Travel Tuesday: I pooped in Hitler's Toilet

So...It was not exactly Hitler's toilet, in fact, if you know your history, you'll know that Hitler hated Eagle's Nest it was situated so high on the mountain. Nice try on the birthday gift assholes. And the home that he did have close to Eagle's Nest was uber bombed by the Allies...but I digress. This is about poop, my poop, disgusting poop.

If you don't like poop, stop reading. Because this is about me pooping. I am giving you so many fucking warnings here.

So I was in Germany for my honeymoon this past October. It wasn't my first time in what I consider "God's land" but I was on my honeymoon and dead set and making a bunch of memories in some awesome places, those places being Hitler's summer retreat we all know as Eagle's Nest. Its the one place that remained semi intact after the war, and the looting of Allies. Totally justified, it is the spoils of war, but sad for some of us historians. But still, the place is pretty fucking cool.

Our nights were filled with beer and debauchery as we explored the rebuilt streets of Munich. We were, after all, in the land of beautiful beer, and we'd managed to make friends with an Iraqi refugee bartender who HOOKED IT UP. He also felt it pertinent to inform us that he comes from the same town as ISIS. We didn't know how to take that information, but he gave us the biggest smile as he complimented us on our bilingual skills of Spanish, English, and drunk German.

Here's the thing....I have IBS. And drinking beer makes me super sick. It's so fucking good, but in the last three years, I have switched to wine, or tequila. It's a beer lovers nightmare, because Gluten free beer is the biggest bullshit known to man. And I don't even think its the Gluten, I think its that God knows that I enjoy something so amazing, so he's punishing me for my vices. I know it is only a matter of time before I start violently reacting to Tequila. So I cut back. But this was my honeymoon, and cutting back is for bitches. I was going to drink my God-smiting beer in Germany, just like a German, with my Mexican husband and Iraqi best friend for the night. I did not care. I got the heaviest, most flavorful beer, and I savored the fucker till the last drop. Then we had more beers, then we stumbled to next beer haus and drank the shit out of their beer. I metaphorically flipped off the heavens with every drop that danced on my lips. It was mine for the taking.

It all seemed fine. I was on top of the world. I had even managed to confidently walk in to the one of a million sex shops and not feel like a perverted whore. I was good.

We woke the next morning panicked. We had slept through the alarm, and the bus was leaving to Eagle's Nest in 40 minutes. Showers were rushed and breakfast was optional. This was the last tour to Eagle's Nest before it closed for the winter and I was NOT going to miss this opportunity. I was determined and brazen enough to say a "fuck you" to the U-Bahn ticket machine and get on the fucking train without paying. I was so bad ass. Hell, we even made it on the bus. My partner in adventure, affectionately called husband, was sooooo hungover. and the ride up the mountain wound horribly. He vomited, a lot. I was concerned, but a little vomit was not going to stop this from being a supreme trip. He's miserable, and I am cold. But we were there.

We arrived to Eagle's Nest. It was beautiful. A waltz through a tunnel, with a quick hop in the elevator and bam, you were there. The dining hall, deck with the view of the mountain, the mantle where the american troops carved their names...it was mine for the experience. this was the place created as a gift for Herr Hitler's 50th birthday.This place, along with the parking lot in Berlin over Hitler's bunker, was hallowed ground for WWII history buffs, and I was standing in it.

I'm basking in the glory of history when I felt the rumble, a tap dance upon my intestines. And then a flash mob dance, and then wave. It was shit that I felt pummeling through my innards and making its way to my rectum. Without hesitation, I lean in to husband's ear and lovingly whisper "I'm going to poop". The look of panic is shared between our gazes as we briskly make our way to the bathrooms. A small line threatens my dignity, and my pants, but my Jillian Michael squats (and premature kegel exercised) are saving me from total explosion. The stall opens and without hesitation, I push myself in to the stall, dropping a pre-unbuttoned pair of jeans and decimating Hitler's summer retreat toilet. It was the shit to end all shits. And it was awful. I was sweating as the poison raced out of my ass and in to the toilet. My intestines were re-positioning themselves. My nostrils were burning while my eyes were stinging as the smell of my crap filled the bathroom.

It was at this time that I realized that I was completely alone in the bathroom. No sooner had I made that realization, did I see that the toilet paper was completely out. Normally in this kind of an emergency, I would use the toilet seat liners to clean up as much as possible until I could safely pull up the trousers and waddle over to the next stall. But in my quest to expel in a toilet and not on my pants, I had failed to check the liners as well. And guess the fuck what, I had no toilet paper liners. But wait! I could always text my husband to ask a woman to come in and help his wife. But you have to remember, I am in the fucking mountains. I had no reception. I could not send a fucking text. Nothing. And my ass dripping in shit. Literally dripping. Had I attempted to pick up my chonis, they would have been covered in shit. Shit, I tell you! And there was no guarantee that the shit would be contained to my chonis. The devastation that was my butt was enormous. The shit could have been anywhere if I stood up.

So I sat there, waiting for a woman to pee. It's the one fucking time women don't have to pee desperately. So I waited a long fucking time until an Asian tourist took pity on me and understood that I was asking for toilet paper. She laughed at me (if it wasn't for the toilet paper I would have killed her. JK...sort of).

"I was getting nervous" my husband exclaimed 20 minutes after I had first walked in to the bathroom. "Yeah, there was no fucking toilet paper and I had to wait for some asshole to walk back in to the bathroom". He lovingly laughed as described the ordeal. At least I can say I shit in Hitler's toilet.

Travel Tuesday: Mexicans in Germany! - The Honeymoon Part I

It should be known, if it has not been established, that I am in the midst of planning a honeymoon, and the wedding prior to the honeymoon. My goal is to marry the best guy ever. That part is almost to completion. My second goal, is to introduce said best guy to my favorite country outside of Continental America. If this is your first time reading one of my posts, you will have to ask yourself "what country could that be?" Otherwise, from my multiple odes to Alemania, you may already know. The third goal is to have the reader join us on the honeymoon, in a literary manner, not physically. The cynic in me is tamed by contributing to my blog and allowing you to follow my neurotic road to travel bliss, dare I say, it brings me joy. So here it is, the words, the process, the mind behind the decisions we will make on our honeymoon travels.

It is a given that we should spend time in Germany as a post celebration to our union. The honeymoon was booked before the  wedding date was settled. If it was not clear before, I love my travel. I am serious about my travel. Don't fuck with my travel. This had been the dream I would whisper to my love even before we vocally said "this is it, you are the one". I wanted to introduce him to the beauty of Berlin. I wanted him to drink the beer. I wanted a beautiful excuse to return to Germany for the 4th time...this was definitely it... Since we were so close, and because we love our beer, it was only logical that we decided to include a trip to  Belgium...drinking a beer in an Abbey while quoting Colin Farrell is on everyone's bucket list...right?

But the trip can't only be about beer... Well it  can, but I am older than I was the first time I was in Europe and drunkenly kicked a tour bus' glass door in before hauling ass down some alley with a fake sword in tow. Recreating the scene for my love would be awesome. Getting arrested would not. The debauchery that once flooded my excursions can only be allowed to trickle. I can't be continuously drunk, I can't bounce back from an all night drink and dance fest in order to wake and tour the cities. It just does not work like that anymore.

I am unsure of how we will handle the need to be young at a time when we are slowly feeling our age in a country that is woven with interlacing strands of  history and present future. Will we acclimate to a the time  change or sleep though a game of Eisbaren Berlin Hockey? I suppose I will leave that for a later post.

Bars and Books - My Favorite Combination

Molly Sanchez from the Bold Italic recently wrote an article called "The Best Bar & Book Pairings for SF Bookworms and Barflies", two of my favorite pastimes concisely packed in to one amazing listing. I decided to prey on this idea and present to you my version of books and pairings, San Jose, CA edition.

The majority of you that follow my blog are able to comfortable say "yeah, she always has a book in her purse." It's true, my over size bag that routinely bashes itself in to my surroundings ,without impunity, carries the contents of would be writer: a writing notebook (random flashes of creativity scribbled under one cover), a wedding notebook (currently planning a wedding to the best guy ever), a work notebook (I carry work with me, a lot...it is a bad habit but great work ethic), at least one book for leisure (sometimes two depending on how much I want to carry), and an assortment of pens. I do this because on the off chance that I have a moment to myself (free of emails and phone calls), I like to partake in what I consider the best hobby ever, reading and writing. Sometimes, I get to do this with alcohol (cue the brass band and fireworks). Here are my recommendations for the best bar and book pairings in my hometown.

Bar: Wine Affairs
Book: The Man in the High Castle or anything by Phillip K. Dick

This picturesque bar on  a lovely avenue known as The Alameda, is settled among the beautiful outskirts the rose garden neighborhood of San Jose. It shares a block with the historic Bank of Italy now inhabited by the hair salon as 5 Color Cowboy (they have a tattooist onsite now as well), resting amid the  rows of streets beautifully lined with tudor style homes, original wood crafted moldings, wrap around porches, and front yards rivaled only by Don and Betty Draper's house in Ossenig. A new Whole Foods sprinkles the perfection in to the neighborhood. It's the perfect setting for the perfect bar. The patrons of this establishment range from young to old, all of them eager to try the vast wines and craft beers served on their rotating taps. The bartenders remember your face and greet you with sincerity. It's perfect. Which is why a dystopian novel is the perfect genre for this type of place. Wine affairs is my favorite bar to read, but sometimes the idyllic surroundings force me to forget a life that is scary, dirty, and sometimes menacing. Mixing it with any of PKD's novels is the perfect combination of living. Wine in one hand, destruction of society in another.

Bar: Blank Club
Book: Breathers: A Zombies Lament by S.G. Browne

Ideally, you would be reading this novel at 9 pm on a Thursday, right before the full "Atomic" crew arrived. Arriving that early would secure your place at a table, hopefully by the stage, lulled by the sounds of  "cities in dust" or "love will tear us apart". In hand would be a cocktail, perhaps a tequila gimlet (fresh lime juice), considering the beer selection is sub par and there is no wine. But the atmosphere is perfect for a person who never really knows where and how they fit in this life, always wondering if this moment is the moment they are truly living. Sadly, the Blank Club closed it doors this past February. The owners have moved on to another location now called The Ritz...but the book is still around.

Bar: Cinebar
Book: Lolita by Vladimir Nabakov

Look, it's not the prettiest place. It's beers are meh, and sometimes the people can be a little much. But where the hell else can you read a book about about a 13 year old and her vindictive hold on Humbert Humbert and not be thought of as a pervert? The Cinebar is one of those places whose patrons are the most well read, well thought and open minded. Nabakov was a genius, leaving the reader to express empathy for an adult man who quite literally preyed on a young girl. But how many people can you openly discuss this book without fear of judgment? Not many. Cinebar embodied this type of literary freedom, a place I could read anything I wanted, discuss any thing I wanted without the societal judgments. It was great! I'll admit, Cinebar is also the place I am most likely to black out. Those whiskey and cokes are mean.

Bar: Teske's Germania
Book: The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera

Besides the fact that Teske's is amazing in their food, amazing in their beer, and amazing in their service, the place is GERMAN BAR IN SAN JOSE! San Jose can often be snubbed, considered culturally devoid. But it is small treasures such as Teske's that redeem my home town. Since I cannot visit the best country ever (Germany) at any time I would like, I take solace in Teske's, granting my instatiable German fix with rich beers and schnitzel. Being there instantly takes me to Germany, and being in Germany reminds me of reading Milan Kundera for the first time. It kind of goes hand in hand...right?

If able, check all of these places out (except for the Blank Club because its closed), and while you are out it, read the books. It's time well spent. If you are interested in the book and bar pairings for SF, Molly Sanchez's article on the Bold Italic can be found here. Now lets drink!

Travel Tuesday - The one where I tell you how to travel

So this is where I give you tips and suggestions on how to travel without being an uptight asshole.

Booking the flight: In general, you have to be vigilant on sales and promotions that are offered from time to time. If its a domestic flight, Southwest offers a rapid rewards program, while sending promotional emails weekly. Southwest can be pricey, but the promotions are phenomenal. And when booking, always try to book anywhere from 40 to 60 days prior to your trip. The fares tend to go up when there are less than 40 days.
International flights are a little tricky. I've used Lufthansa, Austrian Airlines, and British Airways. From experience, I can confidently tell you that AIRLINES SUCKS!!!! They re-route you to some bummed out Scandinavian country, they lose your luggage. Do not ever fly Austrian. Lufthansa, although a little pricier, is comfortable and semi luxurious  And if you are a freak of nature who likes her international travel plans to be settled ten months prior to the trip, you can always find a flight for less than $1,000 round trip. Same goes for British, although not near as posh as Lufthansa.
Finding deals on an international flight is a little harder but can be obtained. Cheap-O-Air consistently provides cheap flight options that include Lufthansa, British Airways, Virgin Atlantic, etc. Recently we booked our honeymoon flights to Belgium and Germany for 1300 a pop.

Flight Essentials: If your trip duration is less than a week, carry on. Remember that you can carry on one small luggage, and one personal item. Because the carry on luggage will be in the overhead storage, make sure that you have the following in your personal item bag - headphones, music player, phone, books (multiple if you are like me and need to read more than one book at time), magazines (pictures and small articles are a nice break from lines and lines of text), hand sanitizer, tissues, snacks, a rosary (for us superstitious folk) etc. It is hard enough to get up for a bathroom break, making the act of getting out of your seat, opening a storage bins when you are in flight an awkward nightmare.
However, if you are gone for more than a week, and will need to check a bag, make sure that you have the following in your carry on, especially if your flight requires at least one connection - Clean change of chonis (trust me, nothing says comfort like changing the 10 hour sat in underwear at the first opportunity), toothbrush and toothpaste (the recycled air will make your breath stale and you'll reek of corpse vagina), change of clothes (in case the checked in luggage doesn't make it to your destination), deodorant and make up, because come on...what if Ralph Fiennes is in the seat next to you! MILE HIGH CLUB!(JK...I am spoken for...)
I tend to dress up when I am flying because I am a psycho and always wonder "what if we crash and I am dressed like an asshole...I need to look cute". And mind you, not even lost luggage and having to wander the cobblestone of Venice for 24 hours in 6 inch platforms deters me from this practice. Practicality is for assholes.

Your Accommodations: Ideally you want to be as frugal as possible. However, a few things I learned that are very important in choosing your accommodations - Firstly, a modicum of cleanliness is essential. But also, research your location. Check the reviews, make sure that where you are staying is not in some obscure out of the way neighborhood. Stay within a reasonable distance of a major attraction. That way, when you stumble out of the local discotheque wondering how to speak German to the Italian cabbie, you'll at least be able to get close to your destination. Also, make sure your place is close to public transit, its convenient and cheap. If you are staying for a week or more in one place, try to rent an apartment, its cheaper and much more private. This was not as common when I began my travel excursions over ten years ago, but with the advent of sites like AirBnb, and Craigslist continually listing vacation homes all over the world, you will be able to find an affordable, comfortable, and awesome temporary home for your vacation.

Now to the good stuff. You can plan all you want, but please bear the thought that PLANS will go astray. That's ok, you are on a fucking vacation. Disorder should be at the top of your to do list. Go out for a coffee and chat someone up. You will learn so much about the city, receiving greater recommendations that no travel book will ever provide. Walk! Walk everywhere, turn a corner off the main street. Get lost! Not literally, but just wander. See it all on foot. You won't get that same feeling and experience from a tour bus.

Never ever get drunk alone! Never. Yes, I have been a shit show many of times, and a few of those alone. But this is fucking retarded and should not be practiced. Have a few, relax and enjoy, but stay conscious of everything and everyone. Locals are friendly...but so are rapists. If its available, try doing a pubcrawl. Not only will you meet other tourists, but you'll safely be traversing the streets, making a mental note of where to check out next when you are on your own. And believe me, the conversations and memories you make on the pub crawls are those that will mold the stories of your whole trip. Denmarkian is now a word I will forever use with a story for how it is used.

Do the touristy stuff. I nearly skipped that gondola ride because of its pocket raping price of 80 euros. But how the hell do you go to Venice and not take a ride on the gondola!? Yes it was pricey, but the gondolier was cute and he was able to score some wine from one of the canal side restaurants. AND HE SANG TO ME! It was something out of a Henry James movie remake. I even went to Oktoberfest. And although I paid a shit load to stay in a hotel in Munich (300 american a night) it was the best experience of my life. I slept on the sidewalk, with a Romanian girl as we swapped stories of our parents, but please don't tell my parents I did that.

Rent a moped, go to the beach, sit and do nothing. You never know if you will ever get to go back. I am fortunate for the opportunity to visit some of my favorites in this world more than once. But you really don't know if you will ever get to go back. So go and keep your eyes open. Don't fuss with a travel book. Immerse in to that world. And don't ever ask if someone speaks American, or if the Italian restaurant serves Margaritas ... they don't know that back home a margarita is drink, not a pizza. You'll end up with the most confusing conversation ever and if you are anything like me, you will probably cry.

Now go!