I'm sorry I don't speak German

I think of myself in many ways. Wife, friend, sister, aunt, daughter, traveler, travel specialist so many things that in my mind make up me.  These are things make up the present and future Pam. My past is a little more complicated.

I was born Pamela Ann Muehlhoff.  (The Sparschu of 'Angspar' comes from my step father when my name was legally changed at age 9). American first and middle names with a very German last name. My father Fred was born in Detroit to German immigrants . He was definitely an all American guy with American friends who married a born and bred Michigan girl whose state lineage went back to 1837. Fred's parents immigrated to the US over one hundred years later, just before both their sons were born. My mother's parents were the fun, doting grand parents. I was less thrilled to visit my German grandparents who seemed much more serious and taciturn. With my father's early death to cancer at 34 the gulf between myself and my grandparents became wider.  It wasn't that we disliked each other, we just didn't understand each other.

Travel and the wonderful things that go with it (language, culture, history, photography, gardening, entertaining and my personal favorite, feeling if even just for a little while a citizen of the world) are not only how I make my living but are my personal passions. I have always felt travel helped to make me a more well rounded person. Today, for the first time, I realized it is also a mirror to see your self reflected.  Thanks to Ella Horning and St. Clair High School, I can hold a basic conversation with Spanish and Italian speakers. I can also read French and fake speak a little (all three being Romance languages). What I cannot do is, read or speak German.

Sure I know I couple of choice German words. To horrify my father's mother I would saucily say dumkoff or even scheiss. Knowing I was traveling to Germany this week, I brushed up on my basics"Thank you, good morning, good afternoon'. And that was the entire extent of it. This morning as I stepped on the elevator of my Munich hotel, a young German woman got on the next floor. I said 'Guten Morgen' and she nodded. As we stepped off the elevator she turned to me and asked (what I later found out in English) where was the breakfast room. I quickly stammered, I am sorry I don't speak German. She looked a little taken a back re asked her question in English I answered and that was the end of that.  Except it wasn't for me.

"Could you tell we were American before you picked us up" I asked a Dublin cab driver once. He said 'I guessed English, Canadian or American' he admitted. Of all the places I've visited, I never thought I might be mistaken for someone else. No one has ever confused me for: French, Spanish, Mexican or Italian. I love those cultures and am very happy to visit them, but they aren't mine.  After my encounter with the woman in the elevator I scanned every crowd. Now Munich is a very cosmopolitan city and there are people from all over the world. But there were also people who looked like me looked like my grandparents and even looked like Fred Muehlhoff.

I promise the next blog posting will be more of my waxing poetic about the current European city I am in and less of Alex Haley's Roots. But while I am in Germany the next few days I am sure I will still look for glimpses of Pam, too.

Barcelona - Day 1 La Rambla - November 23, 2013

Feeling a little queasy I asked, "Este es pollo?" (Is this chicken?)  , "No, Senora ese..."  ( I later realized the Spanish word I couldn't translate was 'rabbit').  It was 2001, and this was my second European vacation.  After my first successful Western Mediterranean cruise the year before,  we eagerly signed  up for the Eastern Med.  Three days before we had departed from Rome and were now in the Spanish countryside just outside of Barcelona.  After touring the Cordorniu cava winery (Spanish champagne), our tour stopped for lunch at a local inn.  As we were led to our seats I passed a waiter wheeling in a large ham...with the former owners hoof and hair still attached.  The same waiter was now standing in front of me with a platter of tiny legs with tiny bones that was obviously not chicken. This was my first introduction to Spain.

As I scanned the crowd for the driver who would take us to our Barcelona home for the following week, I thought back 12 years to the single day I had spent in Spain.  As a more seasoned (and I hope sophisticated) traveler,  I now knew the 'ham' I had seen was an Iberico ham, net worth in the neighborhood of $1500 USD.  Also, while I may be considered a 'picky eater' in the US, in my 13 years of travel I had gotten much more adventurous, having enjoyed wild boar in Italy, local goulashes in Vienna and Prague as well as blood sausage in Ireland (ok, maybe 'enjoy' is a stretch with that one).  This trip was my chance to redeem myself gastronomically, culturally and historically to the Catalan capital.

La Rambla stretches from la Placa Catalunya (Cataluyna Square. Catalonia a region in northeast Spain has its own language, culture and tradition.  Barcelona is its capital) to the Mediterranean sea.  In between is a large, tree lined boulevard designed as as pedestrian zone; cars are secondary and forced into narrow side lanes.  La Rambla is home to shops, restaurants, street performers, artists and literally dozens of flower and bird stands.  It is here along with Passeig Gracia, Barcelona comes to stroll.  It would be our home for the next week at the La Meridien Barcelona.




Like real estate, travel is all about location, location, location.  From our La Rambla hotel we were within walking distance of the Barrio Gotico (Gothic District which housed both the Barcelona Cathedral and the Picasso Museum), la Eixample (literally 'The Expansion" Barcelona's Modernisma district with its buildings by local son, the famous architect , Antonio Gaudi), la Bouqeria one of the largest open air markets in all of Europe,  as well the beaches of Barcelonetta known for its many nightclubs and restaurants located along its boardwalk.

After check in at the hotel, we headed out for a tapas bar.  Tapas (or 'little plates') are prepared appetizers and are often enjoyed with cava (local champagne) or sangria - we happily enjoyed both.  Feeling the effects of both the cava and jet lag, we headed east towards the Mediterranean, where the great boulevard ends. There, high on an obelisk and pointing out to sea, is the statue of Christopher Columbus. (an Italian who finally received  funding for his explorations by the great Spanish King and Queen Ferdinand and Isabella, departed from Barcelona harbor August 3, 1492).  I stood in front of the statue, with the same view of Columbus, towards the new world.   As a very amateur genealogist, I am often amazed at all the people all over the world who had to meet, fall in love and have children so I could some day be born.  What Columbus did was even bigger without him literally billions of people would never have the same opportunities I know I often take for granted.

My Great Homance - The Grand Hotel, Mackinac Island, Michigan

Everyone has heard of romance.  I am sure you have even heard of 'bromance', I have been in a serious 'homance' since the fifth grade.  Yes, I have a major crush on Mackinac Island's Grand Hotel.

Right after lunch my fifth grade teacher would read a chapter or so of a book.  (That was the double whammy year of Charlotte's Web AND Where the Red Fern Grows, amazing I didn't need therapy, but I am getting off topic).  The book that would have the longest effect on me, I can't even remember the title.  It was a young adult mystery set on Mackinac Island, Michigan.  It involved a missing doll and a large fresh water pearl.  That is all I remember....except the Grand Hotel. This was a fairy story I could relate to, a castle right in my home state, with the world's longest front porch to boot!    Then came Somewhere In Time.  I read the book in anticipation of the movie's release.  Christopher Reeve!   Jane Seymour!  And the Grand Hotel!  I agree the story was cheesy, but the Grand Hotel shined!  My love affair with a place I had never been was in full force.

St. Clair County is a long way from Mackinac Island, almost five hours by car.  It would be many decades from fifth grade before I ever took the 16 minute ferry ride from Mackinaw City to Mackinac Island.  (Full disclosure, I was supposed to be checking out northern Michigan hotels for a work retreat.  But, when I saw the sign that said 'Mackinac Bridge' 19 miles - the island's siren song was too great for me and I found myself at Shepler's Ferry buying tickets. Don't feel too bad for my former employer,  I got my comeuppance and got  laid off...12 years later  :) )  As soon as David and I disembarked the ferry I made a beeline for the Grand Hotel.  As I wound my way around Mackinac's twisty streets I could see it glowing in the distance... until I reached the sign that said unless I was a registered guest, it would cost $10.00 per person to continue.  We took this photo and dejectedly headed back to the mainland and work.




As do the seasons so does life change.  Several years later, my company folded and now David and I had summers off together.  We decided to celebrate and return to Mackinac Island and the Grand Hotel.  We saved our pennies and were able to...eat dinner there (hey at least we got in this time).  After we checked into another, (not grand at all) hotel, we quickly changed and took a horse taxi to the Grand Hotel.  The evening began with a stroll on the famous porch and ended with dancing to the Grand Hotel Orchestra til early the next morning.  That night remains one of my personal bests.  It wasn't the food, it wasn't the service, it wasn't the decor it was all of it.  From the twinkling chandeliers, the ice -cold champagne, the diners dressed in their finery and the waiters dressed in their white tie and tails, it was like literally stepping back into the Roaring 20s. For one short evening David and I got to be Daisy Buchanan and Jay Gatsby!  The following day, just before our departure we returned to take our ritual, half way up the path in front of the Grand Hotel,  photo.

Number one FAQ for a travel agent "You get deals, right?  You travel for free,right?  Can you hook me up?"  The answers are:  "Sort of, no and yes."  I do get deals, and often they are the same ones that you can get too.  The difference is, I get them first.  Vendors will run specials and before they publish them to the general public, they email travel agents.  So while you may stumble upon a great deal on the internet, I was able to book it two or three days earlier.  One Sunday this August I opened my email to find an unbelievable treasure, on specific dates the Grand Hotel was offering "Celebrate Michigan Days"  approximately 85% their regular price!   Included in the hotel rate a full breakfast, five course dinner and entrance to Fort Mackinac!


There was a catch (of course), the deal was only available in specific weekday rates in September and October.  David was out and my Mom was in as a travel partner.  When we stepped off the ferry last week, my heart gave a funny thump when I spotted the mahogany carriage with its matching chestnut horses and top hatted driver waiting for me!  Mackinac Island's appeal to me is the opportunity to travel back to a more genteel time in  history. I have always felt Main Street with its fudge and t-shirt shops definitely miss the mark.  However, arriving at the Grand Hotel in a horse drawn carriage, being met by a pill box hat bell hop to take your bags, followed by a champagne reception and five course dinnered served by waiters in white tie and tails is spot on.

I am happy to report we made the best possible use of our time on the island.  From a private carriage ride (about double the cost for two people; but worth every cent not to be crammed in the same sized carriage with 20 of your  new best friends, and we got to determine the route as well), to visiting Fort Mackinac and those ubiquitous fudge and t-shirt shops.  Our afternoon was spent tasting all the Grand had to offer.   From drinks at the Cupola Bar (the highest point of the Grand is a 360 all window lookout, where you can see the entire island), afternoon Tea in the lobby, and finally as the sun set on the that famous porch our final five course meal in the dining room, we had it all.

A "Pam +  Grand Hotel" photo as we wound our way back to the ferry dock  headed home (our bags already transported to the ferry).  In this photo, I wasn't on the outside looking in or on the inside but not an insider,  I was a Grand Hotel Guest and I experienced all she had to offer. 

Punta Cana, Dominican Republic - sun, sand and soul.

Five million tourists visit the Dominican Republic annually, and they all seemed to be in line with me to enter the country.  (You have to love a government who charges you $10.00 a person to visit their country...before they have even checked your documents.)  Just after the cash is a Merengue band playing the traditional Dominican music while you clear customs and gather your bags. The sunshine, the music and the Caribbean breeze...the mood is festive for this month of Carnivale celebration in the Dominican Republic when every Sunday is a celebration of the island nation's 1844 independence from their Haitian neighbors.

My destination?  The popular Bavaro beach area of Punta Cana, located on the Atlantic Ocean.  The Dominican Republic has been a tropical getaway since the 1960s when the cities of Puerto Plata in the north and Romano located on the Caribbean (south) were en vogue.  But today and for the previous 21 years, Punta Cana located between the former grand dames of Puerto Plata and Romano is king.  There are 54 hotel properties located in the Bavaro and Macau areas of the town...My resort is approximately 30 minutes from the airport, the Ocean Blue and Sand.

I spent the first few days of my 7 day visit to Punta Cana like most of the other 5 millions tourists (according to my Apple Vacations tour representative 85% of those visiting are from North America and the other from Europe) eating, drinking, hanging out at the beach.  (I am looking to improve my Spanish so I spent a few of those hours taking Spanish lessons by the pool and conversing with native speakers).  I have to admit, the above was the only items on my personal itinerary (I did inspect a few resorts while here, a sort of 'bus man's. holiday).

"Outback Safari, it is our most popular tour, you should go", said Romer my Apple representative. Now you who know and love me know 'Outback' to me is a restaraunt and 'Safari' is something you do in Africa.  I politely smiled and went to change the subject when, Romer continued.  "This is a chance to see the real Domicican Republic.  Go up in the mountains, visit a local school.  Go to a local farm and see how they grown and process the agricultural products of the country:  pineapple, sugar, cocoa, and coffee."  I did and I am so glad I did.  The mountain back roads were rutted and very  bumpy, the large jeep struggling and bucking up the mountain...once we arrived it was all worth it.  Gone were the bathing suits, the fruity cocktails and the smell of suntan lotion.  Cool breezes from the mountain and lush vegetation surrounded us. as we saw farming demonstrations and tasted local coffee, sugar, chocolate and vanilla all grown on the local farm.  The farmers home would be considered rustic by North American standards, but it was charming all the same and the smells coming the from the detached kitchen were making my mouth water.  The day ended with a visit to a public beach in the Macau portion of Punta Cana.  90% of Domiican citizens work in the tourism industry (the number one industry in the country followed by agriculure) with 65,000 of them in the Punta Cana hotel zone.  Most work 5.5 days, the families at the Macau beach happy to enjoy each other's company by the shore.

During my visit I have enjoyed authentic Domincan cuisine ( dominated by beans, rice, meat and plantains), seeing the countryside; and especially getting to know the Dominican people. The history of the Dominican people is not that different than our own, native people inhabiting an area, being 'discovered' by Europeans and the forced immigration of Africans.  The Dominicans however, make it work so much better.  The three groups have blended over the century to create the modern Dominican.  Dominicans consider themselves, 'faceless'. a true blending in harmony of their three tiered ancestry.

Well enough history and culture.  I am back to the beach to work on my tan, which was my number one goal before I got here.   I am very happy to report that while I may not be returning home wth a 'savage tan'. I leave with a better understanding of the place I visited.  And my blog readers will know that is my favorite kind of souvenier.

Au Revior Paris - Our last two days

Thursday evening found us on the gliding down the Seine on the Bateaux Parisiens dinner cruise. The clear, cold night was lit up not only by Paris' many landmarks, but the stars and moon decided to join in the light show.

In my research for the trip, I found everyone has an opinion on Seine River cruises. Day time cruises, private yacht cruises and the traditional dinner/lunch cruises are all available at the different boat companies located just beneath the Eiffel Tower on the Seine. You'll need to choose which one based on your personal preference (I wanted to see the city lit up at night), but make sure you do add a cruise into your schedule. It's a relaxing two hours, with both the Left Bank, Right Bank and Ile de Cite showing off for your viewing pleasure.

Friday morning, Paris was in another funk (hey, that's ok, with all due respect to the many many handsome Parisian men I saw, Paris is definitely a girl, and a girl has a right to be moody from time to time). The day dawned cloudy and by noon the gentle Paris mist we'd experienced earlier was now 'chiens et chattes' as we walked down the Champs Elysees towards the Arc de Triomphe. The avenue of French history (Napoleon, Nazis, Allies, etc.) is impressive with its width, high end shops and restaraunts. Its also crowded, busy and commercial. Its definitely a must see, but be prepared, in my opinion it does lack some charm, with one jewel box of an exception, La Duree.

From the LaDuree website, "Ernest Ladurée’s wife, Jeanne Souchard, daughter of a well-known hotelier in Rouen, had the idea of mixing styles: the Parisian café and pastry shop gave birth to one of the first tea salons in town." With locations all over Paris, and 17 other countries, The Champs Elysees is the flagship store for the brand and was recently underwent a year renovations and was recently reopened October 17, 2012 to its 1862 Belle Epoque glory. We arrived early for our reservations to the warm, cozy, salon de the and were lead to our table overlooking the Champs Elyees below. Lunch was simply the prelimary to the Laduree patisseries and world famous macaroons. (The biggest issue, which one to choose? LaDuree boasts over 19 flavors!)

On a sugar high, we decided the afternoon should end with some culture. We quickly entered the dry Metro and disembarked at Les Tuileres. Normally, I would have loved the walk across Catherine Medici's Tuscan inspired gardens, but even I hurried along the gardens paths to its former 'L' Orangerie', the building used to shelter the orange trees of the Tuileres, now housing a different type of plant 'Monet's Lilies'From the L'Orangerie website, "On April 12, 1922 Claude Monet signed a contract donating the Nymphéas series of decorative panels painted on canvas to the French government, to be housed in redesigned, oval rooms at the Orangerie.[3] With input from Monet, the head architect at the Louvre, Camille Lefèvre, drafted new plans and elevations in 1922 to house Monet's large Nymphéas canvases, incorporating natural light, plain walls, and sparse interior decoration". Viewing the 'Lilies' in the way Monet meant them to be seen, is like a virtual trip to his home in Giverny. If you take the time to visit just one museum, for pure wow factor the L'Orangerie and the Nymphéas would be top of my list!

Our last morning in Paris began with a stroll and ended with a sprint. We were back in the Marais, where we started our visit 7 days prior. We finally scored reservations for the restaraunt Bon Appetite and many other food magazines named 2012's 'best value' Le Breizh Cafe. We left the hotel at 10am for our 11:30am appointment a mere 15 minutes away. But, we didn't count on the Marais' weekend flea market, a combinaton of garage sale and high end antique auction. I succumbed to its siren's call and went home with two small French linens embroidered in 'moi' and 'toi' to add to my 'his' and 'her's linen collection. We peeked in the charming alleyways and the Place de Voges (the oldest square in Paris) and found ourselves almost running to make our reservation at the creperie. At 1130 the bistro was packed and the droves without appointments were sent away. It's Le Breizh's signature buckwheat crepes that keep its clientele coming back.

The last afternoon was dedicated to Paris' second favorite sport after eating, shopping. We returned to the Place de la Concorde in front of the L'Orangerie, but culture was not on our minds this time, retail therapy was the final destination of our Paris sorjourn. The Christmas Market located on the Champs Elyees had recently opened and most of of group opted to explore the many food and craft vendors. My husband the foodie had different ideas, so we headed to the Place de la Madelaine, where Paris' high end food shops are located. We stopped at the local LaDuree and found macaroons purchased that day would not be edible upon our return, so we continued across the square until we ran into Maille Moutard, home of gourmet French mustards since 1747. The mustard menu was amazing, mustards infused with: Chablis, truffles, fine herbes, and even bleu cheese. The choices were overwhelming, and we finally decided to buy several sample packs to enjoy at home.

Sunday we returned to Charles de Gaulle for our homeward journey. As we split a final macaroon, David and I agreed the French are definitely a highly envolved people. I reflected on my pre Paris jitters and realized it defintely was not my Waterloo. And like Napoleon, who was dug up from Elba 34 years after his death and installed at the Invilades for eternity, I knew I too would return to Paris.

Paris in the Rain, from the Royal to the Sublime

“I love to walk in Paris, especially in the rain, don’t you”? Owen Wilson as Gil Pender in Midnight in Paris says, “Christ, why does it always have to be in the rain? No, Gil I don’t want to walk in Paris in the rain”, Rachel McAdams as Inez.

I think we’d all like to have Gil.s attitude. And I will happily admit, after one week, I’ve started a romance with this most glamorous and sophisticated city; finding myself smiling as I walk along the Seine or when I see the Eiffel Tower in the distance or as I bite into one of La Duree’s famous macaroons. But, if I am being completely honest, in temperament I am more like Inez.

It was raining and gloomy the first day we arrived in Paris. But, the next two days Paris showed us her sunny happy side. Wednesday, Paris was back in a crabby mood as we crawled at a snails pace out of town towards Versailles. She was full on pissed off when we arrived at the palace of Louis XIV. The ‘Sun King’s’ home was sunny in name only that day. It was a great relief once our appointment time came and we could tour the former home of French royalty. The home back then was built to impress nobility and peasants alike; the kings private and public areas are decorated and dedicated to the Greek gods and planets they represent (Mars, Jupiter, Venus, Saturn, Mercury and Diana ) with Louis himself the sun and these rooms representing the planets that revolve around him. I was excited to end the kings apartments to arrive at the Hall of Mirrors, I knew I would be able to see what I came here for the gardens.

Shortly after leaving the Hall of Mirrors, I put up my umbrella and waded through the courtyard to see the gardens. They were everything I had hoped the would be and more. I love Italian gardens, their angles and shapes taking priority over flowers. Precision and geometry are the tools these gardeners use, the craftsmanship evident as I walked along oblivious the downpour. In my opinion Louis has a nice house but one hell of a garden! That afternoon we spent in

Louis XVI’s dad’s place, the Louvre home of Parisian kings through Louis XIII. This was my second visit to the literal 12 miles of exhibit space and over 35,000 permanent collections. And like last time I saw the four main pieces: Winged Victory, Napoleon’s Coronation, Venus di Milo and the Mona Lisa. Of course I saw others as I wound my way through the corridors, stair cases, and cavernous rooms of the Denon Wing, but they are all really a blur as you try to see the major treasures of the Louvre. Here’s my shocking confession, I don’t see myself going back. Paris has too many fantastic jewel boxes of museums to spend too much time in the Louvre. Here’s a comparison, your favorite local store where they know you by name and a ‘big box ‘retailer. You may save $0.50 on toilet paper, but who cares. On great thing I did do at the Louvre is buy the Paris Museum pass. It is so cool, you get admission to most of Paris’ museums and attractions. But what is even better, when you sashay past a huge line of people waiting in the rain to enter a museum. A little Parisian rain may dampen my spirits, but VIP access perks them right up.

Wednesday we spent hobnobbing with French royalty. Thursday was spent with artists mostly French but one very special American (to me). The day dawned without rain, but very foggy, (unfortunately this was the day we had planned to visit the Eiffel Tower) . We arrived just after the tower opened at 9:30am, between buying tickets and the line for the elevator our wait was approximately 15 minutes. (I can’t stress this enough, if you don’t want to wait for hours and aren’t thrilled by crowds, go as early or late in the day as possible, also around lunch time can be less crowded. The tower is open 9:30am until 11pm). There are three levels with the second level providing the most intimate views of the city. Half of our group chose to go to the top, while the rest, myself included chose the second.

The tower is located in the 7th Arrondissemont (neighborhood), so we spent the rest of the day in that area. Musee D’Orsay was our next stop. The former train station has been lovingly transformed into in my opinion the loveliest museum in Paris. Retaining the flavor of its train station past, it picks up where the Louvre leaves off the Impressionists. Renior, Monet, Manet, Van Gogh, Cezanne, Gaugin, they are all here. Lunch and the Rodin were next on the agenda, but once we came around the Hotel de Invalides we were surprised to find most of police force of Paris there in full riot gear. (Unsettling). It turns out an Italian diplomat was in town and following our exact itinerary. Everywhere we went barricades and police vans, and police officers, ensuring this bigwig’s safety. The final straw was when we got to the Rodin Museum to find it closed (to us) and the diplomat and his entourage entering. It was a sad realization when I understood my Paris Museum Pass only made me feel like a VIP. This is how they really live.

The Tower and the D’Orsay were lovely, but my two favorite parts of the day were a lot less famous and a lot more personal to me. Early afternoon found me in a large, dark and unchanged since before the last century cooking supply shop located off a quiet street near the D’Orsay. As I walked through the ‘batterie de cuisine’ that let’s face it I didn’t know half of what it was or would ever use, I smiled. This was Julia Child’s favorite store in Paris. Unchanged since the days when she was a frequent shopper. I bought an apron from a salesman at Dehellrin and mentioned that one of my favorite books was ‘My Life in France’ by Julia Child and she wrote so warmly of the store, I had to see if for myself. The gentleman laughed and said he had waited on her many times in the ‘80s and he didn’t know who she was until she left one time and some Americans came up to him and said, ‘Do you know that was Julia Child?” He didn’t because Julia would never have mentioned it. As we left E. Dehillerin and headed towards the D’Orsay, we wound our way down Rue de la Universite, everyone in my group keeping a sharp eye out for #81. We found it just before reaching the D’Orsay. The three story building built in the late 1800s with the blue door. The top two floors rented by an American couple when he was stationed in Paris working for the American government. She a bride in her late 30s wanted to do more with her life than lunch with the ladies and shop, so she enrolled in L’Cordon Bleu to take cooking lessons. I may not be as romantic as Gil Pender, but I did get misty eyed when I stood in front of Julia Child’s Paris home.

Life in Paris and the adventures continue...