Your message is as clear as … poo
Jeff and I took the pooches for a long walk to the biergarten yesterday. On our way home, we found numerous messages along one particular stretch in a nice neighborhood and on a well-groomed, tree-lined walkway. These signs were held down by … doggy bags:
Your message is as clear as ... poo?
We took a picture so we could Google-translate it later. Literal translation:
“And who is its processing to that shit now my clear away?
-I do not care?
Then allowed to grow very quickly throughout the problem-a huge. not for them. only for those of us who live here.
-The city?
They call it there please and let you know that they have disposed of that shit here.
Or perhaps they?”
I find the output of Google translate to read a lot like old English, bringing me to flashbacks of literature classes when I struggled to uncover meaning in a language I was/am fluent in.
Regardless, my takeaway was that these residents are not pleased with the dog shit in their ‘hood.
Later in the evening, Jeff and I witnessed a local get out of their car, dispose of their garbage in a bush along the park, and then proceed to go enjoy the gorgeous garden they’d just soiled. We had a front-row seat to this brazen act.
Perhaps subconsciously taking a clue from the silent poo protests we’d witnessed earlier, we Google-translated this message and placed it under their wiper blade:
“Bitte legen Sie Ihren Müll, wo es hingehört. Danke.”
Translation: “Please put your garbage where it belongs. Thank you.”
Dogs on a German Farm
I am in Florence with my dear friend Lindsay, staying in an amazing (free) guest house and thinking about the journey to get here (more on Firenze later).
First and foremost, I do not have the luxury of a stress-free girls’ weekend when Jeff is also flying. Must find home for the hundes. Thanks to Deb M, who is constantly saving the day, we found a great boarding facility on a farm in the sticks for 29 euro a day (cheap). The owner is a vet, and the place is great! Big dog rooms with heated floors and a doggie door to a fenced in outdoor “garden kennel.”
The catch — it is 22 km from where we live and about 20 euros, two hours, and a huge pain in the ass away by train. Thanks to a friendly post on the “friends and family” Facebook page, Zuhkra and Ilenia saved the day. Car ride to the farm!
Lindsay had the pleasure of joining us. All good, minus the rush hour traffic. This particular place only allows drop offs between 8 and 9 hours or 18 and 19 hours (6-7 pm). Standstill on the autobahn. Not something they advertise.
Lindsay joined us for this particular ride, with Kaya on her lap and Breezy panting by her side. We got somewhat lost in the process, only to discover some roadside goats that prompted Kaya to growl, scratch at the car door, and let out some stinky excited farts. Meanwhile, I am struggling getting clear English directions (why would I speak German in Deutschland?).
We finally arrive. Place was perfect and as described above. I made everyone aware that Kaya can squeeze through tight fence posts and that Breezy is required to eat out of her special bowl to prevent choking. I got a pretty standard response on the fence thing — “in 12 years, no dog has ever escaped.” famous last words, but so far no phone calls.
The remaining journey was pretty simple. I’ve never gone from my house to the Koln/Bonn airport on my own. Aside from my EC card having “insufficient funds” (thanks, sugar daddy), and an illegal ride on the 1 train, things were smooth. Fortunately we got tickets for the S Bahn because we were checked, and I don’t wanna get locked up.
Then to German Wings, where the flight attendants (at least in the ads) still look like Charlie’s Angels. I’ve heard from everyone that this particular airline is all about “nickel and diming.” I was pleased. It may have been our fare, but for 66 euros, I got to Pisa with one free checked bag and an actual sandwich and coffee on the plane.
One more short train ride to Florence, and we arrived in one of the tastiest, most artistic, exceptionally fun-loving, and incredibly chaotic cities anywhere. I love it!
More to come (and please forgive grammar and spelling errors. I’m typing this on an ipadlet).
Raw Pork and Other German Food Finds
Yep, we ate raw pork. It’s called “mettwurst” in German. Smoked, and often cured, this delicacy was spread on a slab of bread with some salt and onion and chased with a half liter of beer to kill whatever bacteria was not annihilated in the curing process.
I know, you’re probably gagging, but it was actually tasty. We never would have tried this pig-sushi without our new friends, Emily and Nick. Nick is a native, and Emily is his American wife who has lived here for the past six years. (Thanks, Bethany Rock, for the introduction!). Though it was tasty, I convinced myself later in the evening I had a stomach ache. Probably because I’ve been told since childhood that raw meat is a no-no, especially pork!
Here’s a pic of Jeff and I ‘toasting’ to spreadable Wilbur. Prost.
Next, our foursome journeyed to a walk-up, take-out food-stand, where we sampled some other authentic German cuisine — Currywurst. This is essentially a sausage, cut into small pieces, drowning in what I non-eloquently described as “curry ketchup.” We ate it with miniature, two-tined wooden forks. Mmmm…
We followed our pork injection with a short walk down the Rhine to burn some calories. Here are a couple shots. These four homes are very famous, but I don’t recall why.
Slightly off the Rhine path, we found a full moon. In his silent protest for paying high taxes year over year, a local installed this gem facing city hall.
After our 15, maybe 20 minute, walk, we journeyed to our next pub, where we experienced some more local traditions: pig knuckles and Kolsch, a local beer that is served in .21 liter glasses and replaced automatically by the waiter/waitress after one is finished. The wait staff then tallies your consumption on a coaster. We finished 22.
As for dinner, Jeff sampled the pig knuckle. Don’t be fooled by the word knuckle. This thing is HUGE. You can order it either baked or deep fried. In effort to cut back on calories, Jeff opted for the baked version. Here are the before and after shots.
I had mussels. Just a few.
That’s it for the local cuisine. More to come on the other international treats we’ve ingested since our arrival. This is a foodie town, and I couldn’t be happier.
Here’s to vegetables.
Until next time…
A European Adventure 