Tales of Travel: On the road

For a "quick" weekend getaway, J had stuck me on a tour bus for a nice little "something" he said I deserved...especially for helping him pass his college class with an "A." So, I boarded a nice, A/C-equipped tour bus to start my solo journey with 49 other people. I picked a comfy spot by the window and curled my head against the small travel pillow I brought (along with a small fleece blanket). We picked up a few stragglers in Mannheim and the bus proceeded to drive. I droned out the words of the tour guide as I listened to an older album by Prince on the iPod.

My one & only shot in Brussels

We stopped for a quick dinner break before the bus began its long haul through the night. Around 1:00am, I woke up to the crispy and cheerful voice of our young guide---she happily chirped that we were stopping in Brussels, the capital of the European Union and of the country of Belgium. I was still waking up, but staring in awe at all the large city buildings and the beautiful architecture smack dab in the middle of the center. I've seen plenty of European cities since our stay in Germany, but I've always been amazed at each of their uniqueness. Our tour guide, Lisa, was reading off some of Brussels' important history as well as pointing out a few sights of interest, such as the Palace of Justice, Basilica of the Sacred Heart, the European Union, and a few other areas with spectacular views. We spent an hour inside the heart of the city before heading off into a rest stop near the Best Western Brussels, where I was lucky enough to grab ONE shot before groggily heading back into the bus. I fell asleep after stuffing about 3 packages of Belgian waffle cookies into my upper storage compartment and proceeded to sleep.

Sleeping on a bus (or plane) has never been a problem for me, as I learned to sleep ANYWHERE when I was in the military. Floors? You got it. Beside a noisy generator? Sure. In a tool shed? Why not? HA! So, the bus was pretty comfy---especially since I tired myself out watching Rome earlier that day. Speaking of the baby and J, they were left behind in Heidelberg. J knew I'd be fine by myself, so he didn't have any qualms about me leaving---just to make sure I was vigilant and aware of my surroundings. Around 4:30am, the bus stopped at another area---Calais, France. I peered outside the window to see that we were at a border controlled area and agents were waving the bus towards a building where the passengers would have to get out and enter. We were told to grab our passports and enter the control area; from there, we needed to see the agents to have our passports stamped with a temporary Visa before proceeding onto the ferry. I remember the lady flipped through my passport and smiled as she said, "Oh, I get the honor of placing the first stamp on your passport."

Sunrise over the Strait of Dover

Once we all had our passports stamped, we re-boarded the bus and drove right onto one of the ferries docked in Calais' ports. It was dusk, so the skies were still a little dark, with a faint tinge of orange off in the distance. As most of the passengers scrambled to get into line in the ferry's cafeteria, I opted to go out on top deck to take in the scent of the waters off the Strait of Dover and move away from the large seagulls that looked as if I was a target for poop droppings. The ferry pulled away from Calais and I could feel the anchor being hoisted up and the large rumbling of the engines underneath from where I was standing on the deck. I heard the seagulls up above me before seeing the fantastic sights of the white chalk cliffs of Dover. Talk about something to see while the sun is coming up.

White cliffs of Dover

It was an hour's ferry ride from Calais, France to Dover, England. Once we boarded our bus at Dover, we took off for the final leg of my trip: London, England.

Stay tuned for the next part of my 4th of July trip...

Not too big, okay?

The perfect car for Europe's roads

J was notified that he'd be getting a new soldier coming in from the U.S. in a week or two, so he gave the guy a call to give him a quick head's up before moving to Germany. One thing is, he's single, so that eliminates a lot of necessary info concerning family and moving. The next thing was his vehicle; J found out that he's bringing a huge monster of a truck, a Ford F150 (limited edition, I guess) with an extended cab and all the bells and whistles that come with it.

Yikes.

In some cases, there isn't much you can do about it, but just suck it up and haul the thing to Europe. 'Course, I doubt the soldier would leave it home because things do happen to cars, even when left with trusted friends and relatives. Anyway, J briefed him that he can take it over here, but gas would probably eat away at his paychecks and he can forget about taking it sightseeing, as most German towns and cities have very narrow roads and limited parking spaces.

What do most Americans do with big cars over here? They buy a second vehicle, which is usually older, used, and much cheaper. Luckily for J, the soldier said he might look for a smaller vehicle, so J took advantage of that opportunity and said he'd be selling our second car here. He cleaned it last weekend and even took time to make the tires bling-blinged to attract lookers at the lemon lot. Since we're leaving in a few short weeks, I told J to hurry up and stick it in the lemon lot, but he's been procrastinating for some reason.

As for driving, J also e-mailed the soldier a study guide for the German driver's exam that he'll be taking once he arrives. For U.S. military members and their families, all you need to do to drive in Germany is complete the driver's course and take a test with 100 questions. I think you can't fail more than 10 questions or else you'll have to wait to take the exam again. Also, you will need a valid U.S. driver's license to apply. No license, no German permit. Once you pass the exam, you get the military equivalent of a German's driver's license that's good all over Germany. To drive in other countries, you would have to head down to the city hall and apply for a international driver's pass and pay a minimal fee.

The soldier thanked J for the information and asked if the autobahn really didn't have a speed limit. J laughed and said there is a required speed limit, but that doesn't mean you can start burning rubber the moment you get in your vehicle. Besides, the polizei are always on the lookout for those big American cars and their drivers. It's actually quite easy to spot a Mustang, Charger, Expedition, or even a Cadillac on the highway, so I wouldn't even dream about causing an infraction in Germany!

Belated Father's Day post

J, Rome, and I celebrated Father's Day on June 21st. It was a quiet celebration for the three of us. I treated J to a Father's Day brunch at a nice community hall, where we stuffed ourselves silly with pancakes, bacon, sausages, seafood, and all sorts of meat. I think I might've had one serving of veggies, but I opted to dive into the meats and heavy cream until my pants looked like they were about to split from being too tight. J had a similar look, but being 6 ft tall, he has an advantage to where his height just evens everything out. When you're short and stocky (like me), all that food puffing out of a not-even-close-to-being-a-flat stomach just makes it look...er...unflattering, to say the least. Still, the brunch was awesome and it was nice to take Rome with us, even though he seemed preoccupied with looking at all the strange people around him.

J does deserve the "Father of the Year" award, if there was one, OR if I could forge one made out of pure gold and slap his image on it, he'd take it. When I came to from my general anesthesia, I remember seeing J holding a reddish, swollen, and heavily bundled little baby and beaming with pride. He proudly showed Rome to me, knowing that I was still drugged up and in no shape to feed or hold the child. I remember seeing him gently cradle his son and feeding him with a small bottle of formula. You couldn't deny the love and pride emanating from J's eyes---which seems to have grown like a zillion times to this day.

Did I mention Rome is a daddy's boy?

For the first few months of Rome's life, J was always there for him. He had to take an emergency leave of absence from work (lasting 3 months) because of my medical situation, but he was always there for his son, even sacrificing hours and hours of sleep at night and during the day, when he had to visit me in the hospital and take care of paperwork. J took Rome to all his appointments, handled all the night duties, shared in dayshift duties with his mom, and made sure his son was healthy and safe. I couldn't have done it any better had I been in better shape.

Now that I'm 125% better, J still "mothers" Rome, often being the first to freak out if he falls or suspiciously looks like he just put some foreign object in his mouth. Actually, I joke and tell friends and family that Rome has TWO moms---J and me. But Rome has a preference and it's his daddy. He cries when he sees him walk away and often holds his arms out to him when I'M the one holding him. He pulls my hair and kicks until he's safely in his daddy's arms.

Traitor.

But if you saw those two together, you'd know that there's a really deep and special bond that even I can't break. I can't explain it, but it's like there's some kind of invisible force field reserved for just the two of them. It's like they're in a "J and Rome club" and mommy's not invited. No worries though. It's because Rome has such an awesome daddy and that's not J's fault. He really is a wonderful daddy and an incredible husband. I know that Rome will be the same to one lucky gal years (and years and years) from now.

Thanks to Meretrisha, for reminding me to blog about Father's Day.