“Because it’s Wednesday”
Two weeks ago I went through the painful process of scheduling Jeff a doctor’s appointment. I know, how wifely of me.
Today, I went through the even more painful process of attempting to reschedule it.
Spoke with receptionist, “Oh, well you will have to call back tomorrow. The ‘surgery’ is already closed today. Because it’s Wednesday.” Like, a-duh.
Oh, right. I forgot, it’s “halfday humpday.”
The end.
I’m going to keep this one short. Because it’s Wednesday.
Guten Tag. For Real.
It’s only 11 a.m., and the day is already living up to the common “guten Tag” greeting. And for actually having stepped out of the house and engaging in productive/social behavior, the highs are outweighing the lows….
It began with a brief low — waking up for a 9 a.m. doctor appointment. Sounds pathetic, I know, but I typically maintain a schedule that would be most suitable for an island time zone in the mid-Atlantic. Fortunately, this was followed by a high point — actually experiencing rush-hour train traffic with the rest of civilization and feeling like a pseudo-productive member of German society. (Also, by leaving early, the train was only 80 degrees and steamy, rather than 95 degrees and steamy).
Next, I skipped a few low points and went straight to a number of highs. This began with finding the doctor’s office, which was perfectly situated at the train stop. With about 15 minutes to spare, I had time to order a coffee — in German, a “milchekaffe” — and exchanged some pleasantries and smiles with the lady behind the Kamps’ counter. Happy Germans, happy Allison.
Second, the doctor’s office — recommended by two fine American wives — where people were pleasant and English-speaking. And(!), after reciting my phone number in German, I was told by the receptionist, “you speak good German!” Ha. “Yes, I know my numbers.” She also said she liked my gold shoes.
Next, she took my picture — “just like they do in American doctors’ offices,” she explained. (Not really, but I’ll just go with it.) “But unlike in America, you can smile in this picture.” So I smile, thinking about every other photo I’ve been required to present to German immigration officials, in which I’ve been told explicitly NOT to smile.
Off to the waiting room, where strangely, everyone greets you. Seriously, I entered the room to a chorus of “guten Morgens” from the other patients. This repeated with every person who entered the room, and eventually I joined the choir. I was fitting right in until they called my name out over the intercom in an English sentence. Seriously?! Do you think I can’t pick out the word ECKELKAMP from a group of unfamiliar words? There goes my cover.
High point/low point: Doctor is nice, and sort of cute. He also speaks English, and I don’t have to take my clothes off (Germany is kind of a “naked country,” and from the stories I’ve heard, and from what I’ve experienced, I was just expecting that I’d have to disrobe. Fortunately, nein). High point.
Unfortunately, they don’t have the prescription here that I need. In fact, the active ingredient, which I want as little of as possible, is only available in about 100 times my current dosage. Probably even more, but I don’t feel like busting out a calculator. In fact, the other ingredient in my ‘script doesn’t even exist here in Deutschaland. Low point.
Back to the train, where the KVB (basically the train police) actually checked my ticket, which was fortunately correct and validated. They check maybe 1 out of every 25 times I ride the train. Win! I’m so relieved, I miss my stop. Fail! Fortunately, the stop I get off on is right next to a “chemist” (or Apotheke), and the pharmacist speaks English. She was also the chattiest German I have ever met — asking where I’m from, telling me about her very “typical” American vacation last year — Phoenix to Las “Wegas” to San Francisco. I wouldn’t call that typical, but in her mind, it was. So I smiled and asked how she liked San Francisco, which happens to be one of my favorite US cities. I’m trying to rush the conversation because in most German business establishments, the person behind the counter can’t get rid of you fast enough. Not this lady. Chatty Cathy.
[brief pause – just spilled my tea all over the table.]
So, it’s been a good Morgen. And for all the bitching and moaning we do (i.e. “Mind your own business”), the good generally outweighs the bad. And next time someone yells at us for strangling our dog, or decides to aggressively hip check me as I sit on a stopped bike on the sidewalk, I will try to just extract some sort of positive interpretation. For example, Germans really love dogs; apparently, this trumps the more socially accepted notion of “mind your own business” or “dogs are dirty and shouldn’t be allowed in restaurants” in the U.S. The latter has been quite enjoyable for Kaya and Breezy.
As for hip-check on the sidewalk, I’ll have to think about that one a little more. For now, I’ll just conclude she was a cranky human being, with her nationality having nothing to do with it.
Hello, Sorrento (or, this post could also be called “The dogs of Sorrento”)
Sorry for the dumb rhyming titles. I just can’t resist.
To begin where I left off, we arrived in Sorrento following our soaking wet (but not at all wild) adventure in Pompeii. Jeff joked that we’d be walking the “only 4 kilometers” to our bed and breakfast. “It’s not that far,” he said. Deadpan as usual. I kind of rolled my eyes and contemplated a cab. But, Jeff — a man who can tell an innocent fib with a masterful poker face — didn’t let me down. Or should I say Pasquale did not let us down. Our bed and breakfast host, with a quintessential Italian name, picked us up by the train station in Sorrento and drove us up (and I mean up) the narrow, winding road to our bed and breakfast.
Villa Monica B&B — by far my favorite B&B yet. An actual house with several rooms, a shared living/play area, full kitchen, and a view you can’t beat.
Seriously. This is our view.
Pasquale recommended we eat that evening at a restaurant up the hill — a place where only the locals go because tourists don’t like to trek that far up the hill. And the cabs in this town are ridiculously expensive — even criminal, according to Pasquale. The food was outstanding — best calamari of my life. We arrived at around 7:30 and were the only ones in the restaurant. According to our host, Italians eat late. And low and behold, the place really started to fill up as we were leaving.
I don’t have a pic of the restaurant, but here I am with the man who recommended it. Pasquale, himself.
The following day, we stuffed ourselves on the B&B’s breakfast, which included homemade croissants, and then opted to spend the sunshiny day in town (well, after we discovered the bus line to Amalfi was WAY too long). Here are some photos from the day.
The lemons here are the size of your head and are literally everywhere.
The lemons are used to make Limoncello. A recipe here. I’m actually making some right now.
Random building, Sorrento.
Wouldn’t be Italy without some scooters.
A very pretty, but random, building, Sorrento.
Mmmm…pig.
This about sums it up — Jeff dutifully planning, Allison relaxing and enjoying her coffee. (Also, I love that the book includes Italian, French and German. I think I know more Italian than German just from … well, caring really.)
Jeff and a random Roman wall. There are lots of these … everywhere. Those Romans were pretty busy.
Pretty church and blue skies.
What a perfect day for a wedding!
I stared at this dog for a long time, waiting to see his chest move for fear he was dead. He was alive, but just snoozing on a very touristy street full of t-shirt, leather and limoncello shops. Later, we saw him eating out of an open box of half-eaten pizza.
I absolutely fell in love with this dog, who waited patiently for her owner at the entrance of a supermarket. Good girl! She sort of looks like Breezy … and she let me pet her. In love.
And just one more cutie. Can’t resist European dogs.
Look at this water. Don’t you just want to dive in?! Also, not much in the way of “beaches” in Sorrento. More docks where you can rent a chair, sort of like sitting poolside. The water is as clear as pool water, that’s for sure.
Awww, and a pretty standard “self” portrait.
We had a great day in sunny Sorrento. I find people in Italy to be extremely friendly, but in Sorrento, they are just over the top. And almost everyone speaks English (and German and French and …) and is more than willing to serve you, sell to you, and guide you. It feels a little less “authentic” in some ways than, say, Naples, because it is certainly more of a resort town. However, definitely worth the visit.
Our one souvenir purchase was Limonoro-brand Limoncello — the best. In fact, I am drinking some right now, and it’s inspired me to learn how to make it.
From Sorrento, we moved onto the Amalfi Coast for a day trip — to the towns of Amalfi and Positano. Will blog about that later.
Ciao for now.
A European Adventure 