Look closely at this decorated May Pole, and instead of townspeople, merchants and animals, you see doctors, nurses and hospital beds. This is in the courtyard of the Klinikum, where we all met for our outing to Starnberger See, a lake near Munich. We bunched up into groups of 6, received a Metro ticket from Patricia and Isabel (the conference’s chief Go-To Organizers) and were off en masse to the S-bahn, via the U-bahn (the train systems) to the Starberger See, about 45 minutes or so outside of Munich. This was the place where lots of early nobles built their summer homes, and now, lots of noble scientists were going to go on a lake cruise for a few hours.
Drinks were free on the boat, so the bar was immediately enveloped in a crush as tall glasses of Munich’s finest beers were poured. I waited for a while, got a ginger ale, planted myself on the lower deck (away from the crowds upstairs in the warming sun) and wrote in my journal, while watching the scenery and talking with Patricia and Isabel, the women who keep the conference machinery well-lubricated and running.
These Bavarian-style houses dotted the shores, interspersed with thick green forests. Oktoberfest was right around the corner, the weather was warm for September, and the cold had not yet arrived to start the leaves turning colors. Everyone was in a good mood.
At the southern tip of the 13-mile long lake is the town of Seeshaupt, complete with teenagers who like to moon tourist cruise boats (click to enlarge). No, I didn’t realize this was what they were doing until later that night when I loaded up the photos into Dave’s computer and burst out laughing. I apparently have some relatives who are fond of mooning others–I wonder if they’ve also been captured on film by unsuspecting tourists.
Patricia, in the visor, is originally from America, but married a German and has lived her most of her adult life. Patricia was the main organizer in the past, but has now turned the reins over to Isabel (in the foreground). They are very interesting women, and I asked them many questions about what I had seen while in Munich. Given my fascination with the dirndl, I asked them if they had dirndls. Oh no, they said, they are very expensive. Most women do not have them. I told them I had three. Three?!? I made them all, I said, and they are in three different sizes, dependent upon when I’d gotten the fabric.
The first one I made was from fabric brought to me by my sister Susan and her husband Tom when they were on a study-abroad program when they were young marrieds. This was taken in 1988, obviously Halloween. When I made that one, I called up a return missionary from Germany who lived in our ward and asked him for translation. I remember him struggling over the word for “bias binding,” which was probably not in the missionary discussions.
The second one I made after my honeymoon in Austria with Dave. I looked, and I don’t have one of me standing up, so this will have to do. The Austrian women in Salzburg wore theirs with a scarf that they tucked in the sides of the bodice. I now wear the scarf loosely tied.
The third one I made while in Washington, DC, upon returning home from Munich in Fall 2004. I struggled and struggled with the pattern directions which were all in German. If only I’d looked in our Burda pattern books here in the States, I would have found one in English. But it was done then.
One last sight on shore: the commemorative cross for King Ludwig II. One evening, he went for a walk with his physician but later, both were found dead, floating in the water. The physician had scratches on his face, and the mystery was never solved. Every year fans of this king meet here on the anniversary of his death. Ludwig himself said: “I wish to remain an everlasting mystery to myself and to others,” and apparently he has succeeded.
We ate in the main dining pavilion, which had a ceiling painted like we were outside in a tent, and had a stage at one end. But no Bavarian tuba band showed up to serenade us. We were at a table with several people from Japan, which made for interesting dining. Items we looked at with curiousity, they happily tried. Here’s the menu in German:
This table was first, with a variety of salads, and pickled vegetables, and a big bowl of fresh green lettuce, and some other very tasty things that you will lead you to think about diets when you go home from Munich.
In between the salad and the next course were these little glasses filled with gelatin-ified chunks of meat and sausage. This was the item that most Americans passed over, but that the Japanese tried.
This was the fish course with salmon, smoked chunks of fish standing on cucumbers with tomatoes for hats, smoked fish in the center underneath the pineapple, and all decorated with citrus slices and some sort of dry white fish. The layout and the variety and the amounts were stunning. This board must have been 3 to 4 feet long by about a foot-and-a-half to two feet wide.
So at this point, we are saying Uncle Uncle Uncle!! but keep eating because this course is the amazing combo of a semmelknodel and a kartoffelknodel and roast potatoes and slow-roasted pork and amazing red cabbage kraut, but if I could have wrapped it up in tin foil to go, I would have.
Patricia and Isabel had ordered a traditional Bavarian feast for us, and the quality of the food was topnotch. We weren’t done though.
There was this–a Bavarian Cream with red currant jelly and red currant garnish. I’ve never tasted anything so creamy and amazing–perhaps it’s the German version of a Creme Brule, but more amazing. (Did I already say amazing?) The serving size and the serving spoon were both miniaturized, for good reason, because there was more.
What a repast! but we had to skip the last course of cheeses because we had to catch the train back to Munich. So, regretfully we left this amazing dinner (many thanks to Isabel and Patricia) and made it to the train with 3 minutes to spare.
We probably should have walked home to Munich to walk off this meal, but it remains a delightful memory.
Dave and I breakfast together, then he leaves and I linger over the paper and posting our travels on the blog. I do the tourist laundry thing (rinsing out underwear in the sink, rolling it up in the towels, snapping out the moisture and hanging it over hangers in the closet so the maid won’t see) and get going mid-morning. I head towards Marienplatz, the center of pedestrian Munich, or should I say, Tourist Munich, stopping at Thomas Sabo’s charm shop for an addition to my charm bracelet. They wrapped these charms in miniature round hat boxes. Charming. I walked on.
I like seeing the unusual, and in this case, two little shadow box pictures in a window bordering a small park named Marienhof Park. Just like we are so “American,” they feel so “European,” especially in their graphic arts.
Just around the corner was a long yellow building with many doorways: Dallmayr’s Food Shop. It was vast, huge, fascinating and I didn’t feel like I could take any pictures inside, but did purchase a sel de limon and curry powder, mainly because I loved the containers.
How can I resist a truck with this word on the side?
My destination was this shop: Deeply Felt, a little place that sells only felt. It was loaded with felt, and a teensy little area where the customers stood–it might have held 3 or 4, and there was one in there already. I tried to hurry as I chose 100% wool felt–a rare item in the U.S.
Down from that was this umbrella shop. My big impulse buy was an umbrella in sunny blue with scenes of Munich all around. I mentioned to the shop owner how nice it was to have such sun. Not for me, he said. I like rain.
Another sunny yellow store: the Ludwig Beck Department Store. It goes all the way to the corner, to that patterned building. I went to the New Rathaus–the townhall built in the late 1800s (versus the townhall from 1474). One source writes:
If you happen to be in Marienplatz at the right time you are in for an amazing treat. The square will fill with the sound of the carillon in the Glockenspiel. It plays twice or three times a day, at 10:30am, noon, and 5pm. As the folk music chimes ring out, doors open and brightly hued mechanical figures of enameled copper emerge and begin to dance. The Glockenspiel has two separate acts which celebrate two events from Munich’s past. The colorful dancers are doing the Schaefflertanz or Dance of the Coppers which commemorates the end of the plague in 1517. The other “act” is a miniature tournament of knights jousting. They are reenacting a famous tournament that was held for the royal weddings that took place in Marienplatz in 1568.
Dave and I remembered it from our last trip, and so made a beeline for it this time as well. I watched the Golockenspiel play, then headed for the elevator to take me up to the top. Blessings for elevators.
View from the top of the Bavarian Motor Works (BMW) Building and Olympic Park tower.
My favorite church, as seen from the tower. There were quite a few people up there with me, and I happened to ask one man how to say the German word for Excuse Me. My journal has only the phonetical pronunciation of “Fat-Sigh-On.” I complimented him on his English, and asked him where he learned it. In Germany, he explained, if you are a good student you are encouraged to travel your senior year of high school on a fully paid study abroad. He ended up in North Carolina, but his English had no trace of an accent.
I later used this example in a debate back in my classroom in California, where they had to develop an argument. Interestingly enough, more of my students thought the school system should NOT sponsor a student abroad, than should. Many of them are from small towns and perhaps have never left the area.
This is a view of the Old Town Hall (on the left with the crenelated facade), an old gate (red steepled roof next to it), and just behind that with the red roof and the green-topped tower is the Heiliggeistkirche, also known as The Church of the Holy Ghost.
Looking down into the courtyard. I ate lunch underneath one of those green umbrellas: weissewurst, or white sausage, a Bavarian specialty, most typically eaten for breakfast.
Time to go.
I signed the tethered-by-a-chain book on the way out, in the lower right corner of the verso (or left-facing) page. Notice the dog-eared corner on the upper right. I did that so I could show Dave when we came back. But when we returned later that week, the book had been replaced by a fresh clean copy.
I think it always pays to read up on a place before you go. One tourist had written about the inside of the Rathaus and had a few pictures. When I was leaving the tower, I asked the lady taking money if I could walk through the town hall. Yah, yah, she said, and indicated I should go right when leaving, instead of left to the elevator. I went down the corridor (see Friday’s post for the huge red door), and felt like a bit nervous trying to figure out which door would lead me to where I wanted to go. Down some steps, turn and wow.
That nameless tourist was right about this. The stone arches, and very gothic styling made it feel like I was inside a foreign castle of some kind. While in the war Munich was bombed, yet apparently the damage to the Rathaus was minimal (it housed the US Military Headquarters after WWII). I do believe some of it must have been reconstructed, for many of the windows have a newer date on them than the date of construction of the building.
Figures of Edison, Lincoln and Andrew Carnegie along with a depiction of Niagra Falls. The windows throughout all had early creation dates, some with rondels of old glass. Maybe they salvaged some from damaged windows and re-set them into new glass? But why so many American-themed windows in the alcove? If I read German, I might be able to tell you. But many times as visitors to another country, we see things we don’t understand and try to figure out plausible solutions and answers to our questions.
I remember going to dinner with Matthew and one of his friends to a Chinese restaurant. She took the chicken bones out of her chicken soup and lay them on the table, saying, “This is how the Chinese do this.” I had been to China, felt like I was okay-immersed in some of the day-to-day manners and I’d never seen it. I replied, “Maybe where you were, they did this.” I thought at the time how large of a county America was and how our manners and customs vary from region to region, and China was even larger still. And with a language that felt impenetrable, so I couldn’t ask enough questions nor get enough answers for all that I saw. I tried to figure out some things, but didn’t venture into the Chinese subway, fearing I’d be transported to Siberia or something. I walked a lot and had a lot of questions about what I saw, both then, and now, in Germany.
I still have no answers.
Notice the diamond-like blue and white pattern on the shield of this wooden horseman. That’s the Bavarian pattern, and was found on mugs and ribbons, and dresses, and store banners–everywhere as we were close to Oktoberfest, and everything was getting pretty dolled up for the occasion. Aside from our stars and stripes, I can’t think of many patterns that are pervasive to any particular region of America, but then we are a much newer country, with less history and tradition than these folks.
Now I feeling like I’d overstayed my welcome, plus I was getting a little bit hungry. So I went outside, and enjoyed lunch (see Menu from Munich for more details on that), and while waiting for my meal, took the following picture, looking back up at the tower.
I write my postcards to family back home, and then remember that I need to buy stamps. Add that to the list of Tourist Things To Do today. One thing for sure was that I missed the tram rides. Our side of Munich relies heavily on the trams and that’s how I had traveled before when we were here. One item was to try and find that gate that had inspired the center medallion of a quilt I made after returning from Germany last time, but it was always right there, at the end of the block of a tram stop and I thought I might never find my way.
I walked through the old gate at the end of Marienplatz, and entered the church at the corner, the Heiliggeistkirche, or Holy Ghost Church.
It had a soaring center nave, flanked by two equally high side areas (I guess that they are all the “nave.” What do I know?) I’d have to say the predominant coloration is pink cotton candy meets the Tiffany box, and they are both adorned in gilt. The church began in 1208 as a pilgrim house, but within 50 years it was being used as a hospital. The church itself was constructed in the 1320s and four hundred years later it was re-made into a baroque church, the interiors by the Asam brothers, famous in these parts for their use of lots and lots and lots of rococo flourishes and gilding. Yep. So what entranced me was the plain wooden pulpit on the side, conspicuous in its simplicity.
booths of food, floral decorations, beer, cheeses. No lebkuchen cookies like last time.
Walking on, I rounded a corner and saw this. No, it wasn’t the gate from before, but it was the exact same pattern in the center of my quilt. It felt like a mini-homecoming–something very familiar. I also found the shop where I’d bought my dirndl fabric, and bought one more meter to make a Christmas apron.
I had purchased an apple while in the Viktualien Markt and munched on that, the wandering wearing on me. It was getting late and I had a headache and was far far from the hotel. I remember reading in one account that someone believed the best was to do sightseeing was to wander until exhaustion, stop to eat, then repeat. Well, I’d done the first part well, but I still had to find the stamps, so after buying a bunch of souvenir chocolate at the Gallerie, I asked their concierge (how interesting is that?) where to go. He directed me.
I stood in a short line at the Post Office waiting for a clerk, watching the two women in front of me. One was holding a small tiny baby that couldn’t have been more than 2 or 3 weeks old and the other woman was in charge of the stroller, leaning over often to touch her friend’s baby. I heard a chime. My turn and I went to station #2.
I pointed to the addresses and luckily the man spoke enough English to help me. I paid for what I needed and then he pulled out his book of stamps, then asked me if I had any glue.
He pulled a glue stick out of his drawer, applied it to the backs of the stamps, pasted them on to my postcards, nodded, and gestured to the people behind me to come forward. So, I guess they don’t have glue on the backs of their stamps.
I retraced my steps, head still hurting, apple gone, bags getting heavy and remembered that I wanted to buy some earrings for a friend back home. I jostled for control of the turn-about earring stand with some teeny-bopper, losing, then finally choosing a pair. I wandered back to the U-bahn, grabbed the 100 bus, arrived home and fell asleep.
Dinner was at Kafer, the fancy food shop, which also had a nice restaurant on the side of the store, as well as very pricey restaurant on the second floor. We enjoyed the patio-style restaurant, obviously.
They had a deadline of closing by 8 p.m. and they were serious about that, taking down the posts, rolling up the overhead canvas and stowing the cushions as we finished our dessert of fresh raspberry tart.
After dinner we walked around the neighborhoods, got money out of an ATM, then went back to the hotel. Dave worked–writing to one of his former grad students about publishing their work, a corollary which had been discussed that day, and I did more tourist laundry, finishing out the day the way I’d started it.
See earlier post for more information.
(Take a look at that room with the tall windows on the second floor. We came back to that on Thursday for our final reception of the conference.)
Really this swirling aqua mass was inside the Pharmaceuticals Exhibit which shows a human cell model which is magnified 350, 000 times. That purple eyeball is really the nucleus. Dave explained it all to me, as the Biology class I had was also erased from my memory banks some time ago.
And I’m standing near the Golgi Bodies. I wanted to photograph the mitochondria and hang the resultant photograph in my study because they’re the energy powerhouses of the cell and I’m in desperate need of more.
Later that night we went over to the Opening Reception, tucked in the back of the Klinikum. It’s a bit odd to walk past people in wheelchairs and with casts and bandages on your way to a nice party.
Most people were there already and had found their tall glasses of Munich beer. They served us little open face sandwiches of all varieties, fruit salad, turkey and pineapple skewers and any number of warm drinks (they don’t really believe in ice here and instead chill the drinks first–which sometimes works). We decided against the water-with-gas and went for the apple juice. It’s less sweet here in Germany.
We’d decided earlier that if the refreshments were half-decent, we’d count that for dinner and just come home afterwards. That’s what we did.
Like I mentioned before, it has an all-white interior in stucco, with the exception of some side chapel pictures and a great black wooden pulpit. I’ve seen many many churches in my travels with Dave, so the churches that keep my attention are the interesting, unusual churches. This one qualifies with its yellow exterior (with black details on the towers) and the nearly all-white interior. Most of these pictures below are taken on Monday just before we headed down into the U-Bahn. We were drawn in because the sun was really shining brightly, more so than the day before.
The Residenz was the Royal Family’s residence, the place where they hung out for hundreds of years until the Allies (that was us–sad faces, please) bombed it to smithereens in a few hours one day, in order to Do What We Had To Do. The German pamphlets are very nice about this fact, and never mention the complete loss of this amazing palace. Truthfully, the stats are that 23,000 square meters of roof was reduced to 50. Much of the artwork and many of the treasures had been moved to a safe location
But don’t worry. The Nazis, in all their tidiness, photographed this place ad nauseam, so with the fragments of this palace that were left, the archived artwork and treasures, all those photographs (and I’m sure some war reparations money), they rebuilt the thing. Dave and I both agree it’s one of the most impressive royal houses we’ve seen, perhaps because it’s a highly edited collection.
Because this is a blog post, I’m going to give you the edited verion, the highlights according to Elizabeth. One is the ceiling corner of the next room (below). I have three more corners, but won’t post them, because you get the idea from just this one.
The door to the Four Horses Salon and adjoining Kaisersaal (Emperor’s Hall). Last time we were in Munich, our conference had a reception here in the Residenz with the Deputy Secretary (equivalent to our Secretary of State). The conference organizers put in to the Secretary’s office for a reception and that office chooses the place and provides the food and hor d’ouvres on their budget. We lucked out and were here.
This is the Green room section, repete with mirrors. Apparently having a plate glass mirror was a real sign of wealth in the 17 and 1800s and this room (and some of the next) showed that off. This fireplace is at the end of a cross-shaped arrangement of rooms, and while the photograph doesn’t really show this, it reflects back two galleries just like it.
Mass was being said, so we entered quietly and took a seat in the back, pulled in by the live choir singing to a full-throated organ. The rest of the mass, when there wasn’t the choral music that I love, was time for reflection on my family–after all, it was the Sabbath. I thought about Barbara, with her heart disease, and was saddened for her. I think the sadness came from the somber tones of the mass, and certainly wasn’t helped along by the scene below, taken later that day. One of the princesses of the Wittelsbach realm had lost her daughter and this was a memorial to that event.
It was interesting to get that five-year perspective, and as I sat in this soaring church, immersed in the strict choral harmonies of some ordered German composer, I thought of how Heavenly Father must view us with his perspective and wonder how often we miss the boat about what’s most important in life. Maybe, as illustrated by the memorial above, it is in relationships, keeping them going, figuring them out, loving more completely, repenting where necessary and most importantly–learning to forgive. For as I’ve gotten older, I think the whole grand plan and design rests on Christ’s shoulders and his twin gifts to us: repentence and forgiveness.
We headed to the Residenz next, Munich’s great royal house. We had wanted to go back there every since that fateful day when, as Dave so delicately put it, we had a computer malfunction and lost the photos of the previous trip. (For the record, I was the computer malfunction; still learning a new program, I erased the photos.) It was interesting to stroll around the Residenz, remembering places and sights we’d seen and enjoyed, but really hadn’t remembered because of the lost photos. “Oh, I remember this,” one of us would say, and the other would nod in agreement. Or we’d remember what was next in the tour. We decided not to get the audiophones as we’d done that before and forgotten it anyway. Such an interesting thing, this memory. Like the sea washing the beach clean every day, and our photos are the collected and saved seashells in the glass jar at home.
Look for a separate post on the Residenz at a later day.
Walking across Munich, we see Loden Frey, the store dedicated to Loden cloth and traditional wear, reflected in its neighbor.
While get off at the next stop and while we wait to cross, we see the BierBus, or Beer Bus.
The surfer would jump in, take a few passes back and forth, then dive into the froth behind them, giving the next person a chance. It was fascinating to watch and I’ll post video later. Dave later commented that it was a very efficient way to surf.
Weisswurst is a Bavarian specialty, usually served only for breakfast, for in the old days it was kept in a vat of hot water on the back of the stove and wasn’t any good past breakfast time. When we were here before, I tried to get one for lunch. Sorry, was all they said. I just can’t face this for breakfast.
The first thing the waiters will do is ask you what you’d like to drink. I think Germans come in knowing their favorite ale and blurt it out. We are dumb tourists who ask to see their menu and then figure out the cheapest thing and go for that.
Last night I told Dave to just consider it our “tip,” that is to say, that we Americans are used to tacking on 15 to 20% on each bill, which they don’t do here (usually you round up to the nearest Euro, and in nice restaurants, add 3-4% or a bit more). Our drinks are the equivalent of that 15%. We’re trying to wrap our heads around this. Really.
We also saw large cones everywhere. Think ice cream cone, but made of cardboard wrapped with colorful paper and LARGE, like 18″ tall. I finally asked, and was told they were for the schoolchildren and were filled with candies and small toys for the first day of school. School begins here September 14th, so they are for sale everywhere.
HofbrauKeller is also one of the top ten Beer Gardens of Munich, with a huge area for table under a canopy of spreading chestnuts. We didn’t see it (I’m quoting from the guidebook) but apparently they also have a children’s playground. I guess it’s so the children can guide the parents home afterwards, but Dave tells me his friend Dietmar could quaff five of those very tall glasses of beer and still function.
On our honeymoon, we were in a Bavarian eatery and had each ordered their version of the prix fixe meal: salad, entree and dessert. True to habit, Dave finished first (he was the last in a line-up of six children so learned to eat quickly). Being a new bride, I offered to give him a bite of my dessert.
He left me a bite.
So after that we get out a fork and split it. Right down the middle.
The waiter told me it would take 25 minutes for the weissewurst to be ready. I was happy about that because then I could sit and do my journal and write my postcard and not be bothered. When it finally arrived, it looked like this:
Surprise! It was very good. It had flecks of herbs throughout so it was a very mild flavor. The texture was even more velvety than the breakfast sausage served at our hotel–this was almost like a firm puree and very appealing. The next bites I took were more normal, and coupled with the pretzel, a fine lunch. I still can’t wrap my head around eating them for breakfast, though.
Dave had heard about the restaurant Kafer from a foodie friend of his, and that it was VERRRY pricey, but amazing food. The view above is not that restaurant, but instead is the bistro downstairs, at a fraction of the cost. They close precisely at 8 p.m. (this IS Germany, after all) so as not to interfere with the dinner business of the restaurant. Dave got home from his conference, did some emails at we arrived here (after a short walk from our hotel) at 7 p.m. It took a while for them to translate the menu for us (very nice people) but we were all seated and ordered by 7:10 p.m.
Kafer’s main business downstairs is an upscale grocery store: think specialty foods. Like roses crusted with sugar crystals for decoration. Like candy-coated dark chocolate dragees that are the size of your thumbnail in 15 different colors, including “stone.” Like a full menu of prepared foods, and a fruit stand and a vegetable area, fish, wine, “flesh” and bread areas, not to mention the gift shop and linens area one half-level up. A foodie’s heaven, a smaller twin to the famous Dallmayr shop near Marienplatz. (I went there too, more on that later.)
Dave’s was a vegetable strudel with a white creamy sauce, atop a bed of steamed vegetables: turnip sticks, white asparagus, broccoli and cauliflower. Light and refreshing (we shared bites of both entrees).
Dessert was a raspberry tart. Instead of a pastry crust, which I find sometime to be tough, this had a shortbread crust with a light filling, and raspberries that they’d just picked from their vines out back. . . or so it tasted. We split this, too.
Travel Story: The couple in front of us, older than us by about twenty years we figure, seemed mighty uncomfortable on the plane. She got up and down and up and down and just as we pulled into the gate, bolted for the bathroom. Upon returning, as we all stood waiting to get off, she announced out loud, that all of us sitting around her may have noticed that she was sick but don’t worry that her illness was not contagious, just something that happened to her when she flew. Okey, dokey. A little too much information, I think.
But as we toddled out after them, all of our luggage in hand, it was apparent that they were ill-equipped for the journey up to the main airport and beyond and their wheelchair hadn’t arrived. They looked lost. I felt sorry for them, but really couldn’t do anything for them. Dave and I discussed this later and decided that they thought they were 50 years old, just like we think we’re 30 sometimes. A common problem. I decided we should start making age-related adjustments, and NOW.
Okay, maybe later, just as soon as we get back from Munich.
Just for the record, London Heathrow is a big airport with too many people and too many gates. However they have nice security people who still had one of our iPhones saved after we left it in security. That was a heart-stopping moment.
I asked a shopkeeper if this was typical, to wear them around their necks. Oh yes, she replied. But first we drink the beer. Then the cookies go around the necks.
So that’s the secret.
Okay, so we decide to try and get something to eat. We think it’s time to eat, it may actually BE time to eat, but the night is falling and we’re tired, so after looking at a few different restaurants, we stop here. The travel guru Rick Steves always says to watch out for places that bring you a menu in English. And Russian, Chinese, Italian and Spanish, but we’re too tired. So we get a cranky waiter who spoke perfect English even though he kept yelling at me that he didn’t (that was when I asked him what “swabian noodles” were.) I suspect he had no clue either. Anyone? Sometime the translations are more trouble than they’re worth.
So I asked for the German menu again and they were spaetzle. So the above plate has roast pork with mushrooms. By this time we were still freaked out that we had to pay $5 for a small (about 8 oz.) bottle of water, so we just shared the Tourist Dinner (as we’ve come to call it) and sighed heavily when we remembered the manna we ate in Italy. (Really, this tasted much better than it looks. It’s hard to mess up roast pork around here. It’s practically their national dish.)
We couldn’t get out of there fast enough.