The Amazon Suggestion List and You

I love to shop from amazon.com. Mostly because I can peruse a book / department store that would be the size of several IKEAs if it weren't virtual, while lounging about in the comfort of my own home in my underwear. Also, because it is basically the only place in this non-English speaking country that has a selection of English books that stands up to my tastes.

It is impossible now-a-days not to leave an electronic footprint on the web. Many people complain about this, but in some ways I find it to be rather convenient. When I peruse through the massive selection of books online, my views are automatically cataloged and a list of suggestions is made just for me, tailored to my tastes. How wonderful is that?! You won't hear me complaining about personal data (mis)use. Periodically I even receive an e-mail with one book suggested to me. Since it is only one, they must think down there at amazon that they have that book that describes my personallity to a T, that my soul would not be complete without. Today being one of those special days, I took a look at my book soul mate waiting to be:

I have to admit that this did receive an eyebrow raise. What on earth does that say about my character and tastes? To the defence of my reputation as not a total wierdo, the last book I purchased was for my PhD entitled "Multivariate Statistics for Wildlife and Ecology Research". This got me thinking though about how something like your Amazon suggestion list could really be a true indicator of personality. So, what's on your amazon list?

Praha

It is easy for my American mind to forget that Europe does not in fact end at the eastern borders of Germany, Austria and Italy, but continues well on to the Ural Mountains. This is due to the fact that when my geography education was taking place, that was the border to the Europe that was accessible to the west and the United States, the rest was stictly hidden behind the Iron Curtain. I have been getting myself reeducated though over the last half year by an expert on the subject and had my first opportunity to see what lay behind that former dividing line over Christmas while visiting Prague and northern Bohemia with Pan Tau.

Prague-scape by night

The Vltava River

The adventure began with me driving the six hours from Freiburg to Prague in my trusty Subaru (over)packed with clothes for all occassions from skiing and hiking to fancy dress and heels for special outings as well as presents and my chocolate penguins. My mother was a notorious overpacker, filling an oversized suitcase for a weekend trip, where more than half the items never made it out for use enroute. I have always tried to avoid this trait, finding it inefficient and rather girly in a bad way. And girly it was, especially since I packed in my pink wheely suitcase :) and brought my curling iron, hairdryer and make-up. Although, I did find myself wishing I had brought more clothes to wear, since the Czechs have not yet reached that state of non-smoking enlightenment and enstated a smoking ban. Having been spoiled by a relatively decent smoking ban here in Freiburg for over a year and half, I had forgotten what it is like after an evening out in a smokey pub.

I find it amusing how the English language can seem to take on a life of its own in foreign countries. The Germans are prime abusers of "English-isms", creating awkward catch phrases and sayings that never existed nor ever will in any English speaking country. Good example "Handy", which means cell phone. Although the Czechs don't need to go to "EA" (English Anonymous) just yet, they have created a phrase or two of their own. Crossing the border a huge sign adverstising "Non-Stop" jumped out at me ("Non-stop" seems to be the Czech equivalent of 24h). I unsuccessfully attempted to purchase my freeway pass at this non-stop truck stop. Maybe because it was the only thing I could understand, seeing as the only thing I do know in Czech is "nemluvím česky" which means "I don't speak Czech", but I seemed to see "non-stop" everywhere. (Or maybe the Czechs are just really into things being open 24 hours!). I have to admit that it is rather flattering that my native language is so well liked though :).

"The city of a thousand spires"

The European continental climate essentially begins in earnest at Prague, making it much cooler in December than Freiburg. Unfortunately there was no snow during my visit, because as beautiful as the city was, there is supposed to be something magical about it under a blanket of glittery whiteness. Due to the freezing weather, we spent a lot of time hopping from one cafe to the next or from pub to pub, visiting friends or watching Czech movies purchased for the bargain price of 49 Kc, super cena! There are some really cool / cute / eccentric /seedy ;-) locals around town and Pan being a native, we got right to the good spots. We sort of became regulars at this cute little hole in the wall pub called "the Orange Bar" that had orange stucco walls and was about the size of our bathroom back home, as well as stopping for coffee and cake at a traditional pastry shop in the Letna Park district, Erhart Cafe, and breakfasting on open face sandwiches at a local cafe.

Selection at Erhart Café

Prague at first glance is a beautiful city characterized by its long history as a European cultural center, grand architecture and its escape from the destruction many cities endured in the second world war. The city center is a collection of half timbered houses, grand govermental buildings, castles, walks along the Vltava River, bridges, islands and modern buildings. It being the Christmas season, the downtown was aglow with strings of lights and decorated by enormous Christmas trees. Really, just amazing. The word is out about Prague, it is no longer a well kept secret. The main square is surrounded by kitschy souvineer shops and restaurants posting menus in English. The place is literally overrun by swarms of tourists in tennis shoes and back packs, speaking English and categorically disrespecting cultural differences.

Once you get outside of the downtown though, the city begins to show you its true nature. You get the feeling that its where real life is taking place, the real Prague where tourists are thin on the ground and boxy, communist era apartment buildings reside, live carp is being sold on the street for the traditional Christmas Eve dinner and in neighborhood shops and cafes you're greeted with "dobrý den" instead of "hello". We did some last minute Christmas shopping, looking in all the "Elektro" shops in the Florence district for a "hoover". I have never seen so many appliances packed into such a little space and such mini vacuum cleaners. I quite enjoy doing everyday things in foreign countries, like vacuum cleaner shopping, going to the grocery store or even going to the passport office. It makes me feel like I'm getting a taste of the real life there and not just some dolled up postcard experience.

Carp awaiting their fate as Christmas Eve dinner

Christmas is celebrated in much the same way as in Germany, with Christmas Eve being the main event and the following two days, Christmas Day and Boxing Day are spent relaxing, feasting and hanging out with the family. We spent the holidays in the nothern Bohemian country side, which offers a quaint yet pretty landscape with houses that reminded me much of my mom's famous "icebox cake" because of the black and white pattern of white plaster and dark wood planks. Many Pragonians (does anyone know what a person from prague is called??), own country houses in this area. We stayed at a cosy cottage complete with a wood stove that kept the house at a toasty 35 degrees celsius and offered the pefect Christmas atmosphere.

Northern Bohemia

Christmas Eve dinner was kicked off by a toast with Slivovice (Czech plum brandy) and was followed by carp and potatoe salad. After dinner presents were passed around. I was pleasantly surprised to find my own pile contained several packages, one addressed to Betka, my new Czech name (short for the Czech version of Elizabeth, Alžběta). I felt very welcomed. Afterward we went to the pub, something I have never done on Christmas Eve, but hey, when in Bohemia do as the Bohemians! Christmas Day we spent exploring the country side, bushwacking up to the highest peak and working off some of the dinner from the night before. We had another amazing dinner afterward called "svíčková": venison, Czech dumplings, cranberries and sauce, I'm still dreaming about it! In the US, the only day that really sees the economy shut down is Christmas, so I was surprised when the suggestion was made that we go bowling. And bowling we went. The bowling alley supplied black Chucks instead of the ever unstylish two toned leather numbers which are standard at every American alley. Why do the Czechs have more style when it comes to bowling shoes? I lost spectacularly and broke a nail in the process. So much for my years of training at Dwayne Lanes ;-). The next day, we had yet another feast, this time duck with dumplings. Afterward, we were off, back to Prague to celebrate St. Stephan's Day.

Me showing off my Prague designed winter wear (also a small tribute to Muffin)

A week is hardly sufficient to really get to know a place, and Prague seems a city that shows you up front how grand and elegant it is, but only reveals its true uniqueness and all it has to offer with time. I am intrigued by what it will show me next time.

Backpacking Swiss Style

If I have the Black Forest in my back yard, then the Alps are in my neighbor's. I always forget how close they really are. Driving from Freiburg, you reach the northern extent in about an hour and a half, which is really nothing. That's closer than the Cascades ever were to where I lived back in Seattle or Everett, yet I would regularly drive three hours or more for a hike or skiing and back in one day.

This last weekend Pan Tau and I packed our rucksacks and set off for the Italian speaking part of Switzerland, near Airolo. There was no tent, sleeping bags, cook set or any of the usual business necessary for sleeping out in our packs due to this wonderful thing called a "Hütte", or "capanna" in the Italian parts where we were headed. These capanne are lodges up high in the mountains with beds, blankets, food, heating(!) and plenty of alpine hospitality. They range from the stream-lined modern Cristallina which can sleep up to 85 people and is equipped with a heated drying room for wet gear and serves cheese fondue :)! to the small Rifugio where the key is attached to the door and payment runs on the honor system.

Heading up to Cristallina

Capanna Cristallina, looking a bit like an alpine shoe box

The plan had been to hike up to Capanna Cristallina from Ossasco on the first day, sleep there then continue on to Capanna Basòdino where we would spend my birthday and the night, look around at the lakes, returning to Cristallina for another night and heading back to the car and Freiburg the following morning. The weather report called for clear blue skies and plus temperatures. What we encountered upon waking at Cristallina was a snow storm verging on a blizzard and the mercury level in the thermometer clearly below the zero mark. Never the less, we packed our stuff and began the treck to Basódino. The trail between these two Capanne was trecherous indeed: steep slopes, cliffs dropping hundreds of feet down to a frozen lake, slippery rocks, low visibility, essentially all together unfitting for a hike. We made the difficult decision to turn back and head down into the valley. Despite these wintery conditions, I really enjoyed the hike. The mountains were incredible in all their glittery whiteness.

Looking out at Basòdino from Capanna Cristallina the first evening
Me throwing in the proverbial towel

Since the northern Alps seemed to have snowed themselves in for the winter, we decided to head south toward the Italian border and Bellinzona for another hike. We parked our stuff at a nice little pensione in a small town called Gudo near Lago Maggiore and proceeded to celebrate my 28th birthday in a more urban fashion than had originally been intended. We chose one of the only two restaurants in town for dinner, which specialized in roasted chicken, the aroma of which had been taunting us all over town the entire evening, then went for drinks at the only bar Gudo had to offer, the Beby Bar, where "DJ" Luca was spinning out an interesting assortment of kitschy tunes from his little book of CDs (I never realized that you could turn "Camp Town Ladies" into a techno song, they probably shouldn't have either...). Meanwhile back at our hotel, the rest of Gudo had gathered for the big Saturday night entertainment: four older gentlemen strumming out well known Italian folk songs on their guitars in sing-along fashion. We caught the tail end when we were turning in for the night.

Bit of a wild birthday party...

We were awoken the next morning by the sound of vicious "hoovering" (vacuuming), by the sour looking cleaning ladies and so gave up on the idea of getting a bit of extra sleep and set about getting ready for our next hike. The weather couldn't have been more fabulous, 20 degrees C and clear blue skies. It was a strange feeling to have been in what felt like the depths of winter the morning before only to be waking up to summer again. The trail to Capanna Orino departed directly behind our pensione and led (very steeply) up through a chestnut forest. My legs were still complaining about the steep descent from Cristallina the day before and I was only able to convince them to walk me up the mountain after some coaxing with a couple of chocolate bars. After about an hour and a half of chestnut forest we emerged to an incredible view of Lago Maggiore with a back drop of snowy Alps. We were both feeling a bit "delicate" from celebrating the night before, so it took us a bit longer to reach our destination with several breaks and a sunny nap in between.

Lago Maggiore

Capanna Orino was deserted when we reached it, but we were joined shortly by an elderly swiss couple who were doing a similar tour to ours. We spent a cosy evening by the fire place, sipping whiskey (the Mullowney in me is starting to come out), conversing and watching the flames dance over the logs. There is just something magical about fire. The old folks took the bunks down stairs, while we slept up in the loft. Maybe it's the child in me that still loves to sleep on top bunks and loft beds, because it made it just that much more enjoyable to sleep up there.

Capanna Orino

After eating our last scraps of bread with PB&J for breakfast, we began the descent. This proved to be the most difficult part of the weekend for me. If I thought my legs were in bad shape the day before, I had no idea what was coming! Just going down the four stairs from the Hütte was torture. I did make it down (somehow) with the last half only made possible by the thought that I had to get down the hill whether I wanted to or not and that there was going to be an end to my suffering if I could only reach the car. I will certainly be purchasing some hiking poles for my next hike! I did eventually make it to the car and Pan was so kind as to remove my boots for me as I lay sprawled out in the back seat attempting to recover enough to get my gear packed into the "boot". We treated ourselves to some good old greasy burgers in Bellinzona and then headed back to Freiburg. All in all, it was a very excellent way to spend my birthday weekend.

A Swiss Way Marker

Half Way There

I've been working on my PhD project for several years now and have just passed the official half way mark. My second field season ended Sunday with a big gear cleaning session and a BBQ on my balcony. I always end a season of field work with mixed feelings. The field work is the reason I am a wildlife biologist, spending my days in the woods, breathing the fresh air of the mountains, watching the sun come up over the Black Forest hills, commradery of co-workers (I guess I'm the boss now, so my employees!) and just being surrounded by nature. Every other project I've ever worked on has involved camping for up to weeks at a time in primitive settings with complete immersion in the project and city life as distant as a dream. In Europe, it's almost impossible to get far enough away from civilization to escape the sounds of vehicles and you're always confronted with some aspect of human life. My farthest site is only an hour and fifteen minutes from my front door, so there's no need really to sleep out. This combined with the fact that the small mammal population density was so low this year that we were sometimes getting as few as 2 animals in 147 traps and getting done at 9:30 in the morning, negated the necessity of camping. So back to Freiburg we drove and back to my city life. Oscilating between these two poles all summer was extremely exhausting for me.

Marking a yellow-necked mouse (Apodemus flavicollis)

The field week began on Wednesday and ended Sunday, with my Mondays and Tuesdays belonging to the medical technologies company where I also work. My friends of course all had weekends, a luxury which I am only now enjoying again, so I would get invites to go to the beer garden, to this concert, to that movie, all of which began at the time I should have been going to bed! The new Libby cannot miss out on any such things, so I ended up getting sometimes as little as three hours of sleep a night, getting up at 5:30 to go back out and check on my mice. I am only now beginning to recoup some of my lost sleep. I'll miss being out in the woods all the time, but I certainly am glad to sleep again!

Garden Dormouse (Eliomys quercinus)

The big boss, loungin' on the job

The Sir Mix-a-lot "big butt" bag in action

- Libby

Dead Man's Peak

As I have written many a time before, the Blackforest is a hiking paradise. Of course, it doesn't compare to the pristine forests of my native Washington, but it does offer an accessible source of outdoor recreation in a cultural landscape setting, which is beautiful in its own way. Hiking in Europe is very different from in North America. There aren't any real trail heads, or rather any point can be a starting point for a hike and trails criss-cross their way through the landscape changing into forest service roads, cutting through what feels like people's back yards and are signed out with a confusing, sometimes less than helpful system.

Last weekend I exploited the fact that the Blackforest is in my back yard and drove the half an hour out to one of the many, many starting points for the ascent to Feldberg, the Blackforest's highest peak. We* didn't go to Feldberg, since it's a mad house on the weekends, especially on such a beautiful Saturday as it was, so we turned off and the fork in the trail and headed for "Tote Mann", in English "Dead Man's Peak". We decided it had probably been christened so back sometime in the 1700's when someone found some dead guy who had met his end up there and the peak began being referred to as "that hill where that dead man was found", later being shortened to just "dead man" (don't quote me on that one!). It also set off a discussion on German grammer as to why it's called "Tote Mann" and not "Toter Mann" with an "r", but I'll spair y'all the details ;-).

"Bannwald" = Old Growth Forest in its youth

One of the occupational hazards of hiking in Germany is the cow pasture. They're either filled with cows, bulls or reminders of them (the cow pie), usually all three. Either way, many trails traverse said pastures and the hiker must always be alert for raging bulls or mucky pies, leaving the choice between watching the cows or watching the ground. Whenever I am passing through a pasture here, mindfully hopping over cow pies, I am always reminded of the US customs form that is filled enroute out when flying to the US. The question comes to mind "have you visited a farm? Yes / No". Hmmm, does this count as a farm? I didn't see a barn anywhere... They'd probably burn my whole suitcase were I to check yes.

After enjoying our hard earned sandwiches and basking in the late summer sun for an hour or so, we began our descent. One of the lovely things about hiking in Europe is the "Hütten", little mountain inns that provide rooms, food and respite for the weary hiker. We came across one on our way down and were very glad for the cold beer they were serving. Yes, I did say beer, on a hike, oh my have I been Germanized! It was quite a treat though, after drinking water tainted with "old water bottle flavor" all day.

* My hiking partner wishes to remain anonymous, I think he's embarrassed to be associated with me ;-).

- Libby

This Too Shall Pass

A friend of mine sent me this little story and it brings a smile to my face in sad times. I thought I would share it with you:

One day Solomon decided to humble Benaiah Ben Yehoyada, his most trusted minister. He said to him,
"Benaiah, there is a certain ring that I want you to bring to me. I wish to wear it for Sukkot which gives you six months to find it."

"If it exists anywhere on earth, your majesty," replied Benaiah, "I will find it and bring it to you, but what makes the ring so special?"

"It has magic powers," answered the king. "If a happy man looks at it, he becomes sad, and if a sad man looks at it, he becomes happy."

Solomon knew that no such ring existed in the world, but he wished to give his minister a little taste of humility. Spring passed and then summer, and still Benaiah had no idea where he could find the ring. On the night before Sukkot, he decided to take a walk in one of the poorest quarters of Jerusalem. He passed by a merchant who had begun to set out the day's wares on a shabby carpet. "Have you by any chance heard of a magic ring that makes the happy wearer forget his joy and the broken-hearted wearer forget his sorrows?" asked Benaiah. He watched the grandfather take a plain gold ring from his carpet and engrave something on it. When Benaiah read the words on the ring, his face broke out in a wide smile. That night the entire city welcomed in the holiday of Sukkot with great festivity.

"Well, my friend," said Solomon, "have you found what I sent you after?"

All the ministers laughed and Solomon himself smiled. To everyone's surprise, Benaiah held up a small gold ring and declared,

"Here it is, your majesty!"

As soon as Solomon read the inscription, the smile vanished from his face. The jeweler had written three Hebrew letters on the gold band: _gimel, zayin, yud_, which began the words "_Gam zeh ya'avor_" -- "This too shall pass." At that moment Solomon realized that all his wisdom and fabulous wealth and tremendous power were but fleeting things, for one day he would be nothing but dust.

"Germany on the Patch" or "Smoke-free Libby"

That title is misleading, I know. It makes it sound as if I had just won a hard fought battle against my nicotine addiction and quit smoking. Well that is not the case. I've never smoked in my life, not one puff. In fact the mere thought of smoking nauseates me, I can't hardly look at an ashtray, let alone touch one. To discribe to you how truly vile I find the whole business, I find it hard even to type the word "cigarette", because I have even come to despise the word itself. To those who know me at all, this is no surprise. When I was little I was even referred to as "the American Cancer Society" due to my constant preaching on the subject. Both my parents were chain smokers, so I had a lot to preach about. Although, it may surprise a lot of you back home, I have actually become much more tolerant! I guess it was all the practice I've been getting in here. Or maybe outwardly, I've just gotten my loathing under control.

Now the US has been very forward thinking on the subject of non-smoking (hurray!). It's been a long time since restaurants went non-smoking. That's why it shocked me to the core of my being when I first arrived in Europe. They smoked everywhere! Not just restaurants, but trains, schools, universities, movie theater lobbies, even the stalls of public restrooms were equipped with ashtrays. You name it and the Europeans smoked there. I thought I had died and gone to hell (I am positive Satan smokes at least 10 cartons a day). Slowly (and I mean slowly, glaciers melt faster than the German beaurocracy moves), things have been changing. First, the University of Freiburg went non-smoking, then train stations had designated smoking areas (as if anyone payed any attention to it, but at least they were making an effort), then through pressure from above, the European Union that is, one country after another began enstating non-smoking policies for public buildings, restaurants, pubs, bars, the whole works, except Germany. For some rediculous, unfathomable reason, the tabacco lobby is incredibly strong here. I guess it doesn't take much convincing to keep the French smoking. But since the EU wanted it, the Germans must comply. The discussion went back and forth with one minute the tobacco industry seeming to come out on top, then a new report would be issued where I thought all my dreams would come true, then it would swing back into the tobaccoists court. It was an emotional rollercoaster of political parrays. Finally, just a week before the law was to come into affect in Baden-Württemberg, I found out that there was indeed to be a ban on smoking.

At first it seemed to go over well, with only the hard core smokers mumbling their bitter complaints, and all the bars and restaurants following through with the prohibition. It's probably because the law was instated in August, when Europe's Cafes and restaurants look as if they've been turned inside out with tables and umbrellas set up along the street to enjoy the balmy summer weather. No one's inside anyway and there's no non-smoking policy for outside (YET!). So, when the weather began to turn so did the tide of the ban. Some rebellious bars began allowing smoking, catering to the 24% of the adult population that actually smokes instead of the abiding the law and the wishes of the other 76%, the clear majority might I add. Others slowly began to as well, with the motto, "everybody's doing it". You can almost hear the tobacco lobbyists' sinister laugh with every puff of smoke. I cannot believe that a nation so obsessed with the virtues of fresh air is so pro-smoking. The Germans actually have "Air resorts", where people go to revitalize themselves by breathing deeply of the fresh mountainous air of the Black Forest. I guess you need them after all the hard core second hand smoking your obliged to do in the lowlands. It's been almost a year since the ban and things seem to have stabilized. Some bars and restaurants still flaut the law, but for the most part, Germany's gastronomic sector has finally become a place I can enjoy!

Just for you doubters out there:

“There’s no level of secondhand smoke exposure that can be declared to be safe”
- Matthew McKenna, director of the C.D.C.’s office on smoking and health