People Who Slow Me Down

I knew the life in Europe was slower, but I love being reminded of it.

The first case: Metz. At the Christmas Market, I asked for roasted chestnuts. The man responded, "Well, hello, how are you doing today?" We had a bit of a quick chat before he filled up my bag and accepted my change.

The reminder came again this week. I wrote a friend about our Dijon trip, and she started the reply email with, "How was your week?" It was a simple question I should have asked to begin with.

I am a product of American culture, no matter how much I try to escape from it. Rushing through life and keeping busy are practically engraved on my brain. Despite two-hour lunches or the twenty-five-days-a-year vacation time you have here, it's the five-second reminders that hit hardest.

On Wine Cellars

I have a bit of a wine cellar fetish. (Before the Internet creeps start lurking on my page, here's a the non-sexual definition of fetish: "anything to which one gives excessive devotion; idolized object.")

The bit of history in most wine cellars involves more than just the dank smell in the air; there's a visible past, present and future in each cellar. There's a history to every bottle, a present decision on which bottle to take, and rows and rows of future memories waiting to be made.

One of the most interesting cellars I have seen is the one at Thomas Jefferson's Monticello. The cellar wasn't so interesting as was the hidden door in the dining room mantle, where wine would be pulled up from below. As with everything else pertaining to Jefferson, this was pretty advanced for its time.

Now, I've been to Köln now probably four or five times. I love the city every time; the people are friendly, and I'm usually enjoying the Kölsch too much to be bothered by anything. Lucky for me, this time I had to use the restroom right near the Dom so I had to duck into a nearby parking lot. And guess what I found? This:

This Roman wine cellar was found during the construction of a parking lot. Rather than move it, they left it right where it was and constructed around it. I love when those kinds of decisions are made! It will keep history dorks like me happy for years to come. It's somewhat magical to stumble upon ruins in the middle of the modern city, especially in a place as unexpected as a parking lot.

According to the sign, this was one of the largest cellars found in the area. Was this always a relatively wealthy area? Today in the square above are Louis Vitton and Lacoste shops. It's amazing to think that hundreds and hundreds of years ago, a Roman woman or servant might have been going down to this cellar to grab wine (or other goods that were kept there, such as meats, etc.), never guessing that hundreds of years later, we'd be watching this piece of her home as cars drove in and out above it.

I wish I could just walk by these sorts of ruins. But I can't. I have to stop and think every time. I have to imagine the people who lived there, what the room or ruins looked at during their prime. I consider myself so lucky right now to be living in a country where stumbling upon ruins like this is just a part of my day. It provides wonderful food for my imagination.

European Sauna Myth-Busting

***Warning: Not for those who do not want to read about taboo topics. This post will deal with things like naked people, gyno exams, and all those other uncomfortable topics no one ever warns you about when you move abroad.***

I was at a certain gym this past weekend (not to work out, mind you, rather to go in the saunas)and will probably go again tomorrow. I was thrilled to find out saunas burn about 300 calories per half hour, and I figured it was the quickest way to drop calories by being lazy.

The saunas are fabulous. There's the one indoors known as the "Rose" sauna, where the water above the hot stones have rose petals floating around. There's an outdoor hut with two saunas, one that's just super hot and the other that has music and relaxing lights. The other is for the guests who prefer a bit of exposure, as there are windows in that hut.

The huts make you feel like you jumped into a little colony of nude hobbits.

Now, I've been to saunas in Europe before, but I forgot how...well, nude they were. Let's take a look at what this gym wants you to think versus how it really is.

Myth #1: People wear towels. Let's take these nice, wholesome individuals. We'll call them Dick and Jane. Oh, and their nosey friend Susie.

The three of them are casually sitting in the sauna, muscles equally buff and relaxed. These three friends are wearing towels.

Reality: Nudity is mandatory. I wasn't 100% sure when I got there, so I wrapped myself in a towel (just like Jane and Susie, actually). But I looked like a clown! So in the next sauna, I got naked and felt more...well, integrated in Europe.

Oh, and for the record, Dick is living up to his name in this picture because his feet are not on a towel. Rudeness alert! I almost got bitched out in the first sauna I was in for not having my feet on a towel...it's supposed to protect everyone from feet germs because, you know, I'm sure bacteria love temperatures above 120 degrees. And with all the nudity, I highly doubt that's what I need to be worrying about.

Myth #2: The restaurant is a nice place to grab a bite.

At this point, Dick's given up on scoring with Susie, so he has taken Jane out for lunch. There are some people casually walking around in bathrobes, but it's okay that Dick and Jane are dressed.

Reality: Wrong! This restaurant is smack in the middle of the huts. There are windows in the restaurant revealing the nudists outside. Mmmm, I'll take my fresh salmon salad with a side of naked furry Italian over there. And, rudeness alert! I actually stopped in this restaurant to get a drink to rehydrate myself, but Mr. French-Speaking Waiter was very happy to inform me that without a bathrobe, I wouldn't be served. Attendez une seconde, Monsieur. Isn't a towel basically made of the same material as a bathrobe? Just because my arms aren't covered?

Now, let me take a step back here. Overall, I had a good time in Saunaworld and, as long as creepy men aren't checking out my goodies, I'm pretty comfortable there... But now I'm going to go down a road that few would dare to blog about, let alone discuss. The gyno visit in Europe.

In the U.S., this visit is bad enough. I was told that here, you can kiss your modesty goodbye. In the States, you get a little gown, the doctor leaves, you change, and then the doctor comes back in. Granted, the gown doesn't cover much, but it's a comforting barrier nonetheless. In Europe, they don't waste their time with the gown. You strip down completely and plop! into the chair (chair, I said, not bed thingy). Awkward. Some doctors have a dressing screen, others don't.

I tried to read up about this before my last visit, but it's nowhere on the net. So, readers, as much as this isn't such a kosher subject, I hope I'm saving expat women future confusion. This first doctor I had, after I asked, "Oh, you mean change now?" (as in "Right here, you aren't leaving, we're still sitting at your desk and I should just strip down in front of you?"), I was told, "Well, not tomorrow!" Funny, doctor, because now you are also an a-hole in my book.

I mean, really, it's a doctor, so why should it really matter, right? It's their job, no biggie. It's like me dealing with a paper clip at my job. And as much as I'm okay with nudity, I still think this culture shock is one of the weirdest ones for Americans to get over. I have American friends who have been here for years who are still a little put off by it. I mean, is the U.S. still just way too Puritan? I think there's still something to be said about modesty, even if here it's gone out the window!