auf wiedersehen

So we left lech on the most beautiful day we had had in four weeks, and drove to the Munich airport where we were supposed to spend the night. But it was so depressing, I looked at thomas and said basically get us out of here. Love this about TW....got us on a night flight, pay 500 Euros for 11 minutes of being in the room, and off we go. Arrive at midnight..so so happy, to wake up here. The hotel is an old palace on the Bosphorus.
All Istanbul updates however will have to be done by my sidekick and competitor in Blogging, Frederick...he has all the pictures.
We fly to Dalaman now, where one of the crew pics us up, drives us half an hour to boat.
xoxo

Last night: yoga, and vino

Thomas and I hired the yoga teacher at the new fancy hotel owned by the richest man in Russia, and treated K and her American guest to a session. Lordy, it was funny. The teacher suggested we exercise outside because it was so beautiful; and it was spectacular. K shows up in large dark sunglasses looking like a South American dictator's wife, (Thomas keeps saying VIVA LA REVOLUTION!) and does not take them off during the yoga. She is also apparently against any actual form of movement..she is looking for a breathing class, or perhaps a sort of group nap if you will. But we ignore her protestations at being in public for yoga, and we start...I have told the teacher before that a woman is coming who really needs some sleep, so heavy on the Savasana.(aka corpse pose aka lying down) Not heavy enough for our girl. After a few rounds of sun salutations-pretty standard yoga routine, K calls it to a halt in her clipped, British-accented English: Excuse me? why does this have to be so fast?! (we are going with the breath...inhale step forward, exhale, step back...) the teacher is bit confused by the question.
fast? Perhaps the real question K was asking is why do we have to stand up at all? And all of this is making my heart go faster, and I am sorry, but isn't yoga supposed to be relaxing? Patient American friend is a whiz at yoga, and stays in her pretzle position until all this is sorted out. Lazy American friend (me) takes the opportunity to lie down. I mean why bother standing if we are not sure of the direction, philosophically speaking of the class? you know?
Hero Thomas however is very strict with K and is determined she take her medicine. From the downward dog position he yells at her in German (always better for barking) It is to WARM UP!! that is why we are doing this!
Yoga teacher wants to be accommodating, I mean this is a Mrs. S of the famous hotel, but how to achieve exercise without the heart beating a tad faster, at least at the beginning is daunting.
Thomas yells at her to chop chop and we go again, but even more slowly. But problem child rears her troublesome head again....she gets up and goes to the water and starts handing out bottles. Thomas is shaking his upside down head: Bloody hell, can a Schneider stop serving people for 5 minutes???!! we do not need water, or a gin and tonic or anything! just for an hour.
Oh sorry she says, it is just that I was so hot...
Um says the teacher..yes, well, technically we are here to warm up..and water, well cools one down, and there will be time for water later....
Fine.
Back we go: inhale, step forward, exhale good, very good..oh this is a strong class (clearly she learned in her how-to-teach-rich-people yoga class that compliments get people through the darkest hours.)
And then a long long lie down. I had written a testy sms to K before, asking if she was coming to yoga, or would she be "making love to some bloody chickens?' and to keep in mind " I did not fly 6 000 miles because I was hungry." K tells me that during the entire class, all she could think of was how, exactly, one could do that. I mean how would one even kiss a chicken? Do they have lips? absolutely no inner zen whatsoever.
alas.
Later at dinner her friend hears this story and says, Oh don't you know? she gets in a fight with every yoga teacher.
So we have a lovely, kind of sad dinner with the French/American couple..we drink some unusual champagne, some special Chablis and some 1979 Chave hermitage. And this is an experience...not at all like drinking regular wine. Normally these discussion bore me to death, but this was something else...it is so different tasting that you drink it really really slowly-like it is telling a story or something, or it is not wine at all but a strange nectar. One would not want to drink it every night, but it has the startling effect of silencing the swill-er in you. It slows time down, makes you pay attention. We were lucky to have shared it with them. The husband is really modest and serious and clearly ob-sessed with keeping perfection going. We discussed California and Napa and the story is basically that the climate and the soil there are perfection. He told of taking some Napa Valley soil to his lab and they called him to say it was so absolutely perfect for grape growing, that it should be bottled. He says with no hyperbole that some in CA have managed to create an actual perfect bottle of wine. Perfection has been achieved. And here comes the but. But, that does not mean it is necessarily better...just perfect.
Now I have a lot to ask on this one.....but it is late and Thomas and F are antsy. So I do not have the answer to this conundrum.
But go and drink some Chave...16 generations of this constant love and attention and passion and genius...got to have lead to something tasty.

photos

These were taken three years ago, but it is the exact same picnic spot where we were yesterday.

Picnic

K had been up with some new guests, as well as the French, as well as the Austrian winemaker who had been just passing through, until 2 am; so naturally the next day she organized a picnic for 40.
Thomas, as those who love him know, has a strong instinct to protect the vulnerable, the duckling who seems to be paddling but not quite keeping up. So his sights are set squarely on K. He is this close to having her kidnapped and sent to a zen retreat for a year or two.
We sent Frederick with the group into the wilderness, and took the long way over the mountain to the picnic. It took about 2.5 hours, (900 calories according to Thomas' special watch) which is not long for lech standards. But there has been a cumulative effect of all this hiking, and we both announced to each other and no one in particular, that it was time to stop. It is time to lie on our backs while someone dribbles chocolate mousse into our mouths. It is time to go sailing.

But we arrive in a place that is simply a joke it is so picturesque: little hut, grazing cows, bubbling river, and turquoise swimming hole at the end. We jump in because cold water does wonders for legs that never ever want to walk up hill again.
This is the spread: sausages followed by sausages. I am not kidding. Little salamis that I briefly thought we were supposed to roast, (G, in his most five star Austrian hotel owner way, gently pointed out that one does not roast a salami. ) then bigger ones...bratwurst, weiss wurst..all of them,,which we put on sticks and cook. (warm? hell if I know) Of course I attempt this with a tiny little branch...again, the error of my ways is pointed out by someone....um, San Francisco? that is not going to work. The American wife of the 15th generation wine maker says to me, yea well just wait til it comes time to make smores! we will crush them. Also the sight of her husband with his vuarnets (ok maybe he didn't actually wear those, but it is funny) to protect his face from the smoke, and this slightly dissatisfied, unsure, skeptical look that only a 15th generation French winemaker can make, is killing me. If only I had a picture.
K had made potato salad, bread, blah...at this point I am shoving anything in. Then a beer cooled in the river, then collapse on blanket listening to all these wonderful Austrians talking really fast and my brain is having so much fun trying to keep up. The accent is difficult to dissect, especially when they speak quickly- it feels like being pulled along behind the car. But this particular accent is the voice of the mountains to me, and I bathe in it.

We leave before the rain comes, get on a little local bus, and head back through the valley back to the village. K then goes home and prepares dinner for another 10. Thomas and I go out to dinner because we cannot watch this. She says, oh we are brining the chicken for Tuesday!

Thomas is sure she will be soon be seen in nothing but her apron, her protective onion glasses, and a gun running through town killing all tourists.

Squab (pigeon) and rabbit

The French have arrived. Friends of the Schneiders....American wife, lovely, and according to K a better cook than she is...and her serious French husband whose family has been making wine since the 15th century. (Chave winery in case anyone wants to look it up). Needless to say, they come prepared. After driving seven hours with two small children, the first thing this woman wants to do is get into K's kitchen. When I walk in she is gutting little, lets call them pigeons, blood everywhere, heads on. She seems happy about this. Also on the stove, for the next night's dinner is rabbit. Thomas mumbles "what ever happened to nouvelle cuisine..."
We were in Zurich, so we missed the squab fest, but last night had fennel and mushroom salad (apparently there is a male and a female version of fennel. This woman asks K to please hand her the female and even crazier, K seems to know what this means). As a hostess gift, she has brought glasses to wear while chopping onions and K is wearing them as I arrive. It is all so insane to me. There is of course wine, do not ask me to describe. It was good. His family is considered one of the very best winemakers in all of France...so you can imagine he doesn't crack a lot of jokes....
Tomorrow there is some picnic with a huge group, Thomas and I will hike there and gorge and swill. It is coming to a close, this Lech summer. I cannot say it was my favorite-still liked it, but the weather was tough and there were so many people in town, it was almost too much. Anyway, a few more days and then a night in Munich, and then Istanbul. Back to sunburnt Dutch captain and no exercise whatsoever.

lech photos

Clockwise from the top:
Frederick on our terrace. Thomas asleep after sauna, Thomas with a Gormley statue, cow, adorable Swiss kid in the building, mountains


You might notice not a lot of sunny pictures...when the sun did come out, I never thought to take a picture...but then again the Lech vacation is not for the faint of heart. We have been walking so much, I have now lost any appetite. No kidding...I told Thomas this on our latest walk, and he said Oh yes that is because your body thinks if you are going to keep walking up hills like this it had better shed a few pounds. That and you are not eating enough carbs. Meat is harder to turn to sugar and that is why you are dizzy. This is the man I married. Fear not bloggers, I am not a thin waif, yet. But if I do not get onto that floating boat restaurant in Turkey soon, I might.
Frederick is loving life...going to the Schneider's house every day the first week with four other boys: three from Germany and one cousin of Luis'. They were quite a group. F told me "Luis has every thing a kid could want: his own soccer field (a mini one behind the house), and ipod touch, and the biggest bed i have ever seen."
They hiked, played soccer, went to the pool, had sausage roasts, swam, biked, all with the Schneider babysitter and often on their own. The freedom children have around here is bliss. I cannot tell you how grateful I am this little San Francisco kid gets to have just a taste of it. He is now in soccer camp with the local kids and a German coach. He says they taught them the "Zidane" whatever that is. Presumably not the head butt.
I have my system for the walks..music, gummi bears and absolutely no talking to anyone. Poor thomas....I have given up the standard Lech greeting to anyone they encounter..because it is just irritating. Katia and I have decided that on long hikes, a feeling of hatred inevitably crops up and will be directed usually at the husband in front of you. Bit like childbirth, that....all pain is forgotten, and the next sunny day one is looking at one's husband and saying: why don't we try for a girl? and off we go up hill again.

I am watching the sun and the markets go down...more guests come to the Schneiders tomorrow...we will try to be mellow, but one is a winemaker from Burgundy whose family has been doing this since the 15th century. Good news is he has an American wife who is a margarita fan, so of course the Schneiders thought of me...
xoxooxo