Learning to Fly

Now how cute is SHE? This tiny woman is the only thing between me and a big pile of snow landing on my head. Her name is Harumi and she is a mountain guide here in Lech, but she lives most of the year on her family farm in Northern Japan. Everyone simply everyone is talking about this incredible woman and how she skis. Gerold told us we must try to get her, and then today another Mountain guide told his class in front of us to watch her; he actually said: "I want you guys to ski like her...she is the best skier in Lech". I have never heard that in this town.
So what the hell was I doing with her? good question...totally random. When Wolfgang had to go back to his regular clients we went in to get someone for me and they said Harumi was available for two days. I make Thomas come with me the first day though because I am a little worried she will commit Hara-Kiri if she has to spend the day with the likes of me. When Katia and Gerold hear, they want to come along. I tell Gerold he is not invited...unless he comes only in his long underwear and does not use skis...I do not need her going all out. But Katia comes..so it is the four of us.

Here is the thing: I cannot even see it.....when she skis with me she is a beautiful skier: who isn't around here? but the last hour I gave her to Thomas alone and he said it was unreal. She takes him to the wild blue yonder, and steps.on.the.gas. honey. This little thing absolutely barreling through terrible, uneven, porridge like snow. He said the closest thing he can equate it to is a comet. A tiny comet shooting just above the ground. People actually stood back and gaped.

Something I didn't really know until recently: the best skiers are the downhill skiers. this might be a surprise -like what the hell-go fast, be brave, where is the skill? All of it apparently....the skill is in the control of speed. That is what we are here for people. And the fastest people make the biggest turns. So the deep powder while hard, is like riding a bicycle..once ya got it ya kind of got it...the reverse is not true apparently. Eyewitness accounts of Alberto Tomba in Lech (Frau Schneider took him in the outback!) and Bode Miller in Jackson were two examples...they just crushed the powder..like it was nothing. I wish I had seen it because although he doesn't do it very often, our Thomas can go fast....and he said he could barely keep up. (and you just know she was taking it easy on him.)

Anyway, this actually sounds like good news to me...I like a little wind in the hair but Harumi says to me she and I need to practice going slowly...and perfectly. This is what they do in Japan. When I look sad...(I want to go behind a comet!) she says "do not worry errie....first you must go slow, then you go fast." (all in baby german..her English is apparently minimal.)
She takes us to slightly exotic places, but all with this tiny Hello Kitty voice so I am not worried. She giggles at everything I say...Du bist so rustig errie!!! Du Bist so lustig...- (you are so funny) And I follow her as closely as I can. So closely in fact that she goes ahead and finds herself in a previously hidden snow pile...falls forward from her waist so her face is in the snow and her arms are out like she is prostrate before the snow God. I am so concentrated on copying her that I follow her into the pile (Katia and Thomas see this, and cleverly turn away...) but I end up in EXACTLY the same position..arms out head in snow bent at waist. My skis pop off of course..and hers stay on. She is laughing so hard at me at this point...like why the hell are you copying THAT? Tut mir reid errie!! (sorry!) and puts my skis on like i am the Empress of Japan. Katia says she is just sorry she couldn't take a picture. Best part about skiing with a little Japanese woman is she carries chocolate and at the end when I am tired she pulls out five little candy bars. I take two.

We are so curious as to how the hell she got here: she showed up in Austria without a word of German. To take the written test she has to memorize the questions AND the answers. Then she takes the practical test for mountain guide...and is so awesome in the test on the mountain..some horrible chute from hell...that the guy falls in love with her and becomes her boyfriend. I am not kidding.

Her background was in racing when she was young and the Japanese, no surprise, break down the skiing technique to its tiny parts and then practice them again and again. She shows me how they learn to get into the ready position...and it takes about five minutes. Anyway I go alone with her the next day and I follow her without question under avalanche barriers, over rocks, past chutes that one really shouldn't fall down. But I am in my new ready position and I feel kind of stable...and besides we are just giggling away....errie so rustig!

These photos were taken after she had told me we would go on a little adventure.(ein Kreinen abentur errie) not something i usually embrace..but it is so so pretty. I have never been there and it is not difficult...a little weird to get to, but what can happen when you have her along?

I told her my brother lives in Jackson Hole and she said oooooohhh errie ...so beautiful!!! she would love to go...I really must find a way to put her in my suitcase, because everyone needs to meet her.

When we part we give each other this huge embrace and I tell her I hope her next clients get sick so I can go with her again. (soo rustig errie!!!) Strangely I feel like a much worse skier after spending time with her;that I am this total hacker. But there is always hope. Ready position might eventually be learned. My left shoulder might finally stay down on the right turn.

Oh errie she says you must just enjoy. But i enjoy this...spending the day around a woman like her. It is an honor. In fact I always get a little choked up when I see someone do something so well, with so much modesty..it literally makes my eyes get watery. Anyway she is out there people...get those hips in the ready position....practice it all day. Just that. xoxxooxo

Wolfie part 2

Hallo
So much to discuss...including the second and last day with Wolfgang. Lovely sunny day, fresh snow and Tricia resplendent in lip gloss ready for her second day with Fabio as we now call him.
In fairness, I should say that Tricia's take on this was that I was "hip checking" her out of the way to get Wolfie alone on the lift. While I admit that on the T bar i did leave her to fend for herself....it was for purely a matter of safety. Also I had to get him alone to find out where he was taking us so i could talk him out of it.
Unfortunately love was in the air all around Lech before....when gerold sent me to his friend to buy new boots. I took off my old boots and Philip, perhaps the sweetest man ever to walk the earth held my foot and said oh this can't be! then sold me a new pair that feel like clouds. I loved him. I loved him so much that when he asked in a loud voice how old I was and how much i weighed I gave him the tiniest little lie of what turned out to be 10 pounds. Now this is important because when they are setting the boots, they need really to know how you ski (I always say kind-a-badly) and how much you weigh. If either of these things are off, you will lose your skis more easily. So. Wolfie takes us into deep powder and it is so beautiful and Tricia keeps saying how beautiful it is and I am singing We had joy we had fun we had seasons in the sun, but the wine...something something...and it is all gay until i hit a tiny hidden bump and my ski pops off deep deep cannot find so incredibly tiring to find and I am panicking because handsome is now climbing up to help me with, i think I have this correct, his skis between his teeth. It is so deep, every time I try to stand I sink sink in and I think maybe they should just leave me here I have had a good life. Wolfie builds somehow a platform in the snow and perhaps an igloo too and i get it on again and we ski but I am really tired from all this, and then boom it happens again, because I gave my wedding date weight because who is going to know...but of course Wolfie knows and now I am busted. He casually asks me what number my bindings are set to, and i innocently answer and he takes my skis on the slope and I think I have this right, adjusts my bindings with his tongue. But I am tiiiiireeeed. And then Tricia who had been skiing behind me, helping me everytime like the faithful friend she is, falls herself and I speed past because I really cannot help her because I see the end in sight...a restaurant and if I hurry I can be there alone with Wolfie.
Christmas was elegant and pretty as always....Frederick got a good haul, none from Santa who he just never really bought into and I never had the heart to push. Unfortunately the dinner was extra slow, and I skipped the courses with goose liver so by 11 00 I had had about 12 glasses of champagne and a red beet boullion, calories: zero, so I am ready for bed. Christmas day we ski with the children and the Sellmans and it snows, and that night we go out in the woods to Frau Schneiders restaurant after the private mass she has arranged at the tiny old church in Zug. (elmar land) Chuck sits next to Eva and is so incredibly funny that she cannot stop laughing. She orders a foie gras appetizer before a main course of duck. Impressive. My father would had called this the opposite of short hitter. Chuck has the same reaction and turns to her and says I like you! And she doesn't get it at all but thinks he is hinting for some of her food, so she laughs and shares with him.
So the kids are soo sad to be separating, but the Sellmans are coming back in the Summer. They have totally completely fallen in love.
New guide tomorrow: the elusive, famous, Yeti like character. Japanese ski guide.

Lechy-Lech

Hello people!
Arrived in good order...a few days in Munich which are wonderful AND horrible with confusing sleep and moments when I wonder why we don¨t stay home-but the Schneider bus comes to get us and things start to look up. We arrived to sunshine...and big wet kisses from Katia and Gerold...and best of all, when we got to our room, little knocks on the door and Ida and Luis are hopping around in greeting and we feel like we are home. (Katia tells us that when Gerold told him Frederick was here, he said again and again: MY Frederick?!!)He is immediately eating at the Schneider table...only for family and VIPS (I have never sat there) and a sleep over. Poor eva and claus did not lay eyes on him for the first 24 hours.
Most fun development is Tricia and Chuck Sellman who are living in Paris for the year are spending the week in Lech. they have two kids, friends of chicos-age 8 and 12 and all three of them get into the same ski class and they wander back and forth between hotels and order topfen strudel at their own table every afternoon after class. Too much.
So we go skiing. thomas hires a teacher for the Sellmans and me .....and we get this man who says he has recently gotten over an accident where he was hit on the head, has only just gotten back his ability to speak German and no English whatsoever. Patricia is concerned. Especially because we are going out of bounds and we do not have Pieps to find us in case of avalanche and when he sees something bad like a rock or a hole (!) he says it really fast in German. and they say What DOES STEIN MEAN Ellie??!!! it is beyond ridiculous because it means rock. The last run is actually scary. We are in a place that Thomas and other good skiers from the hotel say we had no business being in, without this avalanche stuff...and we kind of knew it when we were there. But to confirm our suspicions, when we get back to apres ski in the warm bosom of Frau Schneider's bar, we look at the picture Gisbert has taken of the three of us, and it is a picture of the ground. Thomas now realizes we might have been in danger with a mildly retarded teacher in the outbacks and goes to gently get rid of him and hires anew. Above is a picture of new guide Wolfgang.
Tricia literally claps her hands together in glee when she sees what looks to me like a joke.....a harlequin romance novel rendition of "Wolfgang the ski guide"..She is so enamored with him in fact that she makes a fatal error of telling him: I really like to be pushed to the edge of my ability....She simply dose not understand why I am doing my normal spiel of telling the Austrian guides that I am paranoid...afraid of the back pack I have to carry with shovel..afraid of helicopters, afraid of everything and a danger to myself and others. She keeps piping in that we are decent...but the point is one must mellow them out...lower expectations dramatically and you will have a very hard day still. But no...Now I do not have Andrew and Margaret's lung capacity..but I am pretty used to this torture, and she says she has done absolutely zero exercise for the past year in France....and at the end of the day she tells me she is totally exhausted and can go no more and then Wolfgang drops off the edge into horrible horrible thick un-skiable snow for a nice long run to the bottom of the NEXT town over...meaning we are really fucking far from Lunch. I have no sympathy however because she got us into this and tell her to enjoy the view. She just called me from her bed, saying she is paralyzed from the waist down.
I think he had fun though....he was nice enough about my skiing, but says I need to work on the mental side. the trust-your-ski-guide side. Perhaps this is because I would periodically ask him if he was so so worried.

Tomorrow last day with Wolfgang...he has other clients...but Thomas says we can go with his...and all our little shovels.

Miss you!!!!!!

Postcard from Portugal

Kind of a funny story to cheer us up after being dumped off the boat. We were at a tennis lesson with young Fauntleroy and morosely drinking a large beer. An older man, dashing kind of, walks up and says, I can't help but hear you are from America. I say something like hmm....(it is hard to be friendly off the water) but Thomas perks up and starts chatting and it seems this man is Irish living in England. So we chat and I finally say what my mother says to all Irish she meets: We are direct descendants of the Heavy weight champion of the world (in 1910 or something like that) Gentleman Jim Corbett-an Irishman. To which this man responds: do you know who he beat for the title? I say: John L. Sullivan. He says, I am Frank Sullivan-direct descendant of the vanquished. This was funny, even in my condition. Especially because he was holding the tiniest beer and I was holding something resembling a pig trough. We both saw the symmetry to this. Winner gets the big cup.
Not sure I am coming home. Too far from my boat. (Must swab.)

Das Boot

Oh people...you do not know how sad we are to be off this boat! To give you an idea...Frederick was so fragile he not only cried the day we left, but the next day as well. To get from the boat to Portugal (where we now are, nursing our wounds) took a Turkish taxi for 2.5 hours on terrible curving road at high speeds, past a HUGe car accident...tranfers from Dalaman to Istanbul, then Zurich, drive to Baar, then sleep, then wake up, drive back to air port, fly to Lisbon then drive two hours here. And it was all worth it. Four lousy days.
Perhaps I should begin at the beginning...the wehlies have done this many times but always at times we were not here. This time they changed it so we could come. Thomas was not sure if F would like it..so he signed up for only a few days. (Bad move)
We flew on Turkish air to Izmir...and are met at the airport by the captain. The captain is something out of central casting....a hunky, sunburnt Dutchman.. Born in August (we arrived on his birthday)...huge hands, tiny ankles, swears easily and convincingly, looks grumpy until the wind blows, then he looks like a little kid in front of a birthday cake. Reminded me so much of CAB that I virtually tried to hold his hand. He didn't seem to mind. I think he is used to people losing their mind over him and this boat. It is a 100 foot sailboat, a 12 million Euro number that has a retractable keel so you can get into shallow little amazing coves with Greek ruins to wander in after your swim. It is too much. Plus there is this cook on board that is so good it is crazy. Produces dishes-scallops, lamb, souffle, all in a tiny galley. He is perhaps the shyest man I have ever met, so of course I followed him around, demanding he be my friend. Thomas said I scared him.
So we get on, litle canapes of salmon and caviar and champagne and cake for the captain's birthday. Then he says (because it is late afternoon) lets go to Samos. And we go. Sails are enormous, crew is rushing around, and we haul ass outta there. It makes you want to be a pirate. God why not?! who needs land? F and thomas and I are beside ourselves....I tell the captain that this sensation of not having to do anything on a sail boat is new to me. He tells me: enjoy.
So we sail for perhaps an hour, arrive at Samos where there is a tiny white church and a tiny village and Turquoise waters and after a swim, Alex (Dorothea's husband) tells me to ask the Captain about Somali pirates. It seems he takes this from the Med to the Seychelles and he has to contend with Somalia. So he gets a bunch of guns, kicks any women crew off the ship, asks if anyone objects to perhaps shooting at some pirates, and goes. He tells us, in a tone more like a person who is dealing with the mildest of annoyances..that he sees the boat approach filled with pirates who want to kidnap him and demand a ransom, and he has put barbed wire on the sides of the boat, and they point-i am not making this up-bazookas at him...but he says: Dese Fukers dont wan to hurt de boat...I am not fraid of dese people....so we poin rifles at Dem and, they follow me for tree hours. Such a pain in the ass... Sorry, captain, I say..you had bazookas pointed at you? yea.... Told the crew if the pirates should shoot, they should "shoot and kep shooting". The owner is some importer of garden furniture (yes, people....get going...forget banking) who wants none of this..but is willing to close his eyes and have Lloyds deal with it. So by now Thomas and I have both fallen in love with him and are counting on our fingers to 12 million to see how much leverage will get us to figthing pirates while eating caviar.
Our crew is a beautiful Turkish woman who brings us food and drink any time of day; two Turkish men who help sail, and Ralph the cook. The 2 Turkish men help sail, but they also clean, serve, and perhaps most endearing of all..life guard. Mustafa takes a broom when we are anchored and swimming and wanders around the boat making sure all are above water. But it is all very casual so as not to embarrass us.
When we want, we are driven to shore by the little motor boat and go to unreal Greek ruins. It is really hot, but it is so amazing, no one cares. Then back to the heaven of the boat and our incredibly busy important lives.
The last night (for us) we go ashore with the crew..(normally they eat alone in their part of the boat.) And this was perhaps the most romantic night of all time. Lights of the town (daca) as we drink champagne on board, then go to the retaurant by the water and the captain tells us stories...like how his one child was almost born on a ship, and his wife left him very soon after that, having lost all interest in sailing. At first they split custody: two weeks each. There are side boards on the boat, so the baby (baby) is loose crawling around on the boat...with, as he explains, deck hands looking after him, then into port, again with nanny deckhands and he says it all worked perfectly until school started age 6. So damn cute. And we agree that school is such a problem. ruins everything.
We take F home early, and Dorothea, Alex and crew stay out until a respectable 3 am and in the moring we are off. But it is horrible. We get to beloved, wonderful Portugal and it is now what would have been my father's 75 birthday, and when i was a kid, he and I went out on the Bay to see boats like these when they came to SF for the Big boat series, and I order something in a restaurant and it comes, and I burst into tears. so sad. the worst end of summer camp blues ever.
Good news is, is seems to be good for the ol tennis and golf....am hitting the crap out of the ball. Must be the hunger.

Here I am!

Sorry people....where were we? Well tomorrow we fly to Turkey and sail around the Mediterranean for five days viewing ruins and having a swim. I will be without computer, so you will have to wait for details. There are apparently five crew..including a German cook and as my brother in law says, a large Turk whose job is everything. I am going to try to get him in my Christmas card.
We had such a long stay in Lech, it feels really odd to be down here at sea level. We are flirting with depression over it.
I never wrote about the party I "gave" for Katia...at her house of course. In short, I tried to find a private chef to make her an inside joke cheese soufflé and alas these do not exist there. But, we wandered in one night and standing before me was a gay, fabulous with big F friend of theirs..just moved back from America and London to...Zug! yes, Elmar's neighbor. I cannot emphasize how bizarre that is....This guy, from Zug. Apparently, he finally told his parents about being gay and they were like all farming types: pretty blasé about sex.... They see plenty of gay cows, but I will not go into details here..as this is a family blog. So he is back, and yes social life is sloooower than NYC where he says in four years he stayed home: once.
He can count the number of gay lech people on his hands. Anyway, I pounced when I saw him salting without asking katia's soup. K told me he could cook. Soufflé? I asked. Sure he said. So for a few bottles of champagne, he did it. Then I imported cointreu (sp?)from friends (Sarah and Israel) visiting from France. And avocados. Presto: first course tequilla, second course, who cares.
My chef (Gerald-not to be confused with Gerold) was a wreck at 5 p.m. when we arrived to chop avocados...so shots all around just to steady the nerves. Then Gerald and I proceeded to congratulate ourselves on handling the stress so well, while Katia's sister, (Dagmar), and Sarah and Israel did all the work. Long story short I was blotto..snorting things out of my nose...water...on people I did not really know....throwing things at Gerold's head, dipping flowers into my drink and sucking it...oh the list is long and horrible. Katia was calling me Margarite all night. Apparently. But I alone never heard. Left with husband and child at 1 30 a.m.
Good news is I learned the expression for Top form. As in ellie was...last night.
Back Sunday night tan and fat. Portugal on Monday. XO

Elmar

Went on pilgrimage to Elmar S.'s barn/family compound. (Yes, S same last name as Gerold; .he and G are second cousins.) Hard to really explain his role in Thomas' life: they met when Thomas was a teenager and Elmar not much older, so it has been a hell of a long time-30 years-and yet, only a few weeks per year. Thomas thought himself the world's greatest skier when he came here, but Elmar, quite simply,  taught him to ski. The Wehlens adore Elmar, because he has kept their sons safe, as do I even though I do not know him. I have given him these goofy looks of awe for years, and I believe he must think I am slightly off.

When they met, Elmar and his brothers had done a few too many back flips off a barn and his back was tweaked. So rather than train for ski racing, he landed the coveted but terrible role of taking the 1A class out six days a week. The difference between 1a and 1b is basically the hiking and the impatient attitude shown toward any slow pokes. Michael Wehlen did a 1b and thought that was too aggressive and he skis nicely as they say around here. My downstairs neighbor in SF has a son, grew up in Tahoe, came and did a 1B and said it was the most miserable experience of his life...And 1a people are even more uptight and competitive. So Elmar has to hike these people up through the snow at altitude carrying skis to remote spots and ski down. But the upside is they get to go out first so the best snow is for them. Every year in Lech people die in avalanches-to my knowledge no one ever did with Elmar's group and he did it for an unheard of 15 years.

I have seen this group only a few times in all these years-they leave early and go far away- but once I saw them on a regular run (piste) where they never go, they were in transit and it was early morning and I swear I almost missed them, they were that fast. it is not like you think: short wedel-ly turns; Short turns are slower, and no fun g forces-instead it is very very few enormous curving turns from top to bottom which means more time flying straight down. And it was this perfect line of 8 people one behind the other, like a ballet. It was spellbinding. We don't have this in the states: really good skiers hire guides, there isn't a ski class for them..so you never see this group at this speed.
Another time I saw them rushing through town, Thomas and Elmar with a rope. A rope? To lower them down somewhere. But I have never been nervous about Thomas skiing with him. He is soooo serious, and this is all he knows: every single bump on every single part of these mountains. He has these really dark eyes that bore into you, and when he shakes your hand, it kind of hurts.
But it seems the thing he really loves is farming...he is a dairy farmer...subsidized by the government that wants farmers around, especially in the alps, so they basically pay him to do it. In the winter he has to do it in addition to the skiing..so he is the fittest person around...farming at 4 30 am, then hiking for 6 hours, then more taking care of the cows.
Anyway, we went over to say hey.
His wife and 2 daughters were away..pity, the girls are bookends to Frederick: ages 7 and 9 so it was Elmar and the girls (the chewing on the cud kind) in the barn. His house is a beautiful not so little Austrian number smack in the middle of paradise. It is in Zug, the town over from Lech...on a river, surrounded by these mountains-they are really close like enormous green body guards to his little family. In the winter it is completely silent except for the river which I have many times confused with a freeway (so sad) and best of all, when there is a full moon on the snow, it looks like heaven-all white and light enough to read by. incredible.
Next door lives another brother (there are three brothers and a sister in exact same order as Brigham clan)..sister married Austrian ski racer and lives another town over, other brothers have been alternatively mayor, head of ski school, head of kids ski school, avalanche dynamite-er and more. But none of them wanted to do this farming. He told Thomas he really couldn't imagine doing anything else. Even though it is so hard, he can't go out to dinner..he has to milk the cows, and can't travel. Not that he wants to...never did. He says the world visits him. (true). So here he stays, manual labor, tiny little clan of people he loves, respect of his entire town; manageable stress, lots of topfenstrudel.
It is such a stark comparison to this crew of people who visited here who were richer, have way more free time, and are 10 times more miserable. I really don't know if it is the altitude, or acceptance or
what-but he should bottle it.

He toured us around, giggled at Frederick, asked him if he could ski yet, told us his daughters were into someone called Hanna Montana, said he makes them hang around the barn so they would know what he did, but does not make them work..just wants them to know it.

We are not the only ones who love him: he has a rather fancy range rover for touring his fields that some German titan of industry gave him, and of course Thomas and I will be sending so much Hanna Montana crap his daughters will be able to open a store.

I am probably attached to him because he lives the kind of life my father would have loved: farm, family all around, large pieces of meat for dinner. All you need really.

Food glorious Food

Forget every nice thing I said about the mountains..it snowed, really snowed here. Frederick was beside himself with joy. Snowball fights with the Swiss kid (adorable) who owns a holiday apartment in the building.
Today is warm and tomorrow should be warmer still.
tomorrow night we go to dinner chez Schneider. Frau Schneider herself will be there (she lives, in summer in Salzburg and Tuscany, only visiting here occasionally). So far, Katia has made us leg of veal (outstanding) cream of celery soup, beetroot soup, (amazing) creamy mushrooms and Knödel, pasta carbonara, pasta with ginger, herb salad, lamb something, Aubergine mousse, and she threatened to make rabbit.(we admitted there was absolutely no way) Every night there is a cheese course, and a tort with fruit from the tree of a fabulous friend in France(FFF). And somehow she is never, ever distracted or stressed and the kitchen is always clean. Also she once came home 2 minutes after we got there after having been on a hike with Ida and she was wearing a funky purplish leather skirt with the seams showing, a turtleneck sweater and hiking boots...put on an apron, talked to me while she was swinging around the leg of some animal, got us drinks, and made us laugh.
They do not let you, I really mean this, lift a finger...not allowed to clear a plate, pour wine, nothing but unfold your own napkin. Thomas protests and she tells him to behave himself and be a good guest.
I however have taken to it like a duck to water (I am after all Kathy Harper's niece) and now allow them to feed me whenever they want. The problem is there is absolutely no way to reciprocate: there is nothing to buy in town, and if your last name is not Schneider you will not get the right cuts of meat, or cheese or anything.
I plan to bring some gum and some nail polish remover tomorrow as hostess gift.
Thomas will perform an interpretive dance.
Laugh not. We are out of ideas on what to do for these people. You cannot mention anything without them fixing it.
Tomorrow lentils and chicken and god knows. Here is an interesting statistic. Thomas has this horrible watch that tells you how high you have climbed, heart rate, and calories burned. It is not unusual for me to burn 1000-1500 calories on a walk. And, yet my pants are all tight. Got to be water retention.

Bad news on pictures...brought wrong cable from home...will keep trying but no pictures for moment to download. Arrrrrgh,

Summer 2009

OK people...no more individual emails..they are way less efficient than Le blog, which I might point out No One seemed to miss. But here it is!!!

Greetings from the mountain top. We are in good ol faithful Lech. This year we are in an apartment higher up on the mountain so the view is quite spectacular. I will try to get some pictures of this thing. It is like a movie, watching the weather change....this summer has been low on the sunshine, so there is a lot to watch: fog, rain, wind, lightening, all this with a wood burning fireplace. not bad.
Frederick is having a time I tell ya...gets to tag along with Luis Schneider, the scion of the family that owns the Hotel Alhmof, where we stay in winter. But way more on them later.
Frederick goes to the little town kids club for tourists where they are let loose on the town for scavenger hunts, rock climbing, swimming, and various moutain-y activities.
Thomas and I hike up and down and up and down. We have developed a routine similar to the trajectory of an opera: it starts slow, and the characters look good and fresh. But from here it deteriorates quickly, to the steepest, most miserable point on the walk where one begins to loathe the person who brought her there and decide to take action. (poison comes to mind) i find a tiny infraction...fume about it..and rush up the mountain to Thomas to "share" my feelings. Last time I felt he had mentioned his (gold medal winning) ex girlfriend in a comparative way that I did not appreciate ...like he was hinting I sucked at this. It was all perfectly obvious.
Poor man. (I am anything if not predictable). He takes his cue, murmurs words of apology and hands me lemonade. And then I look up and look at my watch and see the view, and see it really hasn't been that long and I just about burst into an aria. It is so god damn beautiful. But as happy and relieved as I am, I am more chastened-really, pouting like this in front of the mountains. They are the main character in this drama....stoic, noble, endlessly patient. They listen to all our crap...all the silliness and flightiness of humans. They stay (mostly) still and listen. I know they are supposed to be dangerous; But I don't see it that way..it's the wind and the cold that kill us. If you think about it, the mountains have to endure the cold as well. They just do it better than we do.

So I get my act together and Thomas and I walk happily together to the top. Strangely, it is at the end that I often have the most energy. Sometimes we even run down the parts that are not too steep....and it is absolutely the best- the yellow of the egg as the Austrians say. It defies description... like flying but better. My legs are so tired, but they can't be contained...because they are giddy to fall spastically, joyfully downhill, down toward this beloved little town. We have been known to woop like little kids past cows and mountain goats and serious farmers..down down toward the church steeple.

And the mountain watches. And maybe cracks just a little smile.

Pictures soon!

Last Italy

Blueberry (keep in mind that the woman in the background is not pale. She was the tannest person I ever saw before him)



Vittoria photographed by chico



F in pool with Vittoria and El


Eloisa on the boat back from the beach



Thomas pretending to take picture of Eloise and me but really it is a photo of the Russians...


I thought I would be a better blogger with Eloise here because there are amusing things that happen with her around. But we have had nary a moment.
Fs first date was so romantic I actually started to panic...(where are they!?) He literally washed himself top to bottom for a half an hour and after all day in the sea he wasn't that dirty. His face was red from soccer and then his body was white from all the cream he put on and he was worried about how to switch it..to get his face more white and his body less.
Anyway he put on what he felt was his best outfit and we went out. Sun is sinking- bellinis have started..he is on a bridge that connects part of the hotel. Vittoria comes up..he sees her. We see him seeing her. He leans over the rail and says HI!!! and they actually run toward each other. El and I are transfixed. Neither of us can remember such a romantic moment in our combined love lives. They disappear, and I begin to think..what have we done?? are they kissing??! so i go to look and they are on the stairs looking at her little white nintendo..too chic, no pink for her. She eats with her family, and F with us, and afterward they sit primly watching the game- her with white purse in her lap..quiet talking..little laughing until her mother comes at half time to take cinderella away.
While I was watching..I may have been talking but very quietly I swear...a Dutchman..yells at me like I have spilled something on his head, then rubbed it in...This is a soccer game!!!! I felt like saying..very good! this is a chair! what else do you know? He is now officially called Nemy as in nemesis. He wears the new, ridiculous polo shirts with the Huge horse and rider on it..laughable. I tell El and Thomas: perfect..a huge horses ass.
The french mother killed us by having coffee with 2 blond friends. El and i were crushed. We wanted to be her blond friends! They were having a good old time..cigarettes and espresso and fast Italian.
The look by the pool is still what I would call the salamander: zero body fat, black skin, no boobs, no clothes. some are french and some are Italian but there are virtually indistinguishable..I suppose that is what they say about us.

We have taken the Brilliant step of enlisting chico as paparazzo. we give him the camera and tell him to take pictures of certain people. It was all fine until I said if he could get a close up of Blueberry I would give him a chocolate ice cream. In part horror show, part absolute comedy he goes over in exaggerated tip toe, drops to his knees like a marine crawling on his elbows then appears to our chagrin at blueberry's head. We are laughing so hard we cannot think about how to control the situation and Thomas is irritated that we have done this and poor tan man is going to get mad. But he got a pretty good shot that I have hopefully downloaded. It appears he is american, topless wife is Italian and they spend 2 months here at this hotel. At night he literally disappears he is so tan. cheshire cat like

The picture of Vittoria was taken by Chico. so it shows her little delight at being photographed by him..woman in gray is Madame the mother.

We had dinner with Dorothea's (Italian) father in law and of course he fell for El and gave her his card and said: Any cugina of Dorothea's sister in law is my cugina too! So any time you are in capri you call! I told him she was single and any ol russian would do. I also warned him she had a lot of friends so he should be careful with the invitations. He said: I donna care! 30 people I can feed!

She has fallen slightly for the concierge who is the brother of our babysitter and looks like Clark Kent. Very polite and i think on to our schemes as we waited patiently for him to get off the phone so we could ask for an envelope. The other
Concierges were wondering why we didn't think they were up to the job.

We all went to the airport together and El had to rush off to her slightly earlier flight. It was like having a rock star around then losing her. The Wehlens actually said..well maybe if we hurry we can check in and then get to her gate to say goodbye again. Hurry! so sweet.

Greetings from the Cala di Volpe where I am in the pleasant company of Eloise, and scattered Euros awaiting dinner. Here is Eloise with a few words:
Traveling with Ellie and Thomas is as you can imagine: perfect. Not a worry in the world, always a little action, perfect food, sun, drama and romance. I will let Ellie explain to you all about Fredericks future wife, the handsome sailors who they are trying to send me off with, and adventures we have had as we look at the Smerldera Coast, sipping our proseco.

Where to start. El has caused a bit of a stir here with the wait staff. She has some competition for queen around the pool. Actually only one: A French model with 2 kids who speaks Italian and English. She is your worst nightmare...we have not seen her put one calorie in her mouth and we have been watching. She smokes and drinks Bellinis and wears gray..our side is of course larger and blonder and in various tropical colors with better teeth. The thing that has brought us together is that F and the daughter, Vittoria have struck up a tiny friendship...they play together at the kids' zone and she kills us by somehow liking him...She is very sophisticated, wears no bathing suit top and asks him: where you a- go? when he leaves the pool.
Eloise and I witnessed this episode: F was finally allowed to stay up for dinner and he saw her at the dessert table and sidled up to her and said provakatively: water balloon fight? (they have these at the zone) and then went over to the cake table and said: cake fight? somehow it was funny..she smiled with delight at his back as he walked away, and we witnessed the whole thing. The mother is ravishing and wears her hair in a low chignon at night, and down in the day in her black bikini. She does not talk to us, but we of course act like Texans : our children are friends!!! lets be friends!!!
She does not, yet, appear to want to be friends.
Ok food: Lunch is a scene ..the "women who are being supported by older men category". Unbelievable. the disparity between bodies is shocking. Hers: tiny, topless in sheer top at lunch. topless in sheer top at lunch you heard me. they get good tables. believe me and tan tan tan. Rosé wine at lunch as well....His: tan tan tan old old old. Happy happy happy. But El and I cannot figure it out The bathrobes are not that fluffy at this hotel. How could it be worth it?
Eloise would like me to add the following. His: large nose, round faced, large stomach..inching towards 80.

I think the women in this group have a support group that meets at 10 by the pool.

Cocktail hour (right now) El says it is best time of day. true. Light is beautiful. The French goddess looks good. One orders a bellini..and this is what happens. Little Italian elves come with olives (whatever) tuna with mayo (can't explain ...it is reeellly good) guacamole, and mini pizzas...and chips. It is heaven. It is all that you ever needed.

Dinner: armies of waiters in black and everyone decked out to high heaven and a buffett line for the anti pasti.....Eloise and I have gone every night and every night have forgotten that people go from right to left down the enormous table..as we swim like giant salmon up stream.."scusi scusi", then finally, the light goes on OOOHHH! we are going the wrong way!! hah hah. It is fun to be American and expected to be loud and gay. And we are very loud and gay. Everything is very funny after all that tuna.

We took Eloise to show her the boats..that is the center of the scene here. Best way to show off is to buy a big boat and best of that is to buy a big racing boat and fill it to the brim with very hunky Aussies and New Zealanders in shirts with the name of your boat. We were struck dumb: by the men and the boat. They were, having likely crossed the atlantic in this thing without much comfort (need minimal weight), highly intrigued by Eloise and when she approached their Heineken hospitality tent they circled..bar here, meeting there, must come lots of white teeth and tan feet.

Eloise writing to you now: Fredericks skills as a highly skilled romancing machine are very clear at the shy age of seven...Ellie is modest....the young and beautiful Vittoria is practically chasing frederick around the Cala di Volpe, Vittoria, Frederick, and I spent part of the afternnon in the pool together... F immediately had V laughing in hysterics and then quickly decided he had had enough and was out of the pool in a flash leaving V wanting more. Fast forward to drinks by the harbor (the best time of the day) and there was the beautiful V asking again for F (he had clearly made an impression.) Ellie blew her poor sons cover telling the cool Italian V with a 10pm bedtime that unfortunately her son was in his blue pajamas but would be walking to grandparents house across the way ... V, in a move that shocked us all, took sister and babysitter to grandparents room waiting outside. F arrived. Did not stop. Waved like a pro. and sauntered inside. Such a lady killer.

Ellie again:
Have decided to outline the cast:
Wildly tan older perhaps celebrity of some kind, Italian with younger paramour with no top and horrible voice Eloise calls him the blueberry because at night his tan turns purple

Hat-shit crazy german: woman who.god how to explain??!! she wears different versions of the same thing..something you would wear to a wedding with huge flowered hat

Tomorrow we will send pictures of those two...sorry about the typos..must rush to dinner early and the soccer game. F has an actual date with V tonight..rubbed shower gel and cream all over (told me he "concentrated on areas people would see..so he did not wash his shoulders") he has finally totally realized what is happening and is awaiting me to put gel in his hair.

More Italy

An alert blogger has asked why,given how much Thomas and I love Portugal, we could jump on the band wagon and root, whole hog, for Germany. Here's the thing: First, I cannot emphasize how this first quarter goal would have warmed the heart of any soccer crazed rabbi. One guy came around the outside while somehow using telepathy to tell some other guy in the middle to put on a turbo charger and he ran as fast as any person i have ever seen. I am not exaggerating, I have never seen a person run so fast..but it also was perfectly timed..because the guy on the outside KICKED the ball way ahead of him..all timed so the turbo charged guy would reach it at exactly the right time and kick it in. I'm telling you...every one who saw it was struck dumb. Before they started screaming. Second, if I could be a portuguese, dont you think I would? they are small boned and tan and quiet and they rise to greet each of their friends when they come to the table and kiss them. The entire group. Meanwhile, my people (and I say that because I have relatives with names like Augusta Schroeder and a kid with a german passport) are loud, blond, CRACK themselves up... and don't get up when their friends come unless their friend's big blond head is blocking the television. One cannot at serious times like the European championship pose as anything other than what one is. If I offered my rooting services to the Portuguese, it would be a little like the log cabin republicans...no one would be rude to my face, but the establishment would be hoping quietly that I go away. So. Onward Deutschland. Incredible game last night: watch out for the Turks!!! They had 30 seconds to score a goal, they did, then won on penalty kicks. Also they were losing last week 2 to zero, and came back and won.
Sunday night is Italy Spain. The waiters will be distracted I think...stay tuned.

It is Saturday and the pool is getting more interesting: more boob jobs with new boobs covered in sparkly tops. Group of very stout Russians whom we will refer to simply as bachelors A-Q for Eloise's perusal. Her arrival is imminent.
F is playing in the kids' fox zone, a new development here at the hotel..babysitters with soccer field and water balloon fights. He is in heaven. I can hear his voice across the pool. Right now though the only other kid in there is an Italian girl his age who says she speaks a leeetle English.
Eloise is here! resplendent in orange and everyone staring at her. Unfortunately the Russians were only here for lunch and left back into the sunset. Sad, the pool has never been more fun -they were yelling at each other across the pool then jumping in en masse to race each other..everyone in..grandfather who is seriously over weight, hot 40 year old father..children, nannies. You cannot imagine the commotion in a pool that has seen nary a customer for these past days. In background a group of all men was toasting shots of something clear. EL missed her future with that group.

I introduced El to the waiter: this is my cousin. And what a cousin she is!!! he said. And then he said a typical Italian thing...Complimenti! Like: kudos for the hot cousin!!! I thanked him..whatever.
Off to pizza evening...return tomorrow.

Il Blogo Italiano

Ciao Tutti!
greeting from the lovely island of Sardinia..wind swept, rocky, turquoise water stretching out as far as my eye can see. Thomas tells me it is the best part of the mediterrenean in terms of cleanliness and color. they call it the Costa Smeralda.
Not bad. I have not been here since F was three months old, and have never been here this early in the season as they say. Claus and Eva have been coming since 1981, but stopped for a time because it was all becoming too much and they suspected the front desk, after taking their reservations, howled with laughter and slapped each other on the backs that another imbecile had agreed to be stuffed into such a tiny room for such a large price. But the head guy, Signore Cantatore called them and nagged them and here we are. Things look good..we are in a beautiful room with turquoise tiled floors and even a small garden of our own. It is small...kind of ship like actually, but so unusual and pretty no one cares. then of course there is the scene outside. Last few times I came it was absurd: Russian and Italian mobsters with absolutely perfect looking women in tiny amounts of clothing, and soccer players or Alberto Tomba. it was the single most grotesque display of posing I have ever seen. I don`t know if it is because it is only June, or if things have changed, but I saw something I had until now never seen at this pool: cellulite. Actual women with actual children and people of various ages and skin colors. In fact the tans have even gotten funnier. Some of the middle aged people are so tan I actually had to turn and put my hand over my mouth to suppress the laughter. Think George Hamilton, but tanner. Then think of him after being lost in the pacific on a tiny Essex whale ship for months. They look like someone dipped them by their ankles. The lips somehow look white...it is hysterical.
Don't get me wrong: there are plenty of nubile Russian girls...with their families and they are breathtaking. No makeup and bone thin and perfect.
Last night was heaven: Germany playing Portugal. We rushed through dinner and assembled in a room with giant TV and nervous Germans and civilized Portuguese. Claus likes to know what happens, but an entire game he can't really handle. So we go in with F...where upon the Germans score a goal so amazing, so beautiful I am an instant if temporary fan. F who has visited the dessert table (something out of a dream: one after the other of incredible things) gets so excited he puts the cream puff in his eye, then runs, cream on his face into the dining room past the hordes (there really are hordes) of waiters in black tie to his grandparents to announce Germany is ahead eins zu nul. Well it is now bedlam. No matter what they say, goals in general are so rare in this bloody sport that this means people pay attention..they rush in..eva with her tea, claus with red wine. People, I really cannot explain the camaraderie, the hilarity, the fun, involved with of a group of people watching a game like this. It is all sweetness and light and very funny germans. I kept slapping Claus on the back as he valiantly held onto his wine. and a man behind us..german-made absolutely hilarious color commentary .,,,the only ones who were nervous were the german teenagers there. Germany scored another goal!!! hugs, cheering, promises of children named after each other. Then: portugal comes back. It is now zwei zu eins. Then Germany scores AGAIN then portugal scores AGAIN. (keep in mind this is now almost the maximum number of goals any person under the age of 25 has witnessed in his entire life and it is all in one game) final score: Drei zu zwei. Everyone is tipsy...the Portuguese are refined and nice about it...claus is amazed that a whole world exists like this where strangers yuck it up like this in front of each other...Frederick's tennis teacher who looks realllllly like he has put on a few LBS since we last met is asleep in the middle of all this...but all the other Italians look very nervous...the Germans look good this year people....Do I hear the pitter patter of world domination?
(Thomas has just pointed out that they have already beaten Poland and Austria and France has folded on its own. Thats all I'm gonna say.)
Eloise comes tomorrow! oh Joy! think of the blogs, people! think of the price her hand will fetch on the open market! think of how I can coattail on her tan!!
think on these things....
Arrivederci

hello cruel world

Greetings from land!

JOurney is over, and as always it ends badly with a very early wake up..horrible to get up so early after sleeping so much. I had trouble sleeping because the noise of the ship was so different...they went waaaay slower and at one point it felt like the boat was going backwards....didnt manage to wake up for the docking though.
F was as sad as ever..looked like he was going to cry when we picked him up for the last time from the movie. He said it went even faster than the last trip. true.
At 7 a.m. the commodore comes on intercom to announce arrival..thanks so much blah balh but basically it is get off the ship. By 8 30 you have to be out of the room.
The last night at dinner was sad...I didnt relly say goodbye to anyone because I thought I would see them at b fast which I was too tired to attend.
Someone had an interesting idea about why people especially old people would cruise so much. HEalth care! a free hospital on board..cheaper than an old age home.
The worst part of getting to London though was we ended up in a hotel touted as the greatest thing ever that just about sent me over the edge..no kids can use the pool and no window to the outside...from the most possible air on ship, to no air at all. Plus it smelled like smoke.
F and I bolted and checked into our old hotel in Soho and things started to look up.
Today we fly to Switzerland and perhaps have gotten scammed on tickets thomas bought to the France vs Italy soccer game tomorrow.
But I wanted all bloggers to know we were safe and sound if a bit depressed after 6 days at sea with nothing but sleep and vodka and handsome men serving dinner in white tie and tails.
I know there are more stories from the last day, but we are off to the airport..(.poor thomas flew to vancouver on fathers day...meeting us tomorrow in Switzrland)
Blog will be more like once a week although Eloise is meeting us in Sardinia next week where I will be interviewing Russian oligarchs for her hand in marriage. so there will definitely be a blog from there.
The lesson however from the trip is this: crazy ideas should be considered. six days at sea..with thousands of people, very few of them in good shape, none of them sea worthy, think of how ridiculous that sounds...all the things that could go wrong..crazed criminal elements (do they have jail on board? captain have gun? what do they do with drunk or violent behavior?) people getting sick, people falling off, running out of caviar, ship sinking...the list of possible problems is endless....
Imagine the person who thought of this telling his parents..I have this great idea..take people into the middle of the Atlantic ocean! think of all the advice they would give against it.
So..the next time anyone has a ridiculous idea, I want to hear about it.
more later bloggers!
xo

Day 6 With Pictures

pictures below of many characters. Including the vodka.

I think F might have fallen for a southern family of three daughters. As I think will be a pattern in the future, I picked out a wonderful looking brunette in dark heavy rimmed glasses with a talent for foos ball. (table soccer) She looks smart and loyal, and greets him in the hall with just the right amount of enthusiasm.She is no doormat..but a solid friend. I asked about her...he thought I was talking about the southern blonds. "Mommy, she has two sisters! I can't invite just only her to play paddle tennis. !"
Sisters? what sisters? What is her name anyway?
Cannon.
Cannon? that doesn't sound very New York, She looks New York.
Her sisters names are Gray, and I can't remember.
Now I am clear on the subject...
"Musket" I offer? I kid you not...they are from the South and their names include Cannon, Gray (think civil war uniforms) and son is Walker. The third daughter is either Musket or Mint Julep.
They are damn cute. the youngest one..we'll call her little musket- has super short hair but wears a big wide head band every day. Beyond adorable. So is the mother. She greets me like an old friend. She says y'all and you want to drink with her. But as a future wife...thick glasses looks more reliable. thats all I`m gonna say.

Tonight when I took pictures with the boys I got more gossip on them and their surreal lives. Apparently they have a QM2 soccer team lead by my Turkish nemesis, whose name is Osman. They play all over the world...other ships' teams. It is rumored the Princess cruise team sucks (of course) and they are off the boat by 2, and home by 5. Osman though is so bossy that he is in charge of who gets on the team and has been known to kick people off mid game. Why does this not surprise me?
Oliver (head waiter, new best friend to me and chief flambéé-er) and I were in giggles over this. Why, I wanted to know is HE in charge of soccer too!?!? His name is now of course Bossman.

Thomas is back to red wine only. sigh. Party is over. I had one, a little tiny one on my own. Took a picture, but the magic was gone. No one is saying the obvious: tomorrow is the last day.

I was reading the little GET TO KNOW ME! sheets in the kids zone. My name is-----, I love_____, I hate_____ There was a lot of loving soccer..lots of hating mushrooms. On one I read: I love soccer, sailing, blah....I hate: ? No answer....Just a question mark. Then I read: I live in San Francisco Ca, Name: Frederick. Pretty much says it all.

At the planetarium every day they show us movies that are more or less different angles on the same theme: Every thing we have ever known and loved exists on this small, blue planet rotating around an unremarkable star. It is the same message outside the planetarium as well: We live in a lovely place. And it happens to be mostly blue. So here is how I see it: you have got to check out the blue, people. Got to see the blue.

Last night in my euphoria of thinking that we would have waves on the 10th deck, went to check on the elderly on the main dance floor...second deck. I thought there would at least be a murmur of panic. Since i have acted so badly...cutting them off soft ice cream and racing ahead of them in line, i thought I would provide some comfort: hug them, buy them vodka shots. Someone must have told them that they and their frail little bones could be tossed on the floor on this dark and stormy night. These are people for whom a broken hip means the end; but in the face of this, they are dancing. Why do they come? What are they doing out here? I used to think it had something to do with feeling safe -preplanned activities and all. But being out here is not logical. We cannot swim. not really. Matt Biondi could not get to England without a boat.
Then it occurred to me I just finished a book about the Nantucket whalers on whom the book Moby Dick was based. Some of them were known to remain at sea for 15 out of 20 years of their lives. Around cape horn and to Hawaii and back....for huge profit yes. But it is so extreme, you got to believe they just plain liked it....maybe out here it just feels good. Out here in the deep blue.


Below my peeps. Oliver and Osman and me and Gyorgiy (Hungarian waiter) who told me he wishes he could provide sunshine and birds to follow the ship for me.

Oh no. Just saw my first ship. Land cannot be far.

Feel free to comment on my Nemesis. Then tell me you could argue with this man about the seating.