deposit, international data plans to figure out (damn you, AT&T, why can't anyone give me a straight answer?!), batteries to charge, and lists to double-check, triple-check, and quadruple check. I have a lot on my mind, to say the least.

But this time tomorrow, I will be somewhere over the Atlantic, (hopefully) sleeping peacefully and gearing up for what will be--for better or worse--a grand adventure.

Allons-y!

Thumbs Up, Thumbs Down: Euro-Trip Planning Edition

Thumbs up: Booked my flight!

Thumbs down: Now that I can't change it, I wish I'd left a day earlier. Of course.

Thumbs up: I did, however, tack an extra three days onto my trip. Hello Cotswolds, I'm coming for you now.

Thumbs down: I still need to book my Munich to Nice and Paris to Edinburgh flights.

Thumbs up: Found a Munich to Nice flight that is literally half the price of the cheapest one I found earlier.

Thumbs down: It will entail waking up at 4 am, walking to the train station at 5, and being at the airport at 6 for a 7:10 flight.

Thumbs up: I'm an early riser and a cheapskate. I've been training for this moment my entire life.

Further thumbs up: Get into Nice early enough to spend the afternoon at the beach (probably napping, since I woke up at 4 am). I could live with that.

Thumbs down: The hostel I was planning on staying at Menton (which I stayed at and really liked the last time I was in France) apparently has fallen off the face of the earth / no longer exists / is abandoned.

Further thumbs down: All other Menton hostels are too expensive.

Thumbs up: Nearby Nice has hostels! Cheap ones! It has the hostel voted Best Hostel in France! Count me in!

Thumbs down: RIP, YHA Menton Hostel. I will miss your fantastic view and the fact that I literally had to climb an Alp, walk through an RV campsite, skirt about a hundred people's backyards, and pass by a goat pen just to get to your front door.

Thumbs up: I rediscovered Sandemans New Europe Tours today. (I took two of their tours when I was in London and loved them both.) They also offer tours in Prague, Munich, Paris, and Edinburgh, all of which I will be taking advantage of (!!!).

Further thumbs up: They offer a tour out of Munich to Neuschwanstein! Now I don't have to deal with the transportation headache that is negotiating the train/bus transfers to Hohenschwangau without knowing German.

Thumbs down: I will not be able to take advantage of the day tour to Kutna Hora (which looks bizarre and AWESOME...yes, those are actual human bones) because I will not be in Prague long enough. DAMN YOU, SCHEDULE! (see above, re: cannot change trip dates but wish I'd left earlier).

Thumbs up: Saving money by replacing my expensive day trip to Lindau, a pretty island town on  Lake Konstanz, with a much cheaper tour of Dachau, the only concentration camp to be in operation for the entirety of the Third Reich.

Thumbs down: I will miss you, Lindau, you look so pretty. =(

Thumbs up: Saving $120, BAM.

Thumbs down: Still so much planning! So much to do / buy / research!

Thumbs up: I'M GOING BACK TO EUROPE, SUCKAS!!!!

Trendsetting: The Year In Review

Okay, can I be real with you guys for a minute? I want to be a trendsetter. I don't mean a "trendsetter" in the way that Jennifer Aniston and "the Rachel" were trendsetters in the mid-nineties. I mean I want trendsetting in and of itself to become a viable career option, and I would like to get in on it.

I  have my suspicions that this is already happening in some sort of (figuratively) underground boardroom, and that there is a cabal of random people who just sit down at the beginning of the year and decide what our culture is going to collectively obsess over for the next 365 days (or, in the case of this particular year, 366 days). As absolutely insane as that theory is, I think it's the most likely of all the possibilities. How else can one explain the trends that characterized 2012?

In my quest to become a part of this elite, presumably cracked-out group of visionaries, I would like to prove my worth by recapping the trends of 2012 and then, in my next post (if I remember and/or feel like it), offering my own suggestions for 2013. Feel free to get in on this with me. Together we can build a better future--or at least a more amusingly scattershot one.


1. Cupcakes

Oh, the Cupcakes. This isn't really so much a new development as it is the final stage of a years-long pop culture takeover. The Cupcakes have their own reality shows. The Cupcakes have cutesy storefront bakeries in bourgeois city neighborhoods. The Cupcakes have their own cookbooks. For the love of Jesus, the Cupcakes even have their own Cupcake ATM. (Full disclosure: I visited it and spent $4 on one cupcake.)

The Cupcakes have seamlessly integrated themselves into every dietary lifestyle. Vegan? No problem, here's a 450-calorie cupcake for you! Gluten-free? The Cupcakes LOVE gluten-free! I haven't got any word firsthand on the situation for diabetics, and logic tells me it probably ain't so great, but if you look at the Cupcakes' track record you realize there's no way in hell they're going to miss out on an entire demographic, so there's probably also a diabetes-friendly cupcake bakery out there.

Can't nobody stop the cupcakes. Not even...

2. Doctor Who

Okay, maybe it's just because I started watching Doctor Who this year so it starting showing up on my own personal trends radar, but I'm not entirely sure that's the case. For one thing, it's the first BBC show to air simultaneously in the US and the UK, which is indicative, I think, of the level of fan-obsession over here. Plus there was that Entertainment Weekly cover story (which I made the mistake of reading before I was all caught up--a simple "spoiler alert" might've been nice, EW). And then Matt Smith and Karen Gillan attended the US seventh season premiere in a Delorean, and everyone was like "TIME TRAVEL GEEKERY!" and I was like, "I'm embarrassed for everyone involved in this right now. Also, wrong time travel fandom."

But long story short, Doctor Who. It came, it saw, it conquered, although possibly not in that order. Wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey and all that.

But even Time Lords can't one-up Maggie Smith and...

3. Downton Abbey

Holy crap, Downton Abbey. I am going to give you a list of people with whom I have discussed Downton Abbey in-depth. See if you can guess which one is untrue:

a.) My roommates
b.) My sorority sisters
c.) Girls rushing my sorority
c.) Members of my a cappella group
d.) My (male) thesis advisor
e.) My mother

GOTCHA! It was a trick question, because I have had in-depth conversations about Downton Abbey with all of these people! I have even had legitimate Downton Abbey viewing parties (featuring tea, scones, and cheese straws) with some of these people! And I swear to you that this is not just me. I read an entire New York Times article about Americans holding Downton events where people have sit-down fancy dinners in period dress. (The juxtaposition of wearing Edwardian clothing while watching television, possibly the same set on which one DVR'd Jersey Shore just days before, apparently has done nothing to deter anyone.)

Bookstores reported spikes in the sales of early twentieth-centuiry historical non-fiction and in period fiction, e.g. Jane Austen. (The fact that Jane Austen died almost one hundred years before Downton's action begins has apparently not deterred anyone, either. "It's old! It's British! There are stuffy society types falling in love! SAME DAMN THING!" says everyone in America.) My public library had a Downton Abbey-themed shelf that practically smacked you in the face on the way in the door. In the interest of full disclosure, I did borrow a book from said shelf: Governess: The Life and Times of the Real Jane Eyres, by Ruth Brandon. Again, it was all about a time period fifty years before the Edwardian era, but still! Brits! Class division! History! Apparently, according to America, there are four stages of British history:

1. Stonehenge-builders (prehistory-middle ages)
2. Monty Python-esque villagers wallowing in mud (middle ages-Renaissance)
3. Uppity snobs who like taxing tea, etc. (eighteenth century - post-WWII)
4. THE BEATLES! Also, still sort of uppity. (1960s-present day)

Speaking of the Beatles, let's draw some comparisons to...

4. One Direction

Or, rather, let's not. I know a lot of people were calling this "the second British invasion." Presumably these people didn't realize that the second British invasion already happened in the eighties. Then again, the majority of One Direction's fanbase probably didn't come of age until the next century--nay, the next millenium--so I suppose you really can't blame them. In fact, kudos to them for knowing enough to try to draw the parallel in the first place. (See, I'm not always mean and bitter!)

I won't lie to you, I own Up All Night and have listened to it in its entirety. I know all the words to "What Makes You Beautiful" and "One Thing." I also know every single boy band harmony in both of these songs. They're catchy, I get it. If you think about it, it's basically five Justin Biebers, but with accents, which is why I try not to think about it.

But seriously. They were at the Olympics. Nothing says "Enjoy your place in the zeitgeist" like performing at the Olympics. Speaking of which...

5. Gabby Douglas and the Olympics

I know, it sounds sort of like she started an all-girl pop group, right? It has a way better ring to it than "Gabby Douglas, her hair, and the Olympics," which is what everyone made it out to be. I mean, really, people. Gabby Douglas just won an Olympic gold medal and became the first African-American all-around individual Olympic champion, and we're gonna talk about her hair? Seriously. Two questions, America:

1. What did your hair look like when you were sixteen? I want prom photos.
2. What did you do in your teens that even comes close to winning the freaking Olympics? That's what I thought.

Gabby Douglas, you rock on into 2013. Gabby Douglas's hairstyle, your moment is long over. It should never have been a moment to begin with.

After all that nonsensical hullabaloo, the  Olympic Games themselves were kind of playing second fiddle. Except that everyone enjoyed comparing them unfavorably to the Beijing Olympics. Go easy on the Brits, mmkay, guys? Everyone knows they're uppity and were probably too busy unfairly taxing luxury goods and/or wallowing in mud somewhere to really put in the effort. They built Stonehenge at least. Give them some credit.

No doubt about it, summer belonged to the Olympics. Except, wait, what's this? I think we've found a challenger in...

6. Frozen yogurt

Hey, America! Remember how you all love to bitch about college dining hall food?! Let's take the best part of a college dining hall, slap it into a strip mall, and then charge you even more exorbitantly than a college meal plan would! Sound good?

Seriously, though, I went through the first twenty-two years of my life without it ever occurring to me to go out for frozen yogurt. Ice cream, yes. Frozen yogurt, not so much. And then within a six-month span, no fewer than five frozen yogurt places opened up within a fifteen-minute drive of my house. Let me give you some perspective here by listing things that are not within fifteen minutes of my house:

• A hospital
• A bus station terminal
• An airport
• A taxi stand
• A beach
• An amusement park
• Any government building (that is not a post office)
• A reputable bar/club
• My dentist, my optometrist, and my dermatologist

There is a Starbucks, but only just barely. Marvel at the ubiquity of the Frozen Yogurt Shop. MARVEL, DAMMIT!

7. Painting one nail a different color than the rest
Fun fact: this trend apparently started as a way to identify femme lesbians, but then of course mainstream culture got a hold of it and totally divested it of any sort of meaning beyond "I like hot pink nail polish, but I also like acid green nail polish!"

I've seen maybe one or two people wear it well. Everyone else looks like they forgot midway through their manicures which color they were using. And that, my friends, is all I have to say on that score.

8. Every iteration of "Call Me Maybe"
And with that total lack of segue, let's talk about "Call Me Maybe." I think the lack of segue here is appropriate, personally, seeing as "Call Me Maybe" really did just come out of nowhere. It's not as if America was sitting around in the spring of 2012 going, "You know what the world is missing? A really twee song with some violins and a dance beat. Someone should get on that." Carly Rae Jepsen to the rescue!

What separated "Call Me Maybe" from every other ostensibly-much-reviled-yet-universally-known-and-sort-of-guiltily-enjoyed hit single this year, however, was the fact that it became such a youtube cover sensation. Basically if you were in a group with more than four other people and one of you had some sort of recording device, you were making a video of yourself singing along to this song. And that is the sort of thing that earned "Call Me Maybe" a spot on this list. I bet it was thinking it was all special and unique, too, until...

9. "Gangnam Style"
It has an SNL skit (where the punchline is literally just a recording of the song. There is no other overarching joke. "Gangnam Style" is it. Also, 0:55-0:57 pretty much sums up what happened when I introduced this phenomenon to my mother). It is the most-liked video on youtube. It has med-school parodies. It has a BILL NYE THE SCIENCE GUY PARODY. You will never escape this song. It will be like the Macarena--at parties twenty years from now, your drunk, nostalgic friends will be shouting "AAYYYYYYYY, SEXY LAAAADYYYYYY" and doing this and just generally looking like they've been possessed.

Speaking of being possessed...

10. Paranormal"reality" shows
Guys. Guys. Guys. No, shut up! Did you hear that? It was like a bang, or maybe a boom, or like, I don't know, footsteps. Naw, dude, seriously! I totally heard it! Since houses never settle, and wild animals never roam around abandoned buildings, and vagrants never sneak in, and the wind never blows things over, and there aren't like three of us wandering around in an unfamiliar setting in total darkness, it MUST BE A GHOST! It's the only explanation that makes any sense! Quick, call in the Long Island medium or those people from Dead Files, because we're only a demonic pig sighting and a movie deal away from the next Amityville Horror!

Ugh. Let's talk about hedgehogs.

11. Hedgehogs
These adorable little bastards took over the internet. I mean, you still have videos and pictures and gifs of cats and dogs doing cute stuff, but hedgehogs just came out of nowhere and were like, "Hey, world, we're pretty cute, too." I mean, they have their own category on Buzzfeed. Hedgehogs! Who knew! I mean, come on, how does this not make you go "awwwwww"?

Hedgehogs might melt your heart, but you know what will eat your brains?

12. Zombies
So in right now. I think they might be stealing the Murderous Supernatural Beings Pop Culture Juggernaut Award from vampires, which, let's face it, have had their day. Had I been writing this last year (or the year before that, or the year before THAT), it would have been all about Twilight, Vampire Diaries, True Blood, etc., etc. This year everyone is crazy for The Walking Dead. Given that there's a zombie rom-com coming out in February, it looks like our collective zombie obsession is going to continue into 2013. Everyone get your battle axes (or whatever it is you use to kill zombies, I'm not really up on my zombie lore) ready. Or you could just visit the CDC's web page on zombie apocalypse preparedness. Your call.

You know what confuses me as much as zombie imposters confuse real zombies?

13. Mustaches
I don't understand this. At all. It used to be that mustaches, when they acknowledged at all, were derided as creepy-looking or tool-y. Now suddenly mustaches are the "in" thing--not necessarily as legitimate facial hair, but as a design motif. In my shopping adventures, I have seen mustaches emblazoned on notebooks, mugs, and t-shirts. The phrase "I mustache you a question" pops unbidden into my head far more frequently than I would like. I thought this trend was so stupid, but it's become so common and ingrained in popular culture that I've started to be like, "Oh, that's a cute mustache t-shirt" instead of "WHY IS THERE A MUSTACHE T-SHIRT?!" Of course, stuff like this might have helped. I suppose there's only one thing to do in a situation like this...

14. "Keep Calm and Carry On"
 Or keep calm and dance on, keep calm and wait for iPhone 5 (ugh, don't even get me started), keep calm and edit copy,  keep calm and add butter, keep calm and talk to Mr. Feeny or, one of my personal favorites, keep calm and carry on, my wayward son. If you want to talk about ubiquity (a word I have used more in this blog post than I did in the entirety of 2012, thank you very much), here you go. "Keep Calm and Carry On" and its various variations (some of which are infinitely more clever than others) are everywhere. On the off-chance that you do not believe me, I will prove it by providing you with a "Keep Calm and Verb-Blankety-Blank" for every single item on this list. (This will also prove how spot-on all my other list items were. Grand finale time!)

I did not make up any of these myself (despite the existence of a "Keep Calm and Carry On" automatic phrase generator). These were all culled from the tangled mess that is Google Image Search. You are welcome, friends.

1. Keep Calm and Have a Cupcake. Or bake them, whatever.
2. Keep Calm, I'm the Doctor (I have this on a magnet. Also, there a million hilarious Doctor Who "Keep Calm"s, my favorite being "Keep Calm and Basically, Run.")
3. Keep Calm and Watch Downtown Abbey
4. Keep Calm and Love One Direction. Guys, there is an entire tumblr for this. I can't even. Just...why.
5. Keep Calm, It's Only the Olympics
6. Keep Calm and Eat Frozen Yogurt
7. Keep Calm and Get a Manicure
8. Keep Calm and Call Me Maybe
9. Keep Calm and Gangnam Style (It's a verb now? Has it always been a verb?)
10. Keep Calm and Hunt Ghosts
11. Keep Calm, Be a Hedgehog
12. Keep Calm and Carry On Run, Zombies Are Coming!
13. Keep Calm and Grow a Mustache
14. Keep Calm and Stop Remaking This F---ing Poster Already

Fare thee well, dear 2012. It's been real.

Happy (Vegetarian) Thanksgiving

Disclaimer: I have fortunately never experienced anything like the following at my family Thanksgivings, which are always fun and delicious and completely free of any diet-related nagging. This post is based solely on conversations I've had with random people who seem to have a really personal stake in what I eat for lunch on the fourth Thursday of November. That said: okay, carry on.

Hello, friends!

In this topsy-turvy modern world, Thanksgiving isn't just what it used to be. It used to be a day for football, eating some good old home-cookin', and relaxing--unless you were a woman or an Indian, of course; then it was a day for doubling your normal workload around the house and being casually intimidated by your supposed allies. Those sure were the days!

The point is that some people are just intent on overturning Thanksgiving, of robbing it of all that is good and pure and holy and tastes like turkey. We have a word for these people. They're called vegetarians.

In the interest of political correctness, we cannot simply throw these people out into the snow on this, the most gluttonous holiday of all! So I've drafted a handy guide for getting through Thanksgiving when you're faced with--horror of all horrors!--a vegetarian.

1. Have a defensive speech prepared.
It doesn't matter if the vegetarian in your family has made no comment on the fact that you're all about to sit down and eat turkey. She's probably thinking judgmental thoughts anyway, and Thanksgiving is no time for judgmental thoughts. What if the Pilgrims had been judgmental about the Indians? Then the next 400 years of American history would have been fraught with tension and racism! Imagine the consequences!

To combat the holier-than-thou thoughts your vegetarian is most likely entertaining, you should have a lecture prepared. (The longer, more convoluted, and less informed, the better!) Some talking points include:

• Eating turkey is tradition, and tradition is important!
• Turkeys are delicious! And they're stupid! It's totally okay to eat stupid things, I'm pretty sure it says that in the Bible somewhere.
• What if vegetables have feelings, too, HMMMM?
• Just eat the dark meat, it barely counts.
• The turkey's already dead and cooked and you are being selfish. What about all the kids who are poor and don't get any turkey today? Think of the children, you godless heathen!

2. Be sneaky.
It's THANKSGIVING, for crying out loud. If not everyone eats the turkey, the world might implode, because the entire holiday was built on turkey and turkey alone. It was in no way the result of a turkey lobby or something. (You might also gloss over the fact that the Pilgrims did not eat turkey and instead partook of such delicacies as deer and eels.)

At any rate, for the good of humanity and for the sake of delicious food everywhere, you might need to get a little bit sneaky with your vegetarian's meal. Tell 'em it's Tofurkey--it just tastes so real, they won't even be able to tell the difference! (Vegetarians love talking about how "real" their fake meat products taste, so they will probably eat this one up--no pun intended.)

Also, mashed potatoes probably became a Thanksgiving staple for the sole purpose of tricking vegetarians into eating meat. Mix up a little gravy in there! Hide some white meat in there like it's a baby Jesus doll on Mardi Gras and the potatoes are your King's Cake!

3. Have a back-up plan.
Maybe you're really bad at stealth. Maybe your vegetarian was just too quick for you. (They're wily bastards, let me tell you.) Whatever the reason, your vegetarian definitely, DEFINITELY will not be eating any turkey at this family gathering. What's a host to do?


Obviously, it would be rude to let your guest go hungry, even if she is determined to UTTERLY RUIN everyone else's holiday by politely refusing to partake in the MOST DELICIOUS PART. So you should probably have some vegetarian-friendly food on hand, just in case. I like to supply my vegetarian guests with things like limp lettuce and maybe a paper napkin (for a filling fiber-rich dish!). Just make sure it tastes awful and can be found in a hamster cage, and I promise you they will gobble it up!

And a good thing, too, given how rare it is to find vegetarian-friendly dishes like potatoes, sweet potatoes, carrots, peas, cornbread, parsnips, dinner rolls, squash, cranberry sauce, corn, asparagus, green bean casserole, pumpkin pie, apple crisp, or even salad on the average American's Thanksgiving table. What do they think this is, Canadian Thanksgiving?

4. Make sure you get your two cents in.
Vegetarians--so chatty. "No thank you, I don't eat turkey." BLECH. Make sure your voice is heard, too! Pre-meal grace is a prime opportunity for having your say. A sample script:

YOU: This year, I am grateful for this bountiful dinner, ESPECIALLY (look pointedly at vegetarian) this DELICIOUS TURKEY.

They'll get the message. Oh, they'll get it, all right.

5. Just shut up and eat.
Last resort, obviously, but in the event that all of these efforts fail and your vegetarian is still vegetarian by the end of the meal, just sit back, shut up, and enjoy a fantastic dinner with your loved ones. I mean, aside from the turkey (OBVIOUSLY) isn't that what Thanksgiving is all about?


Good luck, friend, and Happy Thanksgiving!

More Brief Sketches of Life at the MB

More haikus about my thrilling life as a supermarket cashier. (Read part one here.)

I. Ode to Customers Who are Way Too Honest
When asked, "How are you?"
Just lie and say, "Doing fine"
Like everyone else.

II. Ode to Customers Who Get Worked Up Over Nothing
The world will not end
If your chips aren't double-bagged.
Just some perspective.

III. Ode to that Stupid "Must Be Free!" Joke
Har-har-dee-har-har
Never heard that one before!
Sir, you are the first.

IV. Ode to Customers Who Miss the Point
I don't think food stamps
Are really meant to cover
Eighteen packs of gum.

V. Ode to the Store Music
Soft rock's killing me.
Never thought I'd say this, but:
Can't wait for Christmas.

VI. Ode to People Who Complain About the Temperature
Why yes, it is cold.
Been standing here for hours,
So I noticed, too.