Little Blue Swim Trunks

Thomas was musing the other evening about the possibility that the universe is expanding faster and faster, and is not in a pattern of expansion followed by contraction. I do not think he did this to seduce me (although lord knows I love it when he talks nerdy), but because, at 4% body fat, the idea of an ever cooling universe is depressing to him. At the time I was knee deep in bellinis and felt none of his concern. Einstein after all, maintains that the universe must be in balance (he does not offer proof, exactly; it is just the only scenario that made sense to him), and the Hubble quotient can't possibily be more than 1; (I don't know what that means). But it means AE thinks it must expand and contract equally. Stephen Hawking, by comparison, is a bit of a downer: he thinks we should not try to search for alien life because they could be hostile, and he thinks something can come out of nothing. In other words, there is a strong possibilty that no one-no higher power- lit the original match.

I bring this up because I believe I have found something close to cosmic understanding simply by looking at Chico in baby blue Vilebrequin bathing trunks- bought in bulk by his grandmother. This particular pair is a shorter style- really uncool in California:  Laird Hamilton doesn't wear short blue pants that cost 300 euros. But I made him wear them because his grandmother is so kind to shop for us, and somethimes he just needs to just suck it up. Then I took him to the beach.
The beach after lunch here is really quiet... Everyone is comatose after the famous buffet; even jolly German hockey sticks move more slowly. Anyway, after we swim together in this incredible water, F goes out to a little float and dives off while I lazily hold up scores for the dives from my lounge chair. I have a lot of power, and very little mercy. 
And while we were playing this silent game, mother and son, sand and sea, I realized just how young he still looked in those baby blue, extra short, shorts. There is nothng like the sight of knobbly little boys' knees to soften one's perspective;  but out there on a tiny white float, in the middle of a turquoise sea, those knees led me to one incontrovertible truth: It is all going to be ok.

Below is a short video of him in the shorts. see if you can still believe in a cold, empty universe after seeing it.

BIG news to report tomorrow: F lost 2 teeth... Oh and we went on the Oligarch's 300 foot yacht(!!!) words cannot describe ...it appears 20 billion dollars makes for a very nice boat budget.

Now I must collect the Germans from water skiing so we can go jogging in 97 degree heat. You see why Poland never had a fucking chance.

Looking out of F's tiny, perfect balcony

Proof of the Divine in knees

Thomas at work 

Sardinia

 Back to the wacky C d V hotel where the Ws have been coming every year since 1980. June is a quiet month here-so lots of Germans and not as many B list celebrities. Amazingly, almost nothing changes-the waiters, the guests, everything is the same.
This picture was taken after dinner during our usual walk. We are already considered total lunatics for the amount of exercise we seem to do....we are the only ones with tennis rackets, or baseball mitts, and certainly there is no one speaking Italian in the little gym.

Anyway, we take a walk after dinner wherever we are, so off we went. We were on this pier in the dark looking at a strangely flat sea (it is really windy here, so it was surreal); almost immediately, some guy with a flashlight comes up and wonders what the hell we are doing...he was polite, but confused. He could understand if we had taken our clothes off, but walking...that is kinky. This place is all about not moving. Famous blueberry..the Crazily tanned American (have not yet seen him) stays here for a full month and does nothing, and i mean nothing, but lie in the sun, eat, then sun, then eat. He makes me crazy....I almost want to ask him how he can stand it...no shopping, no sightseeing, no sailing, no jogging in the heat, nothing.

There is a name for our affliction-the English call it Jolly Hockey Sticks, a person who is always doing something, and with an irritating amount of enthusiasm. And we are even worse due to the Protestant influence.

Occasionally I see a kindred spirit: a person who is antsy for some action...Like the Russian grandfather who organized a swim meet with his huge family. Keep in mind the only other people I have seen in the pool are Wehlens and children. Russian girlfriends don't want to break a nail.
But my  most favorite memory of other restless people cracking under the ennui of suntanning,  was the year before last when the Italian soccer players were here.  Sure enough, after a few hours in the sun, they ran to the kids' tiny soccer field and starting playing in bare feet. Like children. They were playing Russia against Italy, with an Austrian skier thrown in, and I could not take my eyes off of them. Frederick was playing tennis and missed everything, but some of the kids of the people who work here ran in like it was normal. It was all I could do not to run in myself screaming: USA!!!! and if I knew how to kick a soccer ball, I would have.

By the way, below i was in a sequined top and four inch heels and white pants, and that is as casual as one can get here....All the rest of the things i brought are more uncomfortable and show more skin...I am telling you this place is exhausting. One does pine occasionally for a night in short pants.

Frederick has graduated to the single most romantic room i have ever seen for an eleven year old. It is on our floor, but a pretty good distance away from us....and it has the best view in the hotel. When you open the door, there are immediately stairs going up, like a very tiny house. Then his room, which is small, perfect for a child, with a delightful balconey (see his blog for pictures) and an enormous bed and enormous TV.

I told him, as I always do: It is downhill from here lovee. I know Mommy, I know.

On the dock before the security guy came

Photos...etc

Greetings loyalists. We are just back from a short business trip to Geneva, which was surprisingly fun. Stayed at a nice hotel with a perfect view from our room, ate Indian, ran along the lake, and generally behaved like people without a care in the world. We even came to our business meeting with the tiniest of hangovers...tres chic.  Also we were 5 minutes late (me! yes!) and our client did not turn up for another 1/2 an hour. 

We are clearly out of the German area. 

As far as I could see, there is nothing but piles of money and no stress whatsoever: the next guy we saw leaves his office by three after a day of telling soccer players the difference between a stock and a bond. 

Below are some pictures from Zurich and Geneva. Tomorrow, Sardinia with C and E where we will endure the Cala di Volpe and all those profiteroles.

PS I hope you are watching soccer! 

xxxoo

This guy I had to photograph because he would never win an election in that outfit in the US of A. Kills me these people...too cute

 Family portrait: Frederick with his beloved Italian uncle and various Wehlens...find Aunt Dorothea if you can

Thomas in front of Russian Orthodox Church

 Ellie in front of Greek consulate (Thomas could not resist) 

Ellie in front of Geneva fountain...very funny...lots of laughter from the assembled,  but Thomas said i would  not get my dessert if I did not stand there. ("you need a foreground, a focus and a background....")

Me looking toward dessert.

Writing from lounge at JFK...said goodbye to Margaret and Kate early in the morning in front of a sleepy Carlyle hotel. K was back to her old self: traveling in pyjama bottoms and flip flops, holding her blanket and sucking her mildly dirty thumb.
I asked her how she was feeling, and she said: sad, but I am coming back next year, so it's ok. F is as usual beside himself at the prospect of being holed up in an airplane for many hours (amazing to me that it never gets old for him...)
Below: Kate choosing chocolate mousse the first night: Empire State: in front of a restaurant downtown with view of Statue of you-know-who

Next stop London xxx

New York New York!

Katharine Meriwether has landed in the big city with a very large suitcase of assorted sponge bob t shirts and vintage kimonos, as well as a new hairstyle. She looks like a very small supermodel in a gray sparkled sweater (thin people need sweaters in new york summer-it is an elite group of the super thin) and linen cargo pants. To top it off, she has adopted a low pony tail with a side part. See Below

Best of all she eats like a horse. Margaret took her for dinner at 5 to a diner where she ate ravioli stuffed with cheese, jello and whipped cream. Then one hour later had her weight in pasta bolognese, and a plate full of broccoli that she ate like it was bon bons. On the streets her mouth is agape. We took her to the planetarium and she was the only kid out of hundreds who kept lifting her hands in the air to capture the planets...I am not making this up- she thought it was three d and she could hold the sun. Only trouble was, I was tired and trying to nap (I have seen this exact show many many times), and she kept gasping and oohong in my ear.

We have ridden on a wild and crazy and frankly dangerous bicycle rickshaw, seen the planet show, gone to the top of the empire state building, taken a boat tour around the statue of liberty (clearly her favorite), visited Dylans candy store, gone to lunch at the Norman Foster designed Hearst building, had a play date in central park, ridden the subway, learned how to dance, taken fat booth pictures of strangers, eaten our way down madison avenue, been kicked out of a cab, and still, still we have not scratched the surface. Woody Allen is playing DOWNSTAIRS as we speak, and I am here writing this stupid blog.

As you can see from the Chinese jacket at top, we really have reached a new level of chic. This is not to say that all has been a linear, progression: today she had a set back as was seen in her fuzzy bear slippers and pyjamas bottoms at breakfast in the hotel. Her mother and i think she bears, at these times, a resemblance to Elizabeth Taylor in some of her drunker roles, and one woman in blond bouffant and face lift did give her a glare, but no major damage was done to her psyche.

K is still not sure which is better for her: Paris or New York, but if they will let her live in the Eiffel Tower, then Paris is will be. She has also said she will trade a week with us at Le Bristol in Paris for a week on the QM2 (I told her they have a pool and a three star restaurant in the lobby). 
So sad...off we fly tomorrow, and unlike in years past, we have no joy of getting on a big ship. Just BA to London.
alas.
We will miss her little pony tail more than we can ever say.

zip zip

Today was a triumph. Went to the jungle for a jungle zip lining thing, that everyone who goes to costa rica is expected to try. Teddy was skeptical...not against it, but just Teddy about it-just like he is about swimming in the ocean at 6 am with Thomas...you can just seem him thinking "can't this wait until 7?" But the night before he said simply " I am doing it. " and he never wavered, try as I might to convince him to stay back with the women who were cooking our lunch in an effort to get their chicken and rice recipe out of them.
We get picked up and pick up others including a family of extremely skantily clad 19 year old girls with how shall I put this, s very jersey shore vibe about them. Mascara is put on liberally...the costa rican guide with very pale green eyes, seems interested in Mackenzie. I tell the boys if they ever bring home someone like that they should hide her from Tammy or me.
We go to the jungle, we get a safety demonstration that lasts five seconds...don play with the clips, lift jor legs, don swing. Any que-shons? Nana Matzo ball true to form is yelling queschons at me..like I am reinhold messner with a caribiner. My strategy becomes clear: I am going first...and that I do..first group, first person teddy who, frederick who..I am out of there. Here is the drill. You are clipped in by a young beefy Costa Rican who is clearly paid to flirt with over-the-hill gringos...darling this, honey that..one is totally into Nana Matzo Ball. "she is Hee-steriKal. " then you zip down through trees until you get to a __and this is the bad part- tree platform high, high f ing high in the air where you cling unattractively with your rear end out to the tree....waiting to go again.
First zip is fine..I think what is big deal. then Nana then Teddy..he seems happy..no problem...we carry on. Only really really scary part is this "swing" 150 feet in the air...I cannot explain it because I am in my zone...the same one that got me down Corbet's couloir...total denial with eyes closed. However, there was some drama behind me as this other super sweet 10 year old kid from bermuda..a kid who calls himself "a total wimp" is sobbing...I did not see this, because other people are not my main concern. But when I did see him, I really did fear he would pee his pants. I have never seem anyone's legs shake like that. No joke. He was terrified. Well of course this was all we needed...someone more scared than you makes you an instant hero and then teddy and i are now letting go as we swing...high fiving close to the edge of the tree stand, 100 feet up...we are into it.
Fabulous..nana is so scared, but she is euphoric...we are in the middle of a rain forest and the view is sublime.
Finally just as we are finishing, it starts to rain..hard crazy rain forest rain and we are now soaked...back for chicken and rice and coffee and Mackenzie watching ...whose mascara is now off and she seems panicky.
Teddy falls asleep in the bus on the way home..so cute. Tonight we are all dressed up for passover seder (sorry god it was late!) menu planned by teddy and the chef...thunder and lightening and something baking in the oven. xo

Nana Matzo Ball

Greetings from el jungle!

We are here with Teddy Klausner, traveler extraordinaire, and Martha, napper extraordinaire. We had small snafu in that when we arrived, there was no car waiting for us because the people thought we were coming the next day. No matter. We arrange for another driver to come in the morning for the three hour drive, and check into the best hotel in town: a Marriott with surprisingly comfortable beds and surprisingly cold pool. Unfortunately in Costa Rica, the Easter holiday is mostly a holy Thursday/good Friday celebration and to our dismay, no alcohol is served in restaurants either of those days. This is crushing to all but the children who delight at the buffet "oh it's one of THOSE things " teddy says....like I know how to work a buffet people.
So we arrive after long drive to a really nice house and lots of staff..cooks. cleaners, concierges...and run down to the beach where Thomas is pretty far out in the waves with the children and I am on my way in. We are told by Jeff another house person that there is a strong rip tide and no one should be in this section. I wave to Thomas frantically, thinking: I am not losing a cute Jewish kid on passover if I can help it. Who knows? Thomas thinks they are exaggerating, but i will allow no one but him in the water in this section...only to the right and left.
The great story of the trip is the bonding between Teddy and Nana...she told him to call her Martha...and then it turned into Nana Martha and then she said no that takes too long...all my really old, good friends call me Motz...Teddy thinks she says Matzo as in Matzo ball and this kills us...so it is Nana Matzo ball forever more..and an honor awarded only to Teddy. They have long chats about Judaism and the old testament and she tells him not to worry she will be there for his Barmitzvah...she knows all about them and fear not...Nana Matzo will arrive in a "large hat" I do not know what that means, she says it all the time, but it seems to signify a person whose presence inspires calm and confidence. Not the first things we think of with MMB, but Teddy seems to buy it.
Teddy seems to worry about two things: mosquito (Kid you not he wanted to pull out his mosquito net from Africa in the Marriott. I tried to tell him nothing lived in the Marriott but us, and we were hanging by a thread as it was, considering the alcohol policy. He settled for spraying himself constantly. The second thing he seems to worry about it is going to hell for not celebrating passover, or worse- celebrating it in a catholic church. We dragged him to Easter mass and right off the bat he looked skeptical...had to shake hands with costa rican with nine fingers and this kid's father is an infectious disease specialist, so I saw him slyly wiping his hand on his shirt afterward. I let him play with my phone and covered his head with my hand when they threw holy water around..just in case it resulted in a spontaneous conversion. Finally I let them play outside before the end ..which was good because the celebration ended with a big chanting between the priest and the congregation..where the priest yelled (I think) Jesus is the messiah..or is great, or something, and the congregation yelled in response: VIVA!!! VIVA...it was a strange combination of Hitler rally and soccer match and it could have sent Theodore over the edge. When we got home he had pulled out chocolate covered matzo crackers (bless you tammy klausner!!!) and asked me several times pointedly when we were gong to do the seder dinner. The chef has done them before, and I had told him that...but tonight for Easter in honor of Jesus we would be eating sushi. But tomorrow!
Then at the absolute height of the afternoon heat, a surf instructor shows up...he does not look entirely sober, and the waves are four feet, so I do the only sensible thing and send the kids out alone and do not partake in the lesson myself. They did pretty well..both caught some waves, much to the delight of the fat white people on the beach who pronounced them "amazing" and came home euphoric and happy to be back in the pool with the monkeys in the trees around them.
pictures soon i promise!!
Final note is the sleeping! the sun goes down and so do we....kids slept 12 hours, Nana Matzo ball 12 plus a two hour nap, and the wehlens 11 with breaks but still!!! crazy.

more Harumi...

Harumi seems to want me to stretch myself.....she asks in a really nice way if I want to take a little walk (I don't of course, but she is so cute, how can I say no) so she took my skis (she has "skins" on hers...felt things that enable her to basically walk up hill) and she asks me if I am cold or hot or hungry or thirsty and we go. At one point I was on my hands and knees with poles in one hand, crawling up rocky, slippery, something that felt very much like a bad clip from a K2 movie. Honestly if i had looked, I would frozen. She claims nothing could have happened...that I was not on the edge of a cliff, but it felt like it. At the top, (see me in the picture with the cross) one gets to write one's name in a book. (this is kind of a thrill) so I write: EBW from California, and HARUMI.
Then down we go...and we are completely alone and it is so strange and beautiful to be alone-such a rarity and I think- kind of an honor. I have a theory though that these mountain guides can sometimes get so caught up in the snow that they forget they have a flailer behind them....The drill is, she goes first and I am supposed to go exactly next to her tracks...that way the risk of avalanches is controlled (she in essence goes first so I will be safer) and we preserve snow for other people and also I can see if the terrain is rocky or weird or whatever. But sometimes I feel the need to go a slightly different way- rogue if you will. After I had done this a few times, she kind of woke up and said, um Errie...you need to go right next to mine. But she is so blissed out and blinded by her love of the fluffiness that this was almost a secondary thought to her. Me, i love the stillness. Yes it is fun to go through a field of powder....but I am not sure it is as fun as following her down a run as fast as I can maybe at the end of a day...close to crashing and close to topfen strudel.

Photos at last

From Left to Right: Harumi holding her little box with some hello kitty like symbol on it, and chocolate; me at the top of a hike; thomas a few days ago in deep snow.

More later...xoxo

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