11 APRIL 2014
From the start, this impromptu trip was shined upon by the heavens. Our original plan had been to take a 10 am train from Stuttgart, which would put us in Baden-Baden at around 11:20, then we would still have a 15-minute cab ride from the train station to the airport (Baden-Baden is a smaller airport than even Stuttgart...hence why RyanAir flies from there). Since our flight would depart at 12:40 pmm in this scenario, everything would be cut quite close. That would have made for a very high-strung Meg.
But, thankfully, fate intervened. The kids did not go to school that day (Tim was ill, and Caro took what we call a "mental health day" in the Gallimore household). This meant we could take a 9 am train out of Stuttgart, making for a much more relaxed timeline.
And it all went off without a hitch. George had the short end of the stick in that he had custody of our shared, giant suitcase, while I only had my backpack. What a gentleman.
We arrived at the airport just before 11 am, checked our bag, cleared security (George set off the alarm on account of his belt...), then had about an hour to kill before our flight started boarding. The Baden-Baden airport has a decent cafe and outdoor seating area, so we drank coffee and sat in the sun while we waited. There are much worse ways to spend a Friday morning.
George and I had another lucky happening; for no apparent reason, RyanAir had given us "Priority Boarding," so we were some of the first people on the plane. AND our seats were toward the front, which made getting on and off the plane a breeze.
I also just want to say, for the record, that my RyanAir experience was much more pleasant than I expected. You hear a lot of horror stories about flying with them, but, based off of this trip, that reputation may not be deserved. It's certainly not a luxury experience by any means, but when you look at their prices, how much can you really expect? The service was friendly, and we made it from Point A to Point B on time. That's all anyone really needs.
The one thing I will make note of is that if you are not a resident of the EU, regardless of if you are checking a bag or not, make sure you queue up at the desk and get your passport checked and boarding pass stamped. For whatever reason, RyanAir likes to check non-EU passports twice (like Santa...hehehe). They'll do it as you are boarding the plane as well, but you will be denied access if you don't also have a stamp from the check-in people too. Yet another reason I was happy we arrived early.
We landed in Thessaloniki at about 4:15 pm, picked up our bag, then went to the Sixt desk to pick up our car. That was an annoyingly long process, with us signing our lives away to the car and GPS (mostly the GPS). Also, George thought that the guy couldn't figure out how to say "Meghann" or "Gallimore" as he referred to me as "the lady" throughout the entire process. Apparently "George" is a bit more straight-forward.
We finally hit the road at about 6:15 in a light blue Chevy Spark that had clearly seen some better days. There was a dent or scratch on nearly every part of the body. Which of course, could only work in our favor; we didn't have to put on kid gloves to handle the car, or be QUITE as cautious about what roads we took.
It was just under a two-hour drive to Litochoro (according to the GPS...I think we made it in an hour fifteen...). And even a drive that brief (in Meghann & George terms...) was enough to show us the insanity that is driving in Greece. People cut each other off, speed, drift across lanes, ride in between lanes...it's absolute madness. We also were confused as to why the GPS kept beeping randomly. At first we thought it was a warning when another car was too close, as it was happening constantly. However, we later realized that it went off whenever we exceeded the rather arbitrary speed limits.
Once we arrived in Litochoro, we began the fun task of negotiating through the labyrinth of one-way and very narrow streets of the town to find our hotel. The GPS was already proving itsel fto be worthless and we ended up asking a very nice local woman for directions.
Despite the difficulties in finding the hotel, the Villa Pantheon ended up being worth the extra effort, and was one of our favorite hotels when we compared them all. We were upgraded from a double room to a master suite, complete with a fireplace, living room, and kitchenette. Not to mention, a MASSIVE balcony that had spectacular views of Mount Olympus and the sea. Greece was already off to an incredible start.
By this point, we were both starving (or, in George's words "a bit peckish"), so we walked five minutes into the town centre to find some food. There were a surprising amount of options for such a small place, but we had our minds made up for us when a lady from one of them came out and essentially shoved us inside. There we tried our first Greek beer, Mythos. It was nice; not quite German but still very drinkable (It reminded me of Corona, but George disagrees). We split a Greek salad, George had a meatball thing, and I had veal. Both were delicious. The chef, who had taken a liking to George on account of him being British (even changing the channel of the tv in the restaurant to the BBC news...) gave us a free feta cheese croissant thing, which was actually outstanding. My mouth is watering at the thought.
Our cue to leave came when the place was invaded by, I kid you not, about thirty members of a single family. All the tables started getting pushed together, and it was very loud, and we stood out as the non-Greeks. So, we waddled back to the hotel and went to bed. Already, it was an excellent adventure.
****I promise this will be the ONLY Greece post without photos. I didn't really think about my camera on this first day, but I went shutter crazy the rest of the time we were there. It won't always be just text.
Monday, May 12, 2014
Our Grecian Odyssey (itinerary subject to change)
Hey guys! I'm almost getting up to the present day (though there are some less exciting, more day-to-day posts that I will have to go back and do eventually...). This post was written on 1 April 2014 (yes, I am old-fashioned and I still write these things out by hand before they come here). This was our "solid" itinerary for Greece. Naturally, we did end up changing a lot of it, but it is the skeleton of what actually happened. Also, I just like seeing how excited pre-Greece Meghann was for this trip. Because post-Greece Meghann just still gets a bit sad that it's over. SUCH a good trip. Anyway, here it goes:
Hello all! I leave for Greece in just over a week, and I have become unbearably excited and spirited. I think it's 100% impossible for me to get depressed or sad about anything at the moment. Again, poor George. I cannot quite even imagine what new levels of obnoxiousness my enthusiasm will reach once we are actually there.a
So, in the meantime, I thought I'd share our itinerary:
Day 1: Fly from Stuttgart to Thessaloniki. Drive to Litochoro (town at base of Mount Olympus.
Day 2: (lots of driving and us being very ambitious. What a surprise!...). Wake up, climb around Mount Olympus. Drive to Meteora (2.5 hours). Gaze in awe. Drive to Delphi(3 hours). See the Oracle and Amphitheatre. Pray my camera battery holds up. Drive to Corinth and sleep.
Day 3: (lots more driving) Wake up, check out Corinth Canals and Ancient Corinth. Drive to Patra. Admire the sea. Drive to Olympia. Inevitably lose if I challenge George to a race around the track. Drive to the Temple of Apollo on the south side of Athens to watch the sunset. Head into Athens and crash at the hotel.
Day 4: Athens. Lots of walking and old stuff and eating of delicious Greek food.
Day 5: Ferry from Athens' port (Piraeus) to the island of Naxos.
Day 6: Naxos
Day 7: Leave Naxos; take ferry to Mykonos.
Day 8: Mykonos
Day 9: Leave Mykonos; take ferry back to Piraeus. Pick up the car and drive back up to Thessaloniki.
Day 10: Explore Thessaloniki before heading to the airport. We will arrive back in Stuttgart in the evening.
So, yes, we've planned to see and do a majority of what you can do in Greece in less than ten days. However, we also have allotted about half of the trip to being bums on Greek islands (that's the part that we're both the most excited for). The first half of the trip will be pretty full. But then there's ample time for us to recover (unless we go crazy on Mykonos that Friday night; absolutely a possibility!).
I CANNOT WAIT. Expect a full report when I get back. Probably not immediately, but I will get around to it eventually.
Actually, looking at this now, we changed a fair amount. (Past Meghann did realize I would take ages to post this though). But, you'll see it all soon enough! My goal is to finish this before Friday (leaving for Spain then!). However, I make no promises. This was an epic trip, and I need to do it justice. But it does make me a little sad that it's done. One week ago today, I was in Athens...where has the time gone??
Hello all! I leave for Greece in just over a week, and I have become unbearably excited and spirited. I think it's 100% impossible for me to get depressed or sad about anything at the moment. Again, poor George. I cannot quite even imagine what new levels of obnoxiousness my enthusiasm will reach once we are actually there.a
So, in the meantime, I thought I'd share our itinerary:
Day 1: Fly from Stuttgart to Thessaloniki. Drive to Litochoro (town at base of Mount Olympus.
Day 2: (lots of driving and us being very ambitious. What a surprise!...). Wake up, climb around Mount Olympus. Drive to Meteora (2.5 hours). Gaze in awe. Drive to Delphi(3 hours). See the Oracle and Amphitheatre. Pray my camera battery holds up. Drive to Corinth and sleep.
Day 3: (lots more driving) Wake up, check out Corinth Canals and Ancient Corinth. Drive to Patra. Admire the sea. Drive to Olympia. Inevitably lose if I challenge George to a race around the track. Drive to the Temple of Apollo on the south side of Athens to watch the sunset. Head into Athens and crash at the hotel.
Day 4: Athens. Lots of walking and old stuff and eating of delicious Greek food.
Day 5: Ferry from Athens' port (Piraeus) to the island of Naxos.
Day 6: Naxos
Day 7: Leave Naxos; take ferry to Mykonos.
Day 8: Mykonos
Day 9: Leave Mykonos; take ferry back to Piraeus. Pick up the car and drive back up to Thessaloniki.
Day 10: Explore Thessaloniki before heading to the airport. We will arrive back in Stuttgart in the evening.
So, yes, we've planned to see and do a majority of what you can do in Greece in less than ten days. However, we also have allotted about half of the trip to being bums on Greek islands (that's the part that we're both the most excited for). The first half of the trip will be pretty full. But then there's ample time for us to recover (unless we go crazy on Mykonos that Friday night; absolutely a possibility!).
I CANNOT WAIT. Expect a full report when I get back. Probably not immediately, but I will get around to it eventually.
Actually, looking at this now, we changed a fair amount. (Past Meghann did realize I would take ages to post this though). But, you'll see it all soon enough! My goal is to finish this before Friday (leaving for Spain then!). However, I make no promises. This was an epic trip, and I need to do it justice. But it does make me a little sad that it's done. One week ago today, I was in Athens...where has the time gone??
8 Countries in 9 Days
I'm cheating a bit with this catchy title, as it's not something that happened or is going to happen (at least not in the immediate future...). But it is yet another example of the overambitious, crazy travel plans that George and I concoct when left to our own devices.
This was, again, a rather spur-of-the-moment decision that we came to over coffee one Saturday morning. I had just learned the day before (this was sometime in late March) that there was a week in April that I wasn't needed, as the kids were off from school and would be with their father. This was a welcome surprise that I desperately wanted to capitalize on. Traveling is a difficult addiction to shake.
So, I mentioned it to George. He'd been talking about taking a trip in April for awhile, but nothing had materialized. He suggested Greece, and I was immediately all over that plan. I've been nursing an obsession with Greece for years (thank you, Mamma Mia). It was actually the first country I wanted to visit once I arrived in Europe. Mike's family owns a house on the island of Karpathos, and they were on one of their bi-annual trips there this past September. Unfortunately, flights were atrocious at teh time, and I couldn't really find a way to make the timing work when I was only just moving to Germany then.
But now the timing did work, and flight costs had dropped massively. Not much was standing in the way.
Aside from George and I, and our mutual desire to push the envelope.
At some point during the discussion, we decided that road-tripping to Greece from Germany was the way to go. George loves to drive, and I would have been SO keen to make this title a reality. After poring over Google Maps for a couple of hours, our tentative itinerary looked like this:
Day 1: Stuttgart to Venice, Italy
Day 2: Venice to Zagreb, Croatia (via Austria and Slovenia)
Day 3: Zagreb to Skopje, Macedonia (via Bosnia and Serbia)
Day 4: Skopje to Thessaloniki Greece.
Days 5-7: Greece
Days 8-9: Journey back to Stuttgart
As you can see, in many ways, it would have been an absolutely wicked trip. Our passports would look AMAZING, we'd see a ton, and also definitely deserve bragging rights for the (minimum) 48 hours of driving that we would be doing.
However, after much consideration, we shelved this plan. With just over a week to work with, all that driving was going to severely handicap our capacity to actually, ya know, see Greece. Not to mention that we'd be "knackered"(I love using George's British phrases) with such a short turn-around between the driving days. So, we shelved this plan in favor of more conventional modes of transportation for such a distance (AKA, planes). We were also slightly worried about a few of the border crossings, as we really couldn't afford to get held up on such a tight schedule.
I stand by the fact that this would work well if there were two weeks or more to work with, though.
This was, again, a rather spur-of-the-moment decision that we came to over coffee one Saturday morning. I had just learned the day before (this was sometime in late March) that there was a week in April that I wasn't needed, as the kids were off from school and would be with their father. This was a welcome surprise that I desperately wanted to capitalize on. Traveling is a difficult addiction to shake.
So, I mentioned it to George. He'd been talking about taking a trip in April for awhile, but nothing had materialized. He suggested Greece, and I was immediately all over that plan. I've been nursing an obsession with Greece for years (thank you, Mamma Mia). It was actually the first country I wanted to visit once I arrived in Europe. Mike's family owns a house on the island of Karpathos, and they were on one of their bi-annual trips there this past September. Unfortunately, flights were atrocious at teh time, and I couldn't really find a way to make the timing work when I was only just moving to Germany then.
But now the timing did work, and flight costs had dropped massively. Not much was standing in the way.
Aside from George and I, and our mutual desire to push the envelope.
At some point during the discussion, we decided that road-tripping to Greece from Germany was the way to go. George loves to drive, and I would have been SO keen to make this title a reality. After poring over Google Maps for a couple of hours, our tentative itinerary looked like this:
Day 1: Stuttgart to Venice, Italy
Day 2: Venice to Zagreb, Croatia (via Austria and Slovenia)
Day 3: Zagreb to Skopje, Macedonia (via Bosnia and Serbia)
Day 4: Skopje to Thessaloniki Greece.
Days 5-7: Greece
Days 8-9: Journey back to Stuttgart
As you can see, in many ways, it would have been an absolutely wicked trip. Our passports would look AMAZING, we'd see a ton, and also definitely deserve bragging rights for the (minimum) 48 hours of driving that we would be doing.
However, after much consideration, we shelved this plan. With just over a week to work with, all that driving was going to severely handicap our capacity to actually, ya know, see Greece. Not to mention that we'd be "knackered"(I love using George's British phrases) with such a short turn-around between the driving days. So, we shelved this plan in favor of more conventional modes of transportation for such a distance (AKA, planes). We were also slightly worried about a few of the border crossings, as we really couldn't afford to get held up on such a tight schedule.
I stand by the fact that this would work well if there were two weeks or more to work with, though.
Because Sometimes You Wake Up Saturday Morning & Decide to Go to Austria
There's a sentence I never thought I would write (and also probably a bit long for a title...). But, hey, when you live in southern Germany, and are friends with people just as prone to spontaneity (or, arguably, just as lacking in common sense...), it is absolutely a thing that can be done. And it was a great idea, just in case anyone was wondering.
Now, I should probably set a little context. In actuality, this adventure wasn't entirely un-premedidated. George and I had been toying with the idea of going somewhere over the weekend all week. This was back in early March, and I think we were both starting to get a bit stir-crazy. It had been awhile since the Christmas break, the weather wasn't great, and we just needed a change of scenery. Plus, pretty much everyone else in our group was off doing something fun (Laura was in London, Sarah headed for Zurich, and Adrien up to Cologne for Carnival). We couldn't possibly be the only ones without exciting stories come our next group gathering.
I must admit, however, that the original plan was much more conservative than what we actually ended up doing (truth be told, our actual itinerary was probably bordering on being TOO ambitious. No regrets here, though). The first plan was just to catch a train and spend the day exploring either Heidelberg or Tübingen. Both cities are meant to be classically beautiful, perfect representations of the best that Germany has to offer, at least aesthetically speaking (this in comparison to Stuttgart, which, while a fantastic place to live, will not be winning any beauty contests in the near future). It should also be noted that both cities are within an hour and a half of Stuttgart.
Somewhere during the discussion, one of us (I am going to blame this one on George, actually), suggested renting a car. Having wheels opened up a whole new realm of possibilities, as Stuttgart is beautifully situated within a three hours' drive of the Swiss, French, Austrian, and Belgian border. The world was our oyster. We could check off a laundry list of places and be back in time for dinner. I was sold.
Next, though, came the surprisingly complicated aspect of finding a car to rent. We decided just to go to the main train station. Surely there had to be plenty of cars available for random weekend trips. And initially, it seemed too easy. The first place we checked did have a car, for less than we were anticipating, AND we could keep it until Monday morning (Sunday was now fair game too...). Then, we had our first hitch; they wouldn't accept my credit card without my passport (apparently an Illinois driver's license is only good for drinking...).
In an attempt to avoid a trip to Kornwestheim and back, we decided to check and see if the other car rental companies didn't have that policy. We never got to find out (though I can now say it's a universal requirement...), as none of them had cars. So, I rushed back to the house, grabbed my passport and phone charger, headed back into the city, we picked up the car, and were off!
I should also mention that, while I was completing my rat race to and from the house, Georg and I independently came to the decision that we should find somewhere to stay overnight (enablers..and we've only gotten worse about it, as you'll see when I describe our trip to Greece...). It was already noon, and we didn't want to spend all our time commuting back and forth.
And so we finally set off at around one pm. Not exactly the ideal time to begin a weekend road trip, but as it was so late in the day, we encountered virtually no traffic. Our spirits rose as we drove further and further from the city. George was delighted to have a car at his disposal, and I was ecstatic to discover that my iPhone's music could play through our little car's (surprisingly) decent speakers. Poor George...he was a captive audience for my eclectiv & OCD deejaying skills (or lack thereof).
It took us just over an hour to reach our first stop, Baden-Baden. We didn't really stop, though; just kind of drove through the center and saw the baths. It's a pleasant little town, but I was too excited to see the Alps and the Black Forest to have the patience for a city. It also was quite hilly, which gave George many opportunities to illustrate the "biting point" of a manual car. That's a skill I still need to acquire; I've been quite lucky in that both the van and the SmartCar are automatics. However, I've also been watching a lot of Top Gear lately, and I think a manual would be a lot more fun. Something for a rainy day...
After our little detour, we went back on the open road and headed for the Black Forest. It took us about 90 minutes to reach, and we drove along the main road for another half-hour before pulling off and stopping at a small lake (whose name now escapes me). There, I proved I am a child at heart by unnecessarily climbing on rocks and slipping around while George walked like a normal adult would and made sure I didn't kill myself. It's a good thing that he's so tolerant of my hi-jinks or he may have strangled me by the end of the weekend. During our stroll around the lake, we decided our next stop would be Konstanz, which is just next to the Swiss border. We wanted to see Lake Constance (or, "Boden See" in German), as the little taster we had just experience only made us want something more spectacular. It took us about two hours to reach the city, then another forty-five minutes to get into and park near the city centre (on account of THE most congested round-about that I have ever seen, and some awful drivers).
However, it was well-worth the effort. Konstanz is beautiful, and we probably didn't do it justice with our brief stop for coffee, but while waiting in the roundabout, we decided to push through to Innsbruck, Austria. Since George hadn't brought his passport, we had to take the long way around to get there (Swiss border control is much stricter than the non-existent Austrian one). This meant we had at least four more hours of driving ahead of us. It was already 6pm and dark at this point. Probably if we'd had a third, rational person with us, we would have stopped for the night there. Not with us, though.
Now, I should probably set a little context. In actuality, this adventure wasn't entirely un-premedidated. George and I had been toying with the idea of going somewhere over the weekend all week. This was back in early March, and I think we were both starting to get a bit stir-crazy. It had been awhile since the Christmas break, the weather wasn't great, and we just needed a change of scenery. Plus, pretty much everyone else in our group was off doing something fun (Laura was in London, Sarah headed for Zurich, and Adrien up to Cologne for Carnival). We couldn't possibly be the only ones without exciting stories come our next group gathering.
I must admit, however, that the original plan was much more conservative than what we actually ended up doing (truth be told, our actual itinerary was probably bordering on being TOO ambitious. No regrets here, though). The first plan was just to catch a train and spend the day exploring either Heidelberg or Tübingen. Both cities are meant to be classically beautiful, perfect representations of the best that Germany has to offer, at least aesthetically speaking (this in comparison to Stuttgart, which, while a fantastic place to live, will not be winning any beauty contests in the near future). It should also be noted that both cities are within an hour and a half of Stuttgart.
Somewhere during the discussion, one of us (I am going to blame this one on George, actually), suggested renting a car. Having wheels opened up a whole new realm of possibilities, as Stuttgart is beautifully situated within a three hours' drive of the Swiss, French, Austrian, and Belgian border. The world was our oyster. We could check off a laundry list of places and be back in time for dinner. I was sold.
Next, though, came the surprisingly complicated aspect of finding a car to rent. We decided just to go to the main train station. Surely there had to be plenty of cars available for random weekend trips. And initially, it seemed too easy. The first place we checked did have a car, for less than we were anticipating, AND we could keep it until Monday morning (Sunday was now fair game too...). Then, we had our first hitch; they wouldn't accept my credit card without my passport (apparently an Illinois driver's license is only good for drinking...).
In an attempt to avoid a trip to Kornwestheim and back, we decided to check and see if the other car rental companies didn't have that policy. We never got to find out (though I can now say it's a universal requirement...), as none of them had cars. So, I rushed back to the house, grabbed my passport and phone charger, headed back into the city, we picked up the car, and were off!
I should also mention that, while I was completing my rat race to and from the house, Georg and I independently came to the decision that we should find somewhere to stay overnight (enablers..and we've only gotten worse about it, as you'll see when I describe our trip to Greece...). It was already noon, and we didn't want to spend all our time commuting back and forth.
And so we finally set off at around one pm. Not exactly the ideal time to begin a weekend road trip, but as it was so late in the day, we encountered virtually no traffic. Our spirits rose as we drove further and further from the city. George was delighted to have a car at his disposal, and I was ecstatic to discover that my iPhone's music could play through our little car's (surprisingly) decent speakers. Poor George...he was a captive audience for my eclectiv & OCD deejaying skills (or lack thereof).
It took us just over an hour to reach our first stop, Baden-Baden. We didn't really stop, though; just kind of drove through the center and saw the baths. It's a pleasant little town, but I was too excited to see the Alps and the Black Forest to have the patience for a city. It also was quite hilly, which gave George many opportunities to illustrate the "biting point" of a manual car. That's a skill I still need to acquire; I've been quite lucky in that both the van and the SmartCar are automatics. However, I've also been watching a lot of Top Gear lately, and I think a manual would be a lot more fun. Something for a rainy day...
After our little detour, we went back on the open road and headed for the Black Forest. It took us about 90 minutes to reach, and we drove along the main road for another half-hour before pulling off and stopping at a small lake (whose name now escapes me). There, I proved I am a child at heart by unnecessarily climbing on rocks and slipping around while George walked like a normal adult would and made sure I didn't kill myself. It's a good thing that he's so tolerant of my hi-jinks or he may have strangled me by the end of the weekend. During our stroll around the lake, we decided our next stop would be Konstanz, which is just next to the Swiss border. We wanted to see Lake Constance (or, "Boden See" in German), as the little taster we had just experience only made us want something more spectacular. It took us about two hours to reach the city, then another forty-five minutes to get into and park near the city centre (on account of THE most congested round-about that I have ever seen, and some awful drivers).
Still lots of snow in March
The (only slightly) hazardous path
Looking out on the Black Forest
However, it was well-worth the effort. Konstanz is beautiful, and we probably didn't do it justice with our brief stop for coffee, but while waiting in the roundabout, we decided to push through to Innsbruck, Austria. Since George hadn't brought his passport, we had to take the long way around to get there (Swiss border control is much stricter than the non-existent Austrian one). This meant we had at least four more hours of driving ahead of us. It was already 6pm and dark at this point. Probably if we'd had a third, rational person with us, we would have stopped for the night there. Not with us, though.
Some random arch in Konstanz
A church in Konstanz. With nice lighting.
We became a bit turned around when we tried to get out of Konstanz (including nearly driving onto a ferry across the Lake...) but eventually found our way back onto the motorway. After driving for roughly two more hours, we stopped in Bregenz, Austria. It's just over the German border. By this point, we were famished; George had only had a small breakfast and I stupidly hadn't eaten anything on account of how excited I was. We went to the first restaurant we found. I don't know if it really was spectacular or if I was just that hungry. Regardless, I thoroughly enjoyed my apple curry and George said that his schnitzel was excellent as well (clearly, he has adapted to living in Germany...).
And so we began the final leg of our journey, of which we grossly estimated the length of. We had planned on it taking about 2.5-3 hours; it took a solid four, and we will forever remember it as the route with an ungodly number of tunnels. And we aren't talking harmless, tiny, little, blink-and-you-missed-it tunnels. These things were LONG. The worst one was nearly 16 kilometers (that's ten miles, my fellow Americans). George and I were on the verge of losing our minds. We started betting on how high the temperature would rise in the middle of the tunnels to occupy ourselves.
Oh, and also, when we weren't going stir-crazy in tunnels, there was a blizzard going on outside of them as we were now properly going through the Austrian Alps. Thankfully, our little German car had snow tires on, and George is a good driver. Had I been in the driver's seat, we may never have arrived in Innsbruck at all.
At around 1 am, we FINALLY reached Innsbruck. We couldn't tell if it was worth it yet or not, but we had a more immediate issue to deal with: finding a hotel. Again, this was another element (consequence?) of our spontaneity that we underestimated the difficulties of. We drove around the city and ran in and out of various hotels for about an hour before giving up and paying more than we had hoped just so that we could finally get some sleep. For the record, we ended up at a Best Western. Ironically, it was the first place we inquired at, and, yes, we did return to that receptionist with our tails between our legs.
Sunday morning, we woke up (relatively) early (considering we didn't get to sleep until after 2 am) at around 9 am. I was the first one awake, and I pretty much hustled George out of the room to make sure we didn't miss the free breakfast (because God forbid we not get our money's worth). It was perfectly adequate.
After gorging ourselves (well, after I gorged myself...George showed a bit more restraint), we spent the morning exploring the old town city centre, and followed a path along the river. It really was quite lovely; the Alps surround the city, and everything is green. I was in seventh heaven; this was the first time I had seen proper mountains since leaving New Zealand almost two years ago. Again, it is a good thing that George is so patient, because I am a lot to deal with when my spirits are that high.
The view from our walk along the river
Walking through Old Town. George forgot he was with a real tourist.
Stunning, right?
Around 11:30 am, we hit the road again. In an attempt to avoid all the tunnels (and another toll like the 10 euro one we paid the evening before...) we took a different, mountain road out of Austria. It was incredible. Spectacular views of the Alps, lots of hairpin turns for George, and a manageable number of tunnels (and the ones we did go through were of normal lengths).
Admittedly, not the greatest photo, but take my word: it was awesome.
It only took us about 2.5 hours to reach our next stop: the famous "Cinderella" castle, Neuschwanstein, in Bavaria (which is a state in Germany in case anyone was confused...). Upon our arrival, the first order of business was to locate a bathroom, as I was about ready to pee my pants (cosmit payback for me cackling at George the day before when he had been in the same dire straits upon us reaching Konstanz), then grabbed a coffee at a nearby cafe.
As it was already quite late in the day (and we still hadn't ruled out stopping by Tübingen on the way back to Stuttgart...), and George had already been to Neuschwanstein in the past, we decided to forego the tour (obviously those of you who know me well realize how heartbreaking that was...not) and just climb up and take photos around the outside.
The walk up to the castle was (as George had warned) fairly long and entirely uphill. We made it up in about twenty minutes (faster than most of our fellow walkers, who held us up, but slower than the horse-drawn carriages). The weather wasn't really cooperating with us at this point, so we were both quite damp by this point, and the views weren't QUITE as spectacular as they can be. It was still impressive though, and the gloomy, isty weather added some of its own spooky ambience. Not exactly what you'd see with the copycat version in Orlando and California though.
Neuschwanstein
Spooky
After taking photos around the castle, we headed back down and walked over to a nearby lake. I am easily impressed by bodies of water, and this was no exception. I pretty much just sighed with happiness the entire time, while George mocked me. Really, this trip reminded me of New Zealand so much that I couldn't help but be delighted.
But really, how could you not like that?
We then hit the road one last time (we had, sensibly, at this point, finally decided that Tübingen was not going to happen on this particular trip) to get back to Stuttgart. It was 5 pm at this point, and we had about three hours of driving left. We stopped for food, then plowed through back to Stuttgart.
Now, with two NORMAL people, that would be the end of the anecdotes. Not George and I. We sometimes even managed to make turning in the car a project. I mean, returning a rental car should not be a difficult endeavor. We managed to make it so. First, we drove into what we thought was a parking garage, but was actually the basement of a big bank (don't ask me how we did that...I don't think we could do it again even if we wanted to). We then found the right parking garage, but entered on the wrong level (George also knocked down some cones, resulting in a telling-off from some old German guy who we later had to ask for directions from). Once we were told we were in the wrong spot, we had to pay to go out, then go back in on the right level, and ditch the car.
By the time all was said and done, it was 11 pm when I walked into the house. I immediately passed out (without even considering taking a shower...I know, pretty gross). And then it was an early start for both George and I the next day.
However, I have no regrets. It was an awesome weekend. While we didn't exactly behave sensiblym we saw a lot, and all the driving at least gives us (well, mostly George) bragging rights. Plus, while we were both physically tired at the end of the weekend, emotionally (at least for me), it was rejuvenating. I had been in a bit of a rut, and getting out of Kornwestheim and Stuttgart and traveling somewhere new helped to remind me of all the reasons I did this in the first place.
The family is very nice, and being an au pair is not hard. But that's half of the problem; I'm lacking a challenge and adequate stimulation. Travel cures that. Good thing I planned so many trips after that...this was the beginning of a domino effect.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
Home for the Holidays
Okay guys, still playing catch-up here. It's May, and I'm talking about December. I don't have any idea where the time has gone. It's going to be Christmas again before I am properly caught up.
Anyway, I could not have been more delighted to go home and see my family, friends, and dogs (plus, I guess the cats are kind of cute as well). I knew I had been missing everyone, but I don't think you truly realize how important everyone is until you leave and come back again.
And it's always the quiet, silly moments that make you realize what you miss the most. Like those Sunday mornings where the entire family just sits around the kitchen table in their pajamas and reminisces (and by "reminisce," I mean we mock one of us until they're nearly in tears before switching to a new target). Or when my brother, sister, and I all avoid my mother when she's in a cleaning rampage by laying on my bed (always the community meeting place, for some reason) and chatting about life. And then when my best friend, Abby, and I prove once again that no separation can ever break us by spending hours talking about anything and everything. And of course, also purposely taking the long route when we drive anywhere, just so we can show each other more songs. Everything about it is just so comforting and lovely.
That being said, I wouldn't say that most of the break was exactly relaxing. I had a lot of people to see, and not many days to do it it. It was a bit of an art to squeeze it all in. Especially when you have a very needy family (sorry, guys, but you know it's true.). But luckily, I did manage to see everyone I wanted to, if only briefly in certain cases.
My family and I spent a lot of quality time together that first weekend back. My grandpa took Katie, Conor, and I to Chicago on Saturday. There, we had the quintessential Christmas time day in Chicago. We explored Macy's, ate in the Walnut Room, and visited the Christkindl market. Macy's was spectacular, as usual, and it was my first trip to the Walnut Room. The meal was INCREDIBLE, and the souvenir mug that came with it will be the start of a new collection. I want that to be an annual trip.
Anyway, I could not have been more delighted to go home and see my family, friends, and dogs (plus, I guess the cats are kind of cute as well). I knew I had been missing everyone, but I don't think you truly realize how important everyone is until you leave and come back again.
And it's always the quiet, silly moments that make you realize what you miss the most. Like those Sunday mornings where the entire family just sits around the kitchen table in their pajamas and reminisces (and by "reminisce," I mean we mock one of us until they're nearly in tears before switching to a new target). Or when my brother, sister, and I all avoid my mother when she's in a cleaning rampage by laying on my bed (always the community meeting place, for some reason) and chatting about life. And then when my best friend, Abby, and I prove once again that no separation can ever break us by spending hours talking about anything and everything. And of course, also purposely taking the long route when we drive anywhere, just so we can show each other more songs. Everything about it is just so comforting and lovely.
That being said, I wouldn't say that most of the break was exactly relaxing. I had a lot of people to see, and not many days to do it it. It was a bit of an art to squeeze it all in. Especially when you have a very needy family (sorry, guys, but you know it's true.). But luckily, I did manage to see everyone I wanted to, if only briefly in certain cases.
My family and I spent a lot of quality time together that first weekend back. My grandpa took Katie, Conor, and I to Chicago on Saturday. There, we had the quintessential Christmas time day in Chicago. We explored Macy's, ate in the Walnut Room, and visited the Christkindl market. Macy's was spectacular, as usual, and it was my first trip to the Walnut Room. The meal was INCREDIBLE, and the souvenir mug that came with it will be the start of a new collection. I want that to be an annual trip.
Conor, Katie, Gramps, and I at Macy's
Our entrés. SO delicious
Katie, Gramps, Conor, and I in front of the tree
The tree in all its glory
Now, I must say, after living in Germany and seeing so many of their Christmas markets, the little Chicago Christkindl market doesn't QUITE stack up. The gluhwein tasted like juice, the only beer is Bitburger (which I normally avoid), and it's not impressively decorated. Again, I did like my souvenir mug, but the old boot-shaped one that I received the year before was better than the more traditionally-shaped ones that they had this year.
This sign alone should have prepared me for disappointment.
Katie, Gramps, and Conor enjoying their gluhwein. Oh, to again be naive and ignorant of true German alcohol...
A little piece of my home for the year...
And the rest of the break was pretty much just spent catching up with everybody. My friend Julia had a quiet New Year's party that I went to. Abby very kindly drove in from Ohio to see me. And I went out with lots of lunches, breakfasts, and drinks with most of my other friends in the area. It was so nice to catch up with everybody.
As wonderful as being home always is, it also always kind of confuses me. I am good at adapting to new places, but not so good at the transitions. And a trip of such short duration is entirely transitional. It's just always strange to go back and feel like nothing has really change; except for you. The old routine slips back on immediately. It's like hitting the pause button on life. I can never decide if that is a good or a bad thing. Maybe it's neither; just an element of growing up.
I also tend to always feel a bit guilty and undeserving about all the attention I get when I come home. Because I'm so rarely at home now, me coming back is almost an occasion in itself. It feeds the selfish streak in me ("Guys, I'm coming back. But only for x amount of days. You better drop everything and come see me.") Not that I would ever actually say that. But sometimes I feel like I do, if that makes any sense.
Anyway, mostly this trip just made me realize how truly, spectacularly, undeservedly lucky I am. My family and friends are all incredible. They support me regardless of what crazy scheme is in my head, and are always there when I need them. And, thanks to my wandering ways, there's pieces of my heart on three continents. My heaven would be uniting all those pieces together in one place (which in a truly utopia world, would still be New Zealand). But, realistically, that will never happen. There's always going to be a piece missing. Hazards of the occupation, I guess. Looking on the bright side, though, it means I will never stop having reasons to travel. And will always be an active Skype user.
I'll Be Home for Christmas; Or, How Parts of "Home Alone" Became My Life
Hello, everybody. After a VERY long hiatus, I've finally sat down back at my computer to update this thing. That's the great irony of blogging; when you have the most interesting topics to write on about life, there's the least amount of time to actually do it. I am months behind at the moment, so my apologies if it takes me another few days (or weeks...) to catch up.
Anyway, as most of you know, I was unexpectedly able to come home to Chicago for Christmas. That was not originally in the plans; my grandpa was meant to come visit just after Christmas and through the new year to do a tour of Italy with me. However, he ran into some health issues; his carotid artery was 80% blocked, so he had surgery right away. As it was a fairly substantial surgery, he couldn't fly immediately afterwards, so we rescheduled our trip for August. And he offered to fly me home for Christmas, which I (of course) accepted. I must not be quite as independent as I think I am (or perhaps I'm more sentimental than I realize...) because the thought of missing out on Christmas at home with my family was torturous. No longer did I have to be insanely jealous of all my friends here when they talked about going home to see their people.
By the way, in case anyone was concerned, my grandfather is healthy as a horse. He was a trooper through the surgery, and you'd never guess that he's seventy-years-old. He thinks his scar makes him look like Frankenstein, but it's healing beautifully. The spider bite/staph infection surgical scar on my chest is much more unsightly. I do look like the bride of Frankenstein under bright lights.
My next quest was then to find a flight at Christmastime, with less than three weeks' notice, that was not going to cost the same as buying a new kidney on the black market. The situation looked pretty grim initially; finding a flight that cost less than $2000 that involved less than fifty hours of travel seemed as likely as walking a block anywhere inGermany and not seeing someone (male or female) sporting a scarf (i.e. slim to none).
However, through some creative booking, I did manage to find a way. Instead of flying from the Stuttgart airport, I booked a flight out of Frankfurt. It's only about 90 minutes on the ICE from Stuttgart (and about 30 euros), and it's a much bigger airport, with a lot more flights. So that alone knocked off about $500. I also took advantage of the fact that I am still (for the moment...) under twenty-six, so I used a website called Student Universe. While they don't always save you a substantial amount of money, it's always worth checking, and I found some good bargains in the past (my flight to Stuttgart from Chicago in the fall was an $1100 flight from SwissAir that I paid $400 for). Ultimately, we ended up paying $1300 for a round-trip flight from Germany to Chicago at Christmas. Not too shabby.
My biggest worry for this trip was taking the train from Stuttgart to Frankfurt. As a child of suburbia, relying on public transportation is still worrying. What if I went to the wrong platform? Or got off at the wrong stop? Or if the train is running late? Or breaks down? (this is where having an active imagination is crippling as you think of every possible scenario, regardless of if it's actually possible).
And it didn't help that I didn't exactly start off my journey in a prudent manner. The night before I left, George and I met up for a farewell drink, lost track of time, and I missed the last S-Bahn back into Kornwestheim. So, I slept on his couch, then woke up at 5 am to be back in time to finish packing and take care of my morning duties for Nicole and the kids.
As it turns out, my worries about the train were entirely and completely unfounded. That was the smoothest (arguably, the ONLY smooth part...) part of the entire journey. The ICE is quite a bit nicer than most planes I have been on, it was on time, and I even got in a little nap before arriving at the airport.
Which is where all the fun really began. My flight was indirect and through AirCanada. I was meant to fly from Frankfurt to Montreal, then Montreal to Chicago. Upon check-in, I was informed that the flight to Montreal was delayed by two-and-a-half hours, so I would miss my connecting flight to Chicago and have to stay in Montreal overnight. In a moment (some would argue that I have more than moments of this..) of being a stereotypical American, the thought of spending a substantial amount of time in Canada was unacceptable. So, with the help of some contact rewetting drops, and Bon Iver on a loop, I convinced AirCanada to book me in on a new flight. I now would fly from Frankfurt to Ottawa, then through to Chicago, and be home in time for dinner. Or so I thought.
Naturally, the fun didn't end there. While the flight to Ottawa boarded on time, we sat on the runway for over an hour before actually taking off. This was punctuated by repeated assurances from the flight crew that it would "just be another fifteen minutes." (yes, that is a real thing that they do.)
The flight itself went off without incident (though I will say that the food and quality of economy seating in Air Canada does not hold a candle to either SwissAir or especially AirNewZealand. However, as a result of our late departure, myself and about ten other passengers had only about forty minutes to collect our bags, get through Canadian and US customs before catching the connecting flight to Chicago. As you'd probably expect, none of us made it on the flight. I was the closest to accomplishing that miracle, as my suitcase did somehow manage to make it on the plane to Chicago.
And so then began the delightful process of trying to get back. The group of us first dealt with a very surly United agent, who refused to do anything. She essentially said that we were AirCanada's problem, as it was their flight's late arrival, not their flight's (early...) departure that caused the issue.
We all angrily commiserated for a bit before an Air Canada agent finally came to sort us out. What it came down to was that they had to put us in a motel for the night (no more flights that evening...the Ottawa airport is small), and then fly us all out in the morning. To which my response (which I accidentally did say out loud...I blame sleep deprivation and travel exhaustion) was, "A night in Canada? This is my nightmare!". Which rather shocked the (very nice) Canadian girl in line behind me. Barney Stinson doesn't have anything on my feelings toward Canada, which were only enforced by this entire experience.
Next came the thirty minute cab ride from the airport to the motel, which I would assume is on the outskirts of Ottawa. Air Canada also gave us a $14 voucher for food at the hotel restaurant (note: no entré on that menu is less than $16...). I had soup and bruschetta, in case anyone was curious.
The room they gave me was actually kind of nice; a giant suite which could have comfortably fit a family of five. However, the toilet wouldn't stop running, so I had to dismember it a bit before showering and collapsing on the bed. The fact that I didn't have my suitcase also became bothersome, as I had no toiletries, and had now been wearing the same clothes for 36 hours (smelled like a daisy, in case anyone was wondering...). So, I slept naked on the king-sized bed (probably lucky that I didn't catch a disease or shine a black light around). I was up again at 4 am, put back on my smelly clothes, and took another cab back to the airport.
I checked in and made it through security for the first flight without issue (Ottawa to Toronto), then used my other $10 meal voucher toward breakfast. Coffee and a breakfast sandwich came to $10.26. I gave then a $10 in USD to cover the difference, and got change back in Canadians dollars. Just what I'd always wanted. I'm just glad I didn't pay the difference in Euros.
This flight also left the airport late, but luckily my flight to Chicago was also delayed so it all worked out okay, even with me getting extra attention at security. Because, apparently, the name "Meghann Marie Gallimore" sets off red flags.
Thankfully, this final flight went off smoothly, and I began the break by hip-checking my sister out of the front seat when she hopped out to help me with my bags and hug me (that position in the car is my birthright as the eldest child). I don't know how anyone could stand to get close to me at that point, but, hey, that's what family is for right.
As much of a pain as getting home was, my bitterness quickly subsided once I put things into perspective. This entire trip was on borrowed time, so to speak. I was not supposed to come home at all, so even losing a day in travel was okay. This entire time was a precious gift.
Plus, if this is the worst travel experience I ever had, I should count myself lucky. My luggage turned up, I made it there alive, and (aside from the $2.26 on food) it didn't cost me a thing.
Also, five months later, I just find the entire situation to be a hilarious comedy of errors. It's amazing how much perspective time gives you.
And here are some photos of the Stuttgart Christmas market. Just to keep this post from being ENTIRELY an angry rant of text.
Anyway, as most of you know, I was unexpectedly able to come home to Chicago for Christmas. That was not originally in the plans; my grandpa was meant to come visit just after Christmas and through the new year to do a tour of Italy with me. However, he ran into some health issues; his carotid artery was 80% blocked, so he had surgery right away. As it was a fairly substantial surgery, he couldn't fly immediately afterwards, so we rescheduled our trip for August. And he offered to fly me home for Christmas, which I (of course) accepted. I must not be quite as independent as I think I am (or perhaps I'm more sentimental than I realize...) because the thought of missing out on Christmas at home with my family was torturous. No longer did I have to be insanely jealous of all my friends here when they talked about going home to see their people.
By the way, in case anyone was concerned, my grandfather is healthy as a horse. He was a trooper through the surgery, and you'd never guess that he's seventy-years-old. He thinks his scar makes him look like Frankenstein, but it's healing beautifully. The spider bite/staph infection surgical scar on my chest is much more unsightly. I do look like the bride of Frankenstein under bright lights.
My next quest was then to find a flight at Christmastime, with less than three weeks' notice, that was not going to cost the same as buying a new kidney on the black market. The situation looked pretty grim initially; finding a flight that cost less than $2000 that involved less than fifty hours of travel seemed as likely as walking a block anywhere inGermany and not seeing someone (male or female) sporting a scarf (i.e. slim to none).
However, through some creative booking, I did manage to find a way. Instead of flying from the Stuttgart airport, I booked a flight out of Frankfurt. It's only about 90 minutes on the ICE from Stuttgart (and about 30 euros), and it's a much bigger airport, with a lot more flights. So that alone knocked off about $500. I also took advantage of the fact that I am still (for the moment...) under twenty-six, so I used a website called Student Universe. While they don't always save you a substantial amount of money, it's always worth checking, and I found some good bargains in the past (my flight to Stuttgart from Chicago in the fall was an $1100 flight from SwissAir that I paid $400 for). Ultimately, we ended up paying $1300 for a round-trip flight from Germany to Chicago at Christmas. Not too shabby.
My biggest worry for this trip was taking the train from Stuttgart to Frankfurt. As a child of suburbia, relying on public transportation is still worrying. What if I went to the wrong platform? Or got off at the wrong stop? Or if the train is running late? Or breaks down? (this is where having an active imagination is crippling as you think of every possible scenario, regardless of if it's actually possible).
And it didn't help that I didn't exactly start off my journey in a prudent manner. The night before I left, George and I met up for a farewell drink, lost track of time, and I missed the last S-Bahn back into Kornwestheim. So, I slept on his couch, then woke up at 5 am to be back in time to finish packing and take care of my morning duties for Nicole and the kids.
As it turns out, my worries about the train were entirely and completely unfounded. That was the smoothest (arguably, the ONLY smooth part...) part of the entire journey. The ICE is quite a bit nicer than most planes I have been on, it was on time, and I even got in a little nap before arriving at the airport.
Which is where all the fun really began. My flight was indirect and through AirCanada. I was meant to fly from Frankfurt to Montreal, then Montreal to Chicago. Upon check-in, I was informed that the flight to Montreal was delayed by two-and-a-half hours, so I would miss my connecting flight to Chicago and have to stay in Montreal overnight. In a moment (some would argue that I have more than moments of this..) of being a stereotypical American, the thought of spending a substantial amount of time in Canada was unacceptable. So, with the help of some contact rewetting drops, and Bon Iver on a loop, I convinced AirCanada to book me in on a new flight. I now would fly from Frankfurt to Ottawa, then through to Chicago, and be home in time for dinner. Or so I thought.
Naturally, the fun didn't end there. While the flight to Ottawa boarded on time, we sat on the runway for over an hour before actually taking off. This was punctuated by repeated assurances from the flight crew that it would "just be another fifteen minutes." (yes, that is a real thing that they do.)
The flight itself went off without incident (though I will say that the food and quality of economy seating in Air Canada does not hold a candle to either SwissAir or especially AirNewZealand. However, as a result of our late departure, myself and about ten other passengers had only about forty minutes to collect our bags, get through Canadian and US customs before catching the connecting flight to Chicago. As you'd probably expect, none of us made it on the flight. I was the closest to accomplishing that miracle, as my suitcase did somehow manage to make it on the plane to Chicago.
And so then began the delightful process of trying to get back. The group of us first dealt with a very surly United agent, who refused to do anything. She essentially said that we were AirCanada's problem, as it was their flight's late arrival, not their flight's (early...) departure that caused the issue.
We all angrily commiserated for a bit before an Air Canada agent finally came to sort us out. What it came down to was that they had to put us in a motel for the night (no more flights that evening...the Ottawa airport is small), and then fly us all out in the morning. To which my response (which I accidentally did say out loud...I blame sleep deprivation and travel exhaustion) was, "A night in Canada? This is my nightmare!". Which rather shocked the (very nice) Canadian girl in line behind me. Barney Stinson doesn't have anything on my feelings toward Canada, which were only enforced by this entire experience.
Next came the thirty minute cab ride from the airport to the motel, which I would assume is on the outskirts of Ottawa. Air Canada also gave us a $14 voucher for food at the hotel restaurant (note: no entré on that menu is less than $16...). I had soup and bruschetta, in case anyone was curious.
The room they gave me was actually kind of nice; a giant suite which could have comfortably fit a family of five. However, the toilet wouldn't stop running, so I had to dismember it a bit before showering and collapsing on the bed. The fact that I didn't have my suitcase also became bothersome, as I had no toiletries, and had now been wearing the same clothes for 36 hours (smelled like a daisy, in case anyone was wondering...). So, I slept naked on the king-sized bed (probably lucky that I didn't catch a disease or shine a black light around). I was up again at 4 am, put back on my smelly clothes, and took another cab back to the airport.
I checked in and made it through security for the first flight without issue (Ottawa to Toronto), then used my other $10 meal voucher toward breakfast. Coffee and a breakfast sandwich came to $10.26. I gave then a $10 in USD to cover the difference, and got change back in Canadians dollars. Just what I'd always wanted. I'm just glad I didn't pay the difference in Euros.
This flight also left the airport late, but luckily my flight to Chicago was also delayed so it all worked out okay, even with me getting extra attention at security. Because, apparently, the name "Meghann Marie Gallimore" sets off red flags.
Thankfully, this final flight went off smoothly, and I began the break by hip-checking my sister out of the front seat when she hopped out to help me with my bags and hug me (that position in the car is my birthright as the eldest child). I don't know how anyone could stand to get close to me at that point, but, hey, that's what family is for right.
As much of a pain as getting home was, my bitterness quickly subsided once I put things into perspective. This entire trip was on borrowed time, so to speak. I was not supposed to come home at all, so even losing a day in travel was okay. This entire time was a precious gift.
Plus, if this is the worst travel experience I ever had, I should count myself lucky. My luggage turned up, I made it there alive, and (aside from the $2.26 on food) it didn't cost me a thing.
Also, five months later, I just find the entire situation to be a hilarious comedy of errors. It's amazing how much perspective time gives you.
And here are some photos of the Stuttgart Christmas market. Just to keep this post from being ENTIRELY an angry rant of text.
Schlossplatz. Looking lovely
Some truly delicious looking desserts. I used up all my willpower not eating any of it.
A very small, but rather attractive Ferris wheel.
Another shot of Schlossplatz. Notice the (in George's words) "Meg-sized" child's train set. You actually can ride it, but we never did. Should have borrowed Maja one day for that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)