The next morning started out like a day in Pleasantville: The sun was shining, the fireplace responded promptly to the turn of the switch, and the thermometer of the hot tub pretended not to know what a two-digit number was as it displayed a warm 102 degrees Fahrenheit. The line for breakfast was conveniently short, probably because we decided to take our cereal in our cabin. Life was wonderful!
The really nice guy and I had planned to go hiking that day and equipped with hiking boots, water, snacks, and a Mount Everest mountaineering survival kit we were heading towards the Smoky Mountain National Park. Unfortunately, we had to go through Gatlinburg which meant that we were stuck in traffic once more. Gatlinburg must have the world's highest per capita demand of pancakes, resulting in an overwhelming density of pancake houses. At 11 am, picture 50 people each waiting in line in front of every single one of them, trying to get a table for themselves and 25 of their closest family and friends that were yet to arrive and you understand why our patience was put to the test again.
Once we left all restaurants behind us and were on the street that would eventually lead us to the starting point of our hike, traffic eased noticeably until we didn't see a single car anymore. "That's great," the really nice guy was thrilled, "no traffic at all. Unbelievable!" He turned around the corner and had to bring the car to an immediate halt. "Just what we needed, another traffic jam," and while I was still contemplating how only two stopped cars in each direction could disrupt traffic completely, I noticed a woman outside her car shouting into her cell phone. "Oh no, I hope it's not an accident," I said when a rain of green leaves right outside the car caught my eye. The loudness of the woman's voice assumed alarming proportions and we decided it was time to leave the car and find out what had happened.
"I don't believe it, I've never seen anything like this," the lady screamed hysterically. Neither had I, and I started to commiserate with the person she had called and who must have been on the verge of acute hearing loss. "What happened?" the really nice guy asked when the woman was quiet for a split second to take a breath. "Bears! There are three bears! A mom and two babies! They are all up in that tree!" Well, that explained the constant falling of leaves from the tree that the woman was pointing at. However, I couldn't see anything and to be honest, I wasn't sure if she hadn't made up the whole story as a sorry excuse for her being late for a family pancake feast. I had been to Canada twice and have spent an extensive amount of time in various bear-sighting-guaranteed National Parks without ever actually seeing one. And now there should be three of them just outside of Kentucky?! Yeah, right!
As the lady continued to yell into her cell and the tree continued to shake I caught the glimpse of a brown fur ball that was moving further up towards the tree top. I was impressed. I didn't know that bears are that good at climbing but I could truly sympathize with that poor creature that would do anything to get away from that voice. After taking a few pictures of a brown spot on green background we followed the example the bears had set and escaped as well before our ears started bleeding.
Will we have any more bear sightings when we are finally on our hike?
I'll keep you posted.
Bis bald,
SAPgirl
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Thursday, November 03, 2005
CULTURE: First Impressions
The really nice guy has currently two friends from Germany visiting for three weeks. It is the first time in the USA for both of them and I enjoy all their discoveries of the American Way of Life. It reminds me of my first trip to the States eons ago in 1993 and how everything here was so similar to Germany and yet so completely different and thrilling.
Free refills, for example, are something we Germans can get really excited about, and quite understandably so. In our country we even have to pay extra for ketchup if we like it with our Bratwurst and fries. When we first get to the USA, we also try to order our Coke without ice. In three out of ten cases, the waitress is not too discombobulated by this strange desire and we actually get what we ordered. Due to that disappointing result, however, most of us give up on that special request after six weeks and get used to drinking our Coke with the polar bears.
Something else that we literally have to get acclimated with is the bond of affection the Americans share with their air condition. Yes, it might be snowing outside but this is the land of the free, after all. There is no law that prevents the restaurant manager from keeping the setting of the thermostat where it had been all summer. The really nice guy and I have lived here long enough to be prepared to enjoy our meal in a room that is chilled to a crisp 65 degrees Fahrenheit. Unfortunately, we forgot to forewarn our visitors and recommend that they bring their winter outfits.
The other day the four of us went to an Italian restaurant for dinner. We were seated right under the air conditioning and as the minutes passed every one of us was looking more and more disheveled. I got my scarf out to wrap it around my head, hoping to bear remote resemblance to Grace Kelly, while the really nice guy put on his baseball cap he providently had brought. We started feeling bad for his friends, though, who seriously considered using the tablecloth as a shield from the cold air that was blowing into our faces. Not wanting to risk that either one of us got a cold we asked the waiter if there was something he could do.
Had we been in Germany, the general recommendation of the staff would have been to leave the restaurant immediately and to only come back once we were not such wussies anymore. Here, however, our wish was the waiter's command. Not only did he offer us to be seated at another table, he also adjusted the temperature of the air conditioning. Moments later, the restaurant was filled with warm air. The really nice guy and I could lose our headgear and we all had an enjoyable dinner.
I know of course that one man's meat is another man's poison. Nevertheless, I didn't believe my own eyes when I saw the four men leaving that had been sitting at the corner table. All of them had taken off as many clothes as possible while still trying to remain dressed with political correctness. I didn't think their attempt was very successful but at least they met the criteria of being rated PG-13. All of them were still wearing boxer shorts, t-shirts, and socks while carrying their shoes in the left hand and their jeans and sweaters in the right.
Even though I'm still impressed that none of them complained about the supposedly high temperature I feel bad that we forced hot flushes upon them. Will I return to that restaurant any time soon?
I'll keep you posted.
Bis bald,
SAPgirl
Free refills, for example, are something we Germans can get really excited about, and quite understandably so. In our country we even have to pay extra for ketchup if we like it with our Bratwurst and fries. When we first get to the USA, we also try to order our Coke without ice. In three out of ten cases, the waitress is not too discombobulated by this strange desire and we actually get what we ordered. Due to that disappointing result, however, most of us give up on that special request after six weeks and get used to drinking our Coke with the polar bears.
Something else that we literally have to get acclimated with is the bond of affection the Americans share with their air condition. Yes, it might be snowing outside but this is the land of the free, after all. There is no law that prevents the restaurant manager from keeping the setting of the thermostat where it had been all summer. The really nice guy and I have lived here long enough to be prepared to enjoy our meal in a room that is chilled to a crisp 65 degrees Fahrenheit. Unfortunately, we forgot to forewarn our visitors and recommend that they bring their winter outfits.
The other day the four of us went to an Italian restaurant for dinner. We were seated right under the air conditioning and as the minutes passed every one of us was looking more and more disheveled. I got my scarf out to wrap it around my head, hoping to bear remote resemblance to Grace Kelly, while the really nice guy put on his baseball cap he providently had brought. We started feeling bad for his friends, though, who seriously considered using the tablecloth as a shield from the cold air that was blowing into our faces. Not wanting to risk that either one of us got a cold we asked the waiter if there was something he could do.
Had we been in Germany, the general recommendation of the staff would have been to leave the restaurant immediately and to only come back once we were not such wussies anymore. Here, however, our wish was the waiter's command. Not only did he offer us to be seated at another table, he also adjusted the temperature of the air conditioning. Moments later, the restaurant was filled with warm air. The really nice guy and I could lose our headgear and we all had an enjoyable dinner.
I know of course that one man's meat is another man's poison. Nevertheless, I didn't believe my own eyes when I saw the four men leaving that had been sitting at the corner table. All of them had taken off as many clothes as possible while still trying to remain dressed with political correctness. I didn't think their attempt was very successful but at least they met the criteria of being rated PG-13. All of them were still wearing boxer shorts, t-shirts, and socks while carrying their shoes in the left hand and their jeans and sweaters in the right.
Even though I'm still impressed that none of them complained about the supposedly high temperature I feel bad that we forced hot flushes upon them. Will I return to that restaurant any time soon?
I'll keep you posted.
Bis bald,
SAPgirl
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