A Weekend full of Wieners

July 24-26, 2015

When I think of the word "wiener", the first thought in my mind is not a hot dog.  It's something else, with a similar shape; something that 10 year old boys find amusing. The word still makes me chuckle every time I hear it.  For example, my grandma had a wiener dog named Jasper, and I loved telling people that it was a wiener dog every time I could.  Baseball fans consume wieners at ballgames, Germans eat schnitzel made from wiener, and my old roommate Geoff used to randomly say "wiener" all the time.  All of these things make me giggle, and yes, including right now. Super mature, I know.  After my first trip to Vienna, I now know that "Wiener" means "Viennese" in German!  That's super boring, and almost ruined the word for me.  So although I feel a bit more enlightened, I will still do my best to giggle any time someone says "wiener" to me (or anytime I see a sign in Vienna with the word "Wiener" in it - which was a lot).

About 2 years ago, Igors' sister Inga moved to Vienna for her job.  Also about two years ago, I told Inga I would visit her there.  Somehow two years passed and I still hadn't stepped foot in Wiener Town.  So on the weekend of July 25, 2015, her last weekend there, I had to go, with or without Igors (and according to my parents' sarcastic joke on Facebook, they would prefer without Igors).

Zosia decided to come with, and we headed out on a Friday afternoon, without a single clue what we could do there (except eat wiener schnitzel and vienna sausage).  By the way, a couple notes about Vienna Sausage.
1. I used to love the tiny canned sausages when I was a kid.  Now they seem super disgusting, but still nostalgic, so I'd probably eat a can if it was in front of me.
2. Vienna sausage = Wiener sausage = Wiener wiener = 2 times the giggles.  

I have a few travel tips to share with you, one of them brought to my attention thanks to my boss, Angela.
- there are two different trains that go from the airport to the city center...one of them "normal", the other "express", both of them pretty frequent.  The price was something like 10 Euros difference, but it only saved about 10 minutes.  So if your time is worth 1 Euro per minute, take the Express.  Otherwise, normal people can take the normal train.  Somehow, a lot of people still take the Express...either the marketing of the Express is really good, or these people aren't as "CCM" as I am.
- If you buy two tickets at the same time (i.e. put "2 travelers" into the ticket kiosk rather than each person buying them separately), the incremental price of the second ticket is 20 cents.  One person costs 4.20, two people cost 4.40, total. At first I thought it was a mistake, but after clicking through the buttons again, it came to the same price.  It's worth asking a stranger to buy a joint ticket if you are traveling alone...it can save you two Euros if you're CCM!!!!!

A fahrt in Wiener town.  I'll never grow up.

Inga was a great host.  When we arrived at her apartment (after a super cold shower because it was so hot), she had 4 cold beers and snacks waiting.  We tasted different Austrian beers, up to 14% in alcohol content.  It was a great welcome drink.  Inga even had a short presentation prepared for us to give some information about each style.  I felt like in a professional beer tasting!

Inga's beer and snack tasting tour

I think the space bar was broken

 
Not only was Inga good at having beers in the apartment, she was amazing at taking us around the city.  I didn't have any idea or plan what we could see in the city, but Inga planned the days with very interesting sites, and most importantly, food.  After beers we went to Rathausplatz (this name is hilarious - the platz where the rats have a house?) where they were showing ballet on a huge video screen in front of the city hall (apparently that's what Rathausplatz means), and thousands of people watching and walking around the outdoor food court.  There were 20 restaurant choices from Austrian to Australian, American to Asian. I had to make a few laps before deciding what to eat.  It was a really fun place to spend a casual evening, with good food, a couple drinks, some ballet and people watching. Inga took us around the center before getting back home, needing another shower due to the sticky Summer night.

One of many concerts/markets that we came across

Day 2 of Inga's Tour of Wiener Town was another enlightening one.  As usual, the day revolved around food.  After breakfast, we decided to have dessert, naturally, trying the famous Sacher Torte from the original shop, as well as some apple strudel.  The strudel was better in my opinion.  In fact, although it looks great, I don't know anyone who actually thinks Sacher Torte tastes amazing.  It's OK at best.  I'd try it if it was in front of me, but I wouldn't order it in a restaurant (I feel the same way about brussel sprouts and blood sausage, so it's not saying much).  After some more walking, it was time for a rest in the park.  Since we had already eaten breakfast and dessert, we weren't too hungry for lunch, so we picked up some snacks and hung out in the park next to the national library.  It was super peaceful and relaxing, and I even snoozed off for a bit.

Looks delicious!

I learned about Gustav Klimt and his famous painting "The Kiss", which looks more like a girl with a broken neck collapsing to the ground, and the guy trying to keep her up.  Not sure that's what he was going for, but that's what I see.  I also witnessed Hundertwasser architecture for the first time.  He designed several buildings around the city, and the most intellectual and professional word I can find to describe it is "fun".  His buildings just seem happy.  I also learned that the Empress Elizabeth (not to be confused with the Queen of England) was called Sisi, but I still have no idea how you get Sisi from Elizabeth.

It doesn't look like a kiss to me

A Hundertwasser building

Schonbrunn Palace was amazing, with an adjacent hill overlooking the palace, labyrinths, and garden.  There were lots of joggers and we could imagine Alan organizing a WITC run up the super steep hills.  Belvedere Palace Art museum had a bunch of Klimt originals, and of course I got in trouble for taking pictures.  Naschmarkt was nice long strip of restaurants, bars and shops - a nice place to wander around, day or night.

Schonbrunn Palace

From the other direction

At the Belvedere Palace

A few quick Wiener tips:
- Check out the bars and restaurants along the river.  There's even a barge on the river with a swimming pool
- There are free water fountains all over the city, so bring your own bottle
- You can buy newspapers from bags that hang on poles around the city - I guess you pay for what you take, on the honor system.
- Go to Salm Brau for almdudler radler beer, and the best schnitzel I ever had.
- Beware that Vienna sausage is just a hot dog.
- You can take up to 100ml of alcohol on the plane in your carry on.  I never knew this, but it was no problem coming back to PL.

Anyone for a swim?

Inga showing us how it's done

Take your pick

This was all for me!

I loved the creativity (and social statement) of some of the pedestrian cross walks.  They had different combinations of couples - guys, girls, or mixed, sometimes holding hands, sometimes just friends.  I almost caused a traffic jam while taking pictures of the Don't Walk people, standing in the cross walk while cars were coming.  

Hold hands when crossing the street

The most important part of the trip was that now I will not misspell the word as "weiner" anymore, since I know the root of the word is Wien.  Wiener, wiener, wiener.  See how good I am now?  I'm one more step towards becoming a complete human being.

The girls wondered why I stopped to take pics of basically every sign in the city...

Orlen Warsaw Marathon

April 26, 2015

3 years ago I said I would never run a half-marathon.  Then I ran one.

I said I wouldn't run another half marathon.  Then I ran 3 more.

I guess I'm not very good at achieving my goals of not doing something.

Even so, with 100% certainty, I said would NEVER EVER run a marathon.  N-E-V-E-R.

Then, in a moment of weakness, I signed up for the 2015 Orlen Warsaw Marathon. My first thought: doh!

One of the reasons I "never" planned to do an Ironman triathlon is that I didn't want to run the marathon (besides the other two reasons I don't want to do an IM: the 3.8 km swim and 180 km bike).  I agreed with myself that I'd not even consider an IM until I survived a marathon (which I thought I would never do).

Well, now I've done it.  I ran a marathon.  Writing this now is a bit funny for me, thinking I ran "only" a marathon, considering a couple friends recently competed in a 250km team bike/run race around Warsaw, which I was supposed to do with them, but more on that later.

I wouldn't say the marathon was the most physically demanding thing I've ever done, as the half-Ironman distance triathlon in 95 degree weather was definitely harder. But in many ways a marathon is mentally harder.  At least in a triathlon you get to change exercises a couple times during the race, and take a short break in the transition zone, which keeps it interesting.  But in a marathon, you only get to run.  For 4 hours, if you're lucky.  4 freakin long hours.  One foot in front of the other.  10 billion times in a row.  You have to be mentally strong for that.

Why is a marathon 42.195 km anyway?  A lot of people think it's because of the original distance the Greek messenger ran 2500 years ago from Marathon to Athens...but actually, the officials re-checked his Garmin GPS watch and it showed he only ran 40km.  So why the the extra 2.195 km?  Who likes to torture people by making them run further?  It turns out that in the 1908 Olympics, the Queen of England wanted the marathon to start at Windsor Castle and ended in front of the royal box in the Olympic Stadium. And the Queen gets what the Queen wants. This route measured out to 42.195 km and the distance stuck. Those pesky Brits.  I think next time I will just run 40km out of protest, and recognition to the original Marathoner.

This one is over 42 thousand km - quite further than expected (#punctuationmatters)

As you noticed, I managed to survive the race.  I don't have any clever race story, but I do have a "step by step" guide to completing your first (and obviously only) marathon.

Preparation for the race
1. Sign up well in advance so you can forget about it for a couple months (and possibly completely forget that you ever signed up in the first place). You can also tell people you are planning to do it, and they get impressed and say things like "oh I would never run a marathon, I admire you".  Then if you decide to drop out of the race, it's OK because you've already collected the praise.  #freepraise #noshame #norefunds
2. Complete a half marathon as a training run, slowly, preferably with a fun cause like Spartanie Dzieciom #forthekids #nakedrunning
3. Start training, slowing building up the weekly long runs to 30-35 kms.  Remember it's not about the speed, it's about the distance. You gotta do it.  #what30km?
4. Learn how not to be bored out of your mind during the 30-35 km runs.  Seriously, they are super boring.  Sometimes it's nice to run with a friend so you can chat, but let's be honest, talking to the same person for 3 hours gets boring.  So the next best thing is to listen to podcasts. And a lot of them.  This American Life, Adam Corolla, Wait Wait Don't Tell Me, Stuff You Should Know, and The Barbershop 206 kept me company.  I actually started looking forward to long training runs, just to have time to listen to the podcasts. #podcasts #antisocial #runningisboring
5. Don't bring more food and drink than you need, because it's heavy - you can buy stuff at the shops along the way.  During training I was carrying water bottles, gels, sandwiches, vaseline and bandaids for blisters, a headlamp, phone, ipod, money, keys and most importantly my bus pass in case I couldn't run home.  Sometimes it felt like I was running with an entire Oregon Trail supply kit. #heavypockets #wheresmywagonaxle #dysentery #fordtheriver
6. A peanut butter and honey sandwich, with salt and a mashed banana inside make for a good long run snack.  Don't underestimate the need for salt on a long run, especially if it's hot.  I even added some salt to my water (with honey), and made sure my isotonic drinks had a good amount of sodium. I used to cramp after about an hour of running, but after I paid attention to salt, cramps have been non-existent #hungry #saltynuts #saynotocramps

WITC before the race

During the race:
7. A patellar tendon strap can relieve knee pain.  During training runs without it, my knee would kill me after 20 km, but with the strap during the actual race, I barely felt any knee pain  #kneesaregood
8. The first 10km is a warm-up, so force yourself to go slow.  Otherwise you risk going too fast due to the adrenaline and burning out too soon.  I didn't allow myself music during the first 10km, on one hand to enjoy the sounds of the crowd and atmosphere, but also to make sure I didn't get too pumped up listening to "Roar" by Katy Perry.  It turned out that the first 10km was my slowest 10, while my second 10km, when I got excited and finally felt like I could run, was fastest.  #slowitdown #katyperryisonmyplaylist
9. Keep a comfortable pace to finish with a smile on your face (that should be a song lyric) - rather than pushing too hard and being miserable the whole time.  Breathing during the long, slow race wasn't a problem...leg and back pain was more of an issue, so don't push yourself to the point of heavy breathing from the start, or your legs will really not be happy.  #nohashtag
10. Kilometer 31 sucks.  During this particular km, you will feel extreme pain and will think to finish is impossible.  I hated kilomter 31. I guess everyone has a different "kilometer 31", but definitely everyone has it.  #km31cansuckit #overcome
11. Just like any other difficult race, the friends and fans cheering you on makes it all worth it.  Especially in that last 2.195 km when you are cursing out the Queen of England under your breath.  #thankyoufans
12. 4 hours is a reasonable goal for a first time.  I was very pleased with 3:48.  #under4hours

Feeling good!

The camera caught me as I was landing from my jumping finish

After the race:
13. For a couple days after an intense race, if you have to walk down any stairs, do it backwards.  This is OK even if it's in the busy metro.  You just grab the handrail, turn your body so you're facing the people impatiently walking behind you (you should ignore their looks that say "you're weird"), start stepping backwards gingerly, careful not to tumble down, and look them in the eyes as if to say "no, actually you're the weird one for not walking backwards".  It becomes a battle of wits as you silently try to convince them with your eyes that you are the normal one.  Even if you can't convince them, the pain is much easier to manage and it's only weirdly uncomfortable the first few times.  #imserious #dontbeshy
14. Take a break from your job if you're a foot model.  Blisters may appear all over your feet, and your nails may turn black and fall off.  You should just hide your feet from everyone for a few weeks. #handmodel
15. Don't train for the Bloody Loop (a 250km race with 4 guys and 3 bikes, which takes over 24 hours) only 5 days after the marathon.  We tried a short training run (45 km mountain bike and 15 km trail running in about 6 hours), and it destroyed me.  For the next month, I couldn't even run 1 km.  This has been an on-going situation, and it took 2 months before I could run 5km again without any pain.  This past Sunday, I managed a 1/8 IM distance triathlon, and am relieved I managed it relatively pain-free #wtf #legsareback

A couple pics from Bloody Loop "training"

It's not exactly easy going

But there was some peaceful running

Although I didn't get to race in the Bloody Loop with my friends, I don't think my body regrets it.  I managed to finish the marathon in under 4 hours, and as long as my knee will heal soon, it was worth it...but I can "safely" say I'm not considering doing another one in the near future.

But we all know I've said that before... #brokenrecord

WITC at Fuerteventura

March 21-28, 2015

In 2014, my friends at WITC organized the first WITC Triathlon Training Camp in Crete, where a bunch of guys and girls from the club went for a week to train for the upcoming triathlon season.  I wasn't able to join, but heard it was a lot of fun.  So when the location for 2015 was picked - Fuerteventura in the Canary Islands, I had to be there.

When I hear the words "triathlon training camp", it sounds super intense.  If I went to a professional tri camp, I would expect to be working out all day, pushing my body to the edge of explosion, the whole trip strictly business, no goofing around, and lights out by 9pm.  Of course, this sounds awful.  But when I hear "WITC triathlon training camp", I think manageable (but semi-intense) training, having fun 24-7, goofing around while working out, laying on the beach or by the pool, eating a lot of good food, partying at night, and not getting enough sleep...something more like a vacation, but with daily exercise. And this sounds awesome. Seriously, we are fun people.

Look how fun we are!

Igors did a great job of organizing everything for the week-long event, from the accommodation, food, and swim lane at Oasis Papagayo in Corralejo (the northern part of the island), to making sure we had bike rentals available, and all of the other logistics.  Alan led the afternoon run training and I handled the morning swim workouts (7am what?!), but Igors managed the lion's share.

At the Modlin airport, you could tell that this was a WITC trip, as half of the group went to the bar for food and beer (at 9am) and the other half went to the duty free to stock up on Soplica flavored vodka. We weren't so much into bringing proteins and recovery drinks...we are from Poland afterall.  If you are like me, you wouldn't know that the Canary Islands, although part of Spain, are just off the coast of Africa, near the southern part of Morocco.  So it took 5 hours to fly there!  Most of us were on the same Ryan Air flight...you could tell who the cheap triathletes were...bringing only a small carry-on bag to avoid paying for a checked bag (though they do allow a second small carry-on bag), and we were all WEARING our bike helmets to save space.  Ok, so maybe I was the only one, but whatever.

Oops, my helmet is blocking someone's face

 Fuerteventura isn't a common tourist destination compared to the other Canary (Canarian?) Islands like Tenerife and Grand Canary, but they do get a lot of people on sports holiday.  There were a lot of cyclists all over the island, and our hotel's swimming pool was always full of super fast German swimming machines, disguised as young humans.  These kids swam like dolphins, making us grown-ups look like prehistoric turtles (turtles that can swim, but still turtles).

In the end, there were 21 of us on the trip, including baby Sophie, and Ryan, who came all the way from the US to join us.  I think he likes to come on trips with us just so we can make music videos, like we did on his last trip (and we like him to come on trips so we can make fun of him when he falls asleep at the bar).  Certainly he didn't know what he was getting into joining our training camp.

Part 1: Swim

On the first night we were lucky enough to see their local Carnival parade.  When they told us about the parade, I assumed it would be 100 people, with a bunch of little kids holding balloons and flags, and cover a maximum 3 blocks.  I had no idea it would be so intense.  We walked down to check it out and could hear music from the second we left the hotel.  There were more people in the parade than I imagined on the entire island.  There were dozens of floats of various themes, everyone dressed in elaborate costumes that must have taken weeks to prepare, the floats with built-in bars, everyone drinking and dancing on, near, and around the floats as they slowly rolled down the street for at least a mile.  And there were lots of dudes wearing dresses.  Jay and I were jealous.  We wanted to join the party.  But since we started our swim workouts the next morning, we called it an early night.

Mario shouldn't text when crossing the street

Somehow I was considered the best option to be responsible for swim training every morning.  I don't think it's due to my swimming skills; maybe it's because I was a sucker and agreed to be pool-side by 7am every morning.  Either way, I was happy to do it.  I created a swim program for each day, each with a different focus (stroke length, speed, endurance, sprints, etc), and sent them to our coach Przemek for review.  He either liked them, or didn't even read them, as he simply said "looks good!"  10-12 people showed up each day, and we managed around 1500 meters, including a time trial for 100 meters on the first day.  By the end of the week, a lot of people were either so tired for the time trial that they swam slower, or just didn't bother to show up.  Ryan did really well in the swim, improving the most out of everyone.

It wasn't always warm at 7am

So tan after a week

Each day our schedule looked something like this:
7 am - Morning swim training
8:30 - Breakfast at the hotel
9:30 - Check Facebook on Wi-Fi (Wi-Fi only worked in the mornings)
10 am - Meet for bike ride
10:30 am - Wait for people who are late for bike ride, while filming clips for the music video
1 pm - Stop somewhere for lunch (sometimes drink beers and don't feel like cycling anymore)
5 pm - Alan tries to convince people to run with him
7 pm - Dinner at the hotel (the food was decent and it was nice not to have to think about where to go to dinner)
8 pm - Go to Nico's Belgian Beer Bar down the street
10 pm - Start to fall asleep, sometimes at the bar (i.e. Ryan)
Repeat x6

Ryan asleep at the bar

Part 2: Bike

One of the things I wanted to do on this trip was to make a music video commemorating the trip.  I had picked the song "Uptown Funk" by Bruno Mars (because nobody else in the world has made a YouTube video to this song before) and asked people to start preparing mentally for their moment in the spotlight.  At every moment I could, I asked people to do some silly choreography for short clips for the video - while chillin at the beach or pool, while waiting for people to get ready for the bike ride, while waiting for our food to come at lunch, while waiting for medical help for Mark M after his accident, and even while we were actually training.  It was a lot of fun to make the video, so you should check it out at the bottom of this post.  (Side note: as I am typing this, the song "Time of our lives" by Pit Bull and Neyo came on the radio, which is the song that Ryan made his video for on this trip...crazy! And yes, we made two music videos because why not?!).

In costume for the video shoot

Ryan's new music video

It was very convenient that the hotel had a bike rental company attached to it, so we could easily pick up our bikes.  We had daily routes of between 50-90 km, while some guys even went 130 one day.  I know my butt, and my butt can't sit on a bike for that long.  There is a very clear point on long training rides when it changes from "this is so great" to "can we just be home already?" I was happy to do shorter rides to make sure I spent most of my time on the happy side of that line.  We all had different levels of ability, so with 20 people, we could easily split into groups and then meet up later.  The most important part of the cycle training was making sure we found a good place to eat.  We managed to find some really nice places, especially on the beach.

Cruising around the island

Beach lunch

The terrain ranged from desert and sand dunes to hills and trees, fighting rain and wind, on smooth and bumpy roads, and everything in between.  I wouldn't call it the most scenic riding, but generally it was pretty good and we didn't fight too much car traffic.  Everything was fine except when Mark got into a small accident, running into the guard railing at a roundabout and requiring medical attention (Dr. Dagna to the rescue!) and rest for the remainder of the trip.  And this is how we became good friends with Nico.  Mark has a special radar for these types of things, and after his injury, they spent every afternoon together (i.e. Mark was at the bar every afternoon).  Funny side note: on our taxi ride to the airport, the taxi driver told Mark that he remembered him from the accident.  It seems like everyone on the island knew about it since it happened at a big intersection.

We spent a day hanging out on the dunes

Nico became such a big part of our trip, we had our end of trip closing ceremony at the bar, he let us dominate the karaoke stage and play our songs and videos on their equipment (although his dad was having a birthday and he and his friends literally sounded like the Jersey Boys when singing...we were put to shame).

At Nico's every night!

Part 3: Run

You could really call us sick for doing triathlons on a daily basis, but that's basically what some of us did.  After getting back from cycling, there were usually runs from 5-8 km, but I didn't always manage.  Some people would rather spend time sightseeing around the island, which was understandable.  But if I wasn't running, I was at Nico's.  Anyway, just a couple km down the road was the beach, so it was nice to do some short runs around the area.  And Alan always organized something nice.

Beach running/exploring/selfie-sticking

Post-run stretch at the pool

I knew I really had a problem when on my "day off", I still managed to swim for an hour, lift weights at the gym for an hour, and run 10 km.  So basically my day off just meant "don't spend 5 hours on a bike; go to the gym instead".  But this is what the trip did to me.  It made training with everyone fun. We still managed to have an amazing time, having a great time when not exercising, burning (and eating) millions of calories, and everyone could do as little or as much as they wanted.

When we weren't swimming, cycling, or running, we were squatting

It became such a comfortable routine to meet at the pool every morning, knowing you'd have company at our assigned table in the restaurant every breakfast and dinner, and hanging out at Nico's (with Nico) every night.  I don't know how else to convince you, but you should definitely join us next year.  Then you can be a part of the next music video.  Enjoy!

Official 2015 WITC Triathlon Camp music video

We love you Grandma

"Now my greatest joy in these golden years will be my grandchildren who give me so much joy and happiness"
 - Grandma Alice, October 20, 1917- February 4, 2015

Death happens: that's one of the simple truths in this world.  It happens to everyone.  But if we know it's coming, why does it hurt so much?  Because we can't control it? Because after death happens, we can't go back?  I've struggled with this for the past few weeks, finding it hard to put words to virtual paper about my grandma's death. For every person I've met in my life, there has been (or will be) a "last time" that we ever see or talk to each other, even if they are still alive. But it's awful when you no longer have the option, especially when it's your beloved Grandmother, someone who has been there your entire life.  Here's another simple truth: death really sucks.

Grandmas are not normal people. Grandmas are grandmas.  Being a grandma is probably the most lovable "occupation" anyone could ever have.  The word Grandma is synonymous with adoration, warmth, advice, cookies and pies, being spoiled, holiday dinners, unwavering support, and the best hugs you can find. I wish I could be a grandma someday.

I don't even know how to start describing how much Grandma Alice meant to me, my childhood, and how she influenced me into who I am today. Just her quote at the beginning of this post shows how much her family meant to her, and she to us. I got the sad news as I landed in Warsaw after traveling back from Seattle.  Just the night before most of my cousins and family had gathered at my parents house for dinner when I was back in town, and we spent some time talking about Grandma and reflecting on our childhoods (she wasn't there: she was in a nursing home, under hospice care). She was 97, but I used to think she would live forever, especially because her older sister, Aunty Lilly, is 103! Even so, her passing was not the biggest surprise, as she had been bedridden and under nursing care for some time, recently unable to speak or interact, and having trouble breathing.  But death is never really real until it's real.

Maxwelton Beach, Whidbey Island

I asked some friends and family about their memories of Grandma and they all said the same things: loving, warm, welcoming, great hostess, and a lover of the outdoors.  This is all true.  Some of my earliest memories are spending the summers or holidays at her house on the beach on Whidbey Island (about 90 minutes from our home in Seattle, including a fun 30 minute ferry ride across Puget Sound).  We would spend the days running on the beach, building forts out of driftwood, skipping rocks in the water, making s'mores at the campfire, and playing Skip-Bo or Cribbage, or baseball at the park down the street (or fake baseball when we just pretended we had a bat and ball and ran around the bases...I used to hit a LOT of home runs).  She loved watching the Seahawks and Huskies and Mariners, and somehow knew more about them than any Grandma is supposed to.

We spent some wonderful Thanksgivings and Christmases there, but Easters were the best, with dozens of family members making the trip for the classic Easter egg hunt (whoever wrote the song that goes "Over the river and through the woods to Grandmother's house we go" really knew what they were talking about).  I always looked forward to the Easter egg hunts; the adults would hide painted hard boiled eggs and plastic eggs filled with candy or money around the garden and beach front.  The kids would spend hours trying to bring back the biggest loot.  I didn't even bother picking up the boiled eggs...I only cared about the candy and money.  Even when it wasn't Easter, every time I walked outside I would look around the garden just in case there were some un-found eggs laying around (and sometimes there were!).  I found $2 once!

Easter Egg hunt 30 years ago

Not only did Grandma bring our family together for valuable bonding, but she somehow brought the neighborhood together as well. It seemed like everyone who lived within walking distance of Maxwelton Beach Road knew "Alice" and all of her grandkids.  There were always people stopping by to say hi, somehow they remembered me, but sometimes I had no idea who they were.  Alice was important to them, and so was her family, so they remembered her and everything that was important to her. That's the kind of person she was.  She made people love her, just by being herself.  When I got into college, one of my favorite things to do was to bring friends to the island for a weekend, and Grandma was always standing at the door to greet us with open arms.  She remembered my friends like they were her friends, played with us, fed us, and made sure we were all having a great time. Grandma was so good to my friends that one of the things that makes me saddest is that my future family will never be able to meet her.  Simply put, I loved showing her off, and I wish everyone in the world could have met her.

Which one is Grandma?

Grandma and cousins - 2003

With my brother

But there are even more defining memories I have of Grandma.  She was somehow more connected to animals and nature than anyone I have ever known.  She always had little lap dogs, and our family Bichon, Lani, loved spending time at Grandma's.  She'd get super excited whenever we approached Grandma's gravel road and one of us got out to open the gate.  Grandma even used to have a small stuffed Lani dog, which she carried around and treated like it was a real dog (she'd talk to it and pretend to feed it when she thought nobody was looking).  I've heard of horse whisperers, but I'm pretty sure Grandma whispered to all animals.

Spending time on Whidbey meant spending time in the wild, often to find our dinners for the night. Grandma knew secret spots where we could dig buckets of clams in just minutes, pick up huge dungeness crabs with our bare hands (although I was hard for me because I was scared of their giant claws), and hunt matsutake mushrooms and wild blackberries in the forest (we'd get into fights over the last piece of blackberry pie). She was also able to spot the bald eagles sitting in the tree tops on the hill with her bare eyes, while most mortals needed to grab the binoculars to confirm that she was right.  And oh how I loved when we would put the guts from our caught salmon on the beach, hide behind some logs or in the house and watch as the bald eagles swooped in to eat them.  My grandma fed bald eagles.  I don't even think Chuck Norris does that.

She taught me how to dig for sand shrimp, which we used to catch flounder and cod, and how to bait my hook with herring just right so the salmon would bite.  Whenever she would take me fishing in the little 10 foot Livingston, the fish seemed to willingly jump into her side of the boat, while I sat there picking my nose, with no action at all (kind of like my life these days). Everyone wanted to be around her; even the fish.  I used to make the excuse that old people have a special smell that fish were attracted to, so she had an unfair advantage.  Or maybe fish just didn't like the taste of my boogers.

When I was probably 10 years old, I remember pulling up a skate (something like a sting ray) that seemed like the size of the boat.  Seeing this thing approach the surface from under the boat is one of the scariest things I can remember.  At the time, I thought it was going to knock the boat over and eat us.  Of course, it was harmless, but we let it go because I was too scared of it.  This is just a random picture from the internet, but that's how big the skate was in my memory (in reality it was probably super tiny).  I never knew how she could remain so calm, with this huge monster right under us. But that's Grandma, the fish whisperer.

Miles of adventures during low tide at Whidbey

There is only one thing that ever bothered me about visiting Grandma's house.  She had a freaky stuffed doll that reminded me of Chucky from the movie Child's Play. The doll wasn't scary by itself, but my imagination always got the best of me, especially at night.  Grandma's living room had very large windows, and the side of the house facing the beach was basically two huge sliding glass doors. My brother and I usually slept in the living room and when the moon was bright, it created lots of shadows. This meant being able to see bats flying around outside and creepy shadows of everything near the glass doors and windows.  I don't know if someone did this on purpose, but that stupid doll (which was the size of a 3-year old), was always standing up, leaning against the glass.  So in the moonlight, it looked as if a small creepy kid was standing outside, looking into the living room. This always freaked me out.  Even when I buried the stupid baby under some blankets or threw it under the couch, it always seemed to move back to the glass the next night.

Grandma also had one of the most fascinating and heartbreaking stories about her 2.5 years in the Minidoka internment camp during World War II, in Hunt, Idaho.  The internment camps were basically prisons, where the US government sent Japanese people because nobody trusted them after the Pearl Harbor bombing.  And when I say Japanese people, I mean Japanese Americans. They thought my Grandparents, and many like them, American citizens born and raised in the US, were spies for Japan. She didn't talk much about this traumatic betrayal, but she once told my cousin Kelsi about the experience; what it was like to be stripped of her liberties by her own country.  She wrote a short memoir about it, which is not formally published, but if anyone is interested, I'd be happy to share (her quote from the beginning is from this memoir).

It covers a wide range of emotion from confusion to embarrassment to anger, losing their freedom and possessions, and the racism and prejudice, to the joy of my dad being born (unfortunately in the camp), to the depression of losing her own mother. Her honeymoon photos were confiscated, which showed some romantic doodling on the sandy beach, because the FBI thought they were messages to Japanese submarines. Then there was the heroism when Grandma's brothers and husband volunteered for the US Army (the 442nd Infantry, the most decorated unit in the US military history) to prove their allegiance and patriotism, despite their country turning it's back on them. Two of her brothers fought in Europe, one being captured as a POW (but safely returned later).  It's such a powerful story that is not widely known in the US, that it could (and should) be a movie.  It's kind of sad that the best way to raise awareness about history is to make a Hollywood movie about it.  So Steven Spielberg, if you're reading this, Tweet me and we can talk about the script.

Physically, Grandma was always pretty healthy, as you can guess from all of her activities.  But she started developing dementia several years ago. I wanted to share this because we will always remember and cherish her, even though her illness took away some of her memories of us.  Dad used to tell me about some of the things she did that showed signs; forgetting names or what she was doing just moments before, how things from our house would disappear into her purse and end up on Whidbey Island, and other quirky things that happen as we get older. To be honest, what she did was "cute" and we couldn't  help but laugh a little, because it was Grandma.  She was always still funny, engaging and smiling, so you didn't really notice anything was wrong. I saw it up close for the first time when I was visiting my parents.  Grandma was telling me an elaborate, funny story about my dad as a child, sharing some embarrassing things about him. Unfortunately I forgot all the details of the juicy story, because the ending of the conversation is what stuck in my mind.  I remember thinking she was not showing any signs of dementia at all, because she was funny, remembering little details and was as engaging as ever.  Until the end when she said to me "Freddie (my dad) is really great, and he has a lovely family too!  In fact, this is his house, you should meet him!".  Oh Grandma, yes I know him, you're talking about my dad.  My heart broke a little, but I could only laugh about it, gave her a big hug, and didn't let go for a long time. Since I am not sure if she realized I was her grandson, she was probably thinking "what is this weirdo doing and why won't he let go of me?"

Writing this post started out with me feeling sad and being mad at death. But it got me to stop thinking about death and to start thinking about life.  Grandma lived an amazing life, of which most people would be envious.  She touched lives from the moment anyone met her, and created so many bonds and memories for all of her family and friends.  So even though her death sucks and it made me extremely sad, I am even happier now from thinking about her and celebrating her life.  I truly want to thank you for reading this, because like I said, I love to show off my Grandma to the world.

Me and Grandma being dorks

In closing, I'd like to share a funny poem that all of my cousins can recite by memory, because it hung above the toilet in Grandma's bathroom.

All us folks with septic tanks
Give to you our heartfelt thanks
For putting nothing in the pot
That isn't guaranteed to rot.
Face tissue is bad, matchsticks too,
Cigarette butts are taboo.
No hair combings, use the basket,
There's good reason why we ask it!

Rest in Peace Grandma.  We love you. 

Antwerkin' in Belgium

December 26-29, 2014

When you have a chance to go on a trip with Jessica Schwartz, you have to consider a few things when deciding whether or not to go:
1. If you like funny adventures with an easy going friend
2. If you can put up with countless bad jokes and "That's What She Said" comments, and
3. If you crave unexpected and awkward moments.

I usually say yes, and there are usually stories to share afterwards. So a little background: we met when we both lived in NYC and she showed up uninvited to one of our parties, we've been to Prague together, where she brought a pillow case that had a picture on it of her boyfriend-at-the-time's face, to Amsterdam for Queen's Day, and followed around a random bachelor party in Krakow (I understand how this was fun for Jess, but for me?).  Needless to say, something interesting (and/or uncomfortable) always happens when we're together.

So when she told me she and Alana were going to Belgium for a few days, I decided to meet up (since you're wondering, Alana is pronounced "uh-lay-nuh", which I didn't know, so Jess yelled at me for that).

Due to my cheap Wizz Air flights, I had to fly to Brussels Charleroi the night before the girls arrived from Texas.  This wasn't bad, since it was just after Christmas and I had nothing else to do (as a side note, I spent a day during the Christmas holidays watching all 3 Lord of the Rings extended movies, and another tackling the Hobbits - I'm sure your's wasn't as productive). Before the flight I thought I was being clever by pre-booking the Wizz Air bus to take me from the Charleroi airport to the Brussels Center, but it turned out that this was not helpful at all. There were several other available buses constantly leaving for the same location in Brussels for a similar price, which I couldn't take, and since my bus was scheduled to leave 45 minutes after I was ready, I got to spend 45 Wi-Fi Free minutes waiting (not to be confused with Free Wi-Fi).

Awkward Moment #1 that I blame on Jessica (even though she wasn't there yet):
I stayed in a hotel in the Center with cheap single rooms, and got exactly what the reviews said - clean, economical rooms in a good location, but with thin walls and bad breakfast.  The first thing I noticed was the loud ghost moaning in the room next to mine.  The second thing I noticed is that it wasn't a ghost; it was a lady. And FYI I don't think she was moaning in pain, because she was asking for more.  It was so loud, it sounded like they were filming an adult movie outside my door. When I went into the hallway, I expected to see a couple naked people outside my door; instead, I heard all the TVs on my floor at full volume, as other hotel guests tried to drown out the ghostly sounds.  I wondered if complaining to the front desk that someone is having loud sex was actually a legitimate thing. Instead, I complained to my friend Ryan about it via text, and all he could say was "send me a sound clip".

For dinner I found the narrow pedestrian street with tons of restaurants on it (the Petite Rue des Bouches) that I had been to on my last trip.  This street is filled with guys trying to convince passers-by to go into their restaurant, flirting with the girls, and asking everyone where they are from (and then they say "Oh I have a cousin who lives there!  Beautiful place!"  They have cousins everywhere).  At first I resisted their advances, saying "no thanks" to anyone who tried to talk to me (it didn't matter what they were saying to me). I walked up and down the street a couple times, trying to check the displayed menus but avoiding eye contact and moving quickly enough so they wouldn't harass me.  Then I realized I couldn't decide where to go.  So even though their pleading was annoying, I needed it.  The next place with a smiling "hype man" and a set menu with fish soup and mussels would get my business.  It took exactly one second before the guy in front of La Belg e Pogue caught my attention.  Turns out it was a good choice, as it was only 12 Euros for the soup, mussels, fries and a dessert.   I washed it all down with a nice dark Leffe beer, which tasted amazing.

Main square in Brussels

Awkward Jessica Moment #2:
At 11pm the restaurant was pretty empty, except a young couple sitting at the table next to me.  The guy was American, who turned around and politely asked me what kind of Asian I am (if you can consider that polite), and if I spoke Chinese.  Seriously? Leave me alone.  He went on to explain that his girlfriend was from China and that "she really wants to speak Chinese with someone".  OK, good for her.  Stop talking to me. Who said American tourists are annoying?

Day 1 mussel count: 87

After Jess and Uh-lay-nuh landed, we checked into our Airbnb apartment near the main square and prepared to walk around the city.  We got a bit of a scare when the apartment owner said (Awkward Jessica Moment #3) "make sure to lock all the doors and gates, because we've had many break-ins, including one just a few days ago.  But don't worry, nobody was killed". Oh, in that case, it's fine.  That's not the first thing you want to hear when checking into an apartment in a foreign city.  Just to be safe, Alana hid her valuables in random places that burglars wouldn't look, like in the microwave and the toilet bowl (ok, not really).

Surprisingly, after red eye flights, the girls were very energetic.  After a couple hours cruising the city, we headed to the famous Delirium cafe for a couple afternoon beers.  The place is usually packed at night, so going on a weekday afternoon made it easier to get a table to sample different beers (isn't that always the best time to go for beers anyway?).  The beers were all pretty good, and very strong.  There were a few with 10-12% alcohol content, which is like drinking a half liter of wine each time.  I looked around the bar and noticed that everyone had nice branded beer glasses, while we had old Shakey's style plastic cups.  I think they were trying to avoid a potential Awkward Jessica moment by not giving us anything breakable.

Next up was the famous Chez Leon for dinner.  Apparently everyone in the world has heard of Chez Leon, so we had to try it.  Of course I ordered mussels again.  They were more expensive but had really nice broth/flavor options.

Mussels in Brussels

I can't help but do this

This is where it started getting even more "Schwartz-y".  Last February when I was in NYC for the Seahawks Super Bowl victory (Go Hawks), Jess convinced me and Ryan to meet her at her favorite bar.  So we went, and after a few moments (generally after a guy started rubbing his crotch against my leg), I realized it was a gay bar, and we were the fresh meat.  So of course the first bar we found in Brussels after dinner happened to also be filled with well-dressed men with perfect hair and not a misplaced eye-brow.  The name of the place gave it away: Homoeroticism or something like that.  Bars that I usually go to do not have that name. They let me charge my phone and gave us free chips, so we decided to stay (on the condition that no sausage crotches would rub against my leg - the girls didn't have this condition). The clientele and bartenders were all super nice, so it turned out to be a good time.  But of course, leave it to Schwartz to create awkward moments, randomly stumbling into "Homoeroticism".  She probably Googled that before we got there.

At our next bar we ran into a group of about 50 people who were in the middle of an organized pub crawl.  After Alana tried to get free drinks from them by pretending she was in the group, somehow we were invited to join. Apparently if you try to steal someone's drink, they will just give it to you. All of a sudden we were pub crawling around wet and snowy Brussels with dozens of friendly foreigners.  I thought the girls would be tired by midnight, but since they were getting their hard-core flirt on, it kept them going (however, if one of their boyfriends is reading this, of course they didn't flirt with anyone to get free drinks).  Since my flirt was not on, and I was hungry again (eating only mussels for every meal is not filling), I decided to find a Belgian kebab and go home. The girls came back a couple hours later, waking me up because they couldn't figure out how the apartment keys work.  I guess keys are different in Texas.

Day 2 mussel count: 67

The next day we took a day trip to Bruges and Ghent.  I had been to Bruges before, and it was super nice, but I also wanted to see Ghent.  The Viator tour was very convenient, taking us on a bus, walking us around the cities, while giving us some free time to shop, eat, and relax with a hot wine.  Both cities are quite small, so it didn't take much time to see them.  The guide shared a lot of info about the cities, though it was hard to hear him at times.  I think his voice was tired because he speaks 8 languages, which makes me feel like a failure not being able to speak Polish fluently (or even half-fluently).  By the way, if you haven't seen the movie In Bruges, definitely watch it!

Bruges center

Watch the movie!

Ghent had very nice Christmas markets all over the city and a giant cathedral that compares to any I have seen in Europe.  I was very impressed with the small town and would definitely recommend a visit to anyone in the area.  There were perfectly clear skies, but it was bone chilling cold, which also meant we got to enjoy the inside of bar tent to keep warm.  We tried a couple other local dishes for lunch (Flanders beef stew and waterzooi) before smelling/drooling over/buying chocolate and heading back to Brussels.  Dinner was at another one of the places with annoying guys out front, and then we had a pretty relaxed evening (with 2 Euro pints of beer) after a long day.

Day 3 mussels count: 61 (the serving sizes were getting smaller every day!)

I think the chef ate half of my lunch

Cathedral in Ghent

Inside the Cathedral

The girls left for Paris in the morning, but I had an evening flight back, so I took the train to Antwerp.  I didn't have much luggage so I just carried it around the city.  It was simple to take the train from Brussels, and the Antwerp city center was very easy to navigate from the train station.  I only needed a few hours to wander around the main pedestrian areas, squares, Christmas markets (although they were taking them down) and the little castle on the riverside.  I also granted Jess's wish and twerked in the main square, or "Antwerked", if you will.  This could probably count as another Awkward Jessica Moment, since everyone in the square stared at me as I put my camera on self-timer 20 times, shaking my butt and making a duck face, trying to get a "decent picture".

Diamond shops everywhere

Antwerp

Castle on the river

Antwerkin

I planned on eating more mussels to get my total up to 300, but when I saw a restaurant serving stuffed waffle sandwiches, my whole world changed.  They wrap the ingredients of the sandwich inside the waffle dough, making a big ball.  Then they put it in the waffle maker for a few minutes, and viola, you have a stuffed waffle.  Mine had chicken and carmelized sweet onions, and it was amazing.  The combination of the slightly sweet and crunchy waffle, with soft dough inside, and the hearty filling was perfect.  I stayed at the restaurant for an extra 30 minutes, hoping to get hungry enough to order another one.  Unfortunately it didn't happen so I headed back to Brussels to catch my flight home, happy with the counts of both mussels and Awkward Jessica Moments.

It looks like a normal waffle

But there is tasty goodness inside

Day 4 mussel count: 0.  But there was one amazing stuffed waffle sandwich.
Total mussels: 215.