A Vacation, Part IV: Germany

France, Italy, and Croatia had been a whirlwind of organized chaos amidst figuring out public transportation, airbnb contacts, and what to see/eat/do in relatively short timeframes. Four days here and four days there, the thrill of a nomadic life is indeed thrilling and a bit exhausting. We had traveled by plane, train, bike, bus, and boat by this point (I think our transportation record in one day was: shuttle to train to airplane to bus to boat. Europe!) The main reason we headed across the pond, (besides a romantic adventure), was to visit Daniel's sister, Lana, and her husband, Chris while they are doing the whole expat thing. We had originally planned for one additional stop in Italy but decided to split the rest of our trip between Chris and Lana's flat in { Regensburg} and an upcoming short venture to Prague. AND I'm so glad we did! Germany was a breath of fresh air. Literally.

They welcomed us with open arms into their new home, which quickly became our home-away-from home. Family, food, and an insane mountain climb during a thunderstorm (Lana, we need to post those GoPro videos!), what more could you ask for?

If only Germany wasn't so far away. I'd ask for that.

We did it! And then we got drenched. 

(this hike HERE) 

Everyone. EVERYONE at the top was over the age of 40 and looked like they stepped out of an REI catalogue. 99% had those funny ski pole things, used for, well, hiking. 

Look at us. We conquered. We flew up and down that thing. In tennis shoes and basketball shorts. 

The motivational power of prosecco and pasta, my friends. 

xoxo

{Bon Bon}

Want more Germany photos? Check out Lana's IG: @lanamarie23

Want more (boring) Oregon photos? Check out my IG: @bonifous

A Vacation, Part III: Croatia

 Croatia could be our new favorite place, ever. Sure, there's a bunch of signs, complete with cartoon descriptions, bluntly reminding everyone (again) how American you are, "NO SWIMSUITS ALLOWED!" Because swimsuits make naked people uncomfortable. It's like the Garden of Eden all over agin. And my rental bike's broken brakes thought I was auditioning for a new "Speed" movie, which I didn't fully realize I was auditioning for until blissfully reaching the top of one extremely large rock hill, but Croatia, Crooooooaaaaatiaaaaaaaa! Just look at these photos. (At this point, I kind of want to shout, "Are you not entertained!?") The sea salt air, fresh catch of the day on your plate, most hospitable people, and sparkling ocean waters...I can forgive you for any and all minor offenses. P.S. Guys, we found the Garden of Eden!
...
Daniel and I hopped on a ferry out of Venice, straight through a storm over the Adriatic Sea and arrived on a deep misty night into the port of Istria. Our Airbnb host, Mladin told us that the forecast would be gloomy the next morning and, for our visiting souls' sake, would quickly become the blue sky norm again. Thankfully, we are from Oregon and grey skies are a don't-sweat-the-small-stuff sight. Super thankfully, the storm only lasted a few hours. Just enough time to catnap in our apartment, gorge ourselves on paprika chips and KiKi fruit chews, and head back out into the winding cobblestones of Rovinj. Sidenote: We plowed our way through FOUR bags of KiKi candy. Croatia probably gave me a cavity. Again, all is forgiven.

Then, THEN, the truly authentic Croatia emerged. Clouds dramatically parted, unveiling a constant sunny truth, and literal harmonies from heaven engulfed the airwaves, (the clouds did part, the heavenly harmonies were most definitely a techno rave, the "Unknown Festival," from another nearby island). This is old country, (forget trying to use a credit card here), but the people know a good time. The entire ocean is their swimming pool, whenever they feel like it. I imagine businessmen after a long work day, run outside to the nearest rocky cliff, shimmy down the ladder into the briny blue. Leaving a trail of ties, suit coats, and brogues on the stone ledges above...

Biking along the shoreline, we found hidden pockets of sand and surf stretching on a seemingly endless coast. Eventually, making our way further south to Pula, by way of bus, not bike, although...biking would've been faster, (Foreign Bus System+Foreign Weary Travelers=An adventure? One thing I've learned from my experiences overseas, whatever happens, call it an "adventure." You'll go a little less crazy). Halfway into our European journey, the buzz of thousands of travel miles behind and before us lulled to a hum as we sipped a Coke on a pebbled beach in Pula. One of those rare times in life where you can feel how everything you've ever done has led to this place, in this moment.

xoxo

{Bon Bon}

A Vacation, Act I: Paris in September

"Paris is the New York City of Europe" -says me

Early on, we had determined to fly into Paris as the kick-off to our European holiday. And if that ain't a bougie statement...
Onward to the CDG it was! And pronto, before the Kardashians invade!

The Oregon to France trek isn't all that bad. Daniel and I have both flown to Africa on separate occasions, and if that flight haul doesn't put hair on your chest...
With approximately twelve hours in the friendly skies toward the City of Lights, you have precisely enough time to enjoy any and all beverage services, two meals, one snack, several bathroom breaks, a 30 minute cat nap, eight prayers during turbulence over London, and four movies. Landed.

Step out of the metro and breathe that fresh, city...ozone layer. Yes. Let me begin with this. Paris stinks. In a totally stereotypical Pepe Le Pew sort of way. I was instantly enveloped by a cocktail aroma of perfume and smoke whenever anyone walked past me. Anyone. A three year old on a scooter whizzed by and I'm almost positive I smelled a faint hint of Thierry Mugler. My nose is used to some reeeeeeeeeel good Pacific Northwest air and in America you mainly see someone smoking, gosh, I don't even know, in their car, maybe? Behind a building, hidden in the bushes of shame and lung cancer, while on their lunch break? Towards the end of our time in Paris, (and Europe in general) after witnessing countless 102 year old men and women seemingly thriving on a diet of red wine and cigarette butts, I finally came to the conclusion: It must be the walking? Or the fromage? Or the chocolate croissants? Maybe they take their holiday in Portland, Oregon and fill up the internal reserve oxygen supply? These people are fabulous and fiesty and all La Vie en Rose and c'est le vie. I just might want to be like them when I grow up. Minus the smoking. Unless they invent a macaron flavored cigar. Ok ok, so of course we didn't travel across the pond for an anthropology study.

(As parents of a toddler, we obviously went to eat, drink, be merry, sleep past 7AM, and enjoy a Paw Patrol theme song free zone!)

We wined on wine and we dined on the four main food groups: chocolate, bread, cheese, and meat. We lived in a teeny Parisian apartment in the clouds. We walked past the Arc de Triomphe on our way home every day like it ain't no thang. We asked, "Parlez vous anglais?" so many times, as proper Americans should do. We marveled at the (cheap!) price of Bonne Maman jam at the supermarket, (and also failed at smuggling some into Italy, as improper Americans would do). We saw a whole bunch of naked statues, naked paintings, and naked photos, as one typically does in an art museum, and tried not to laugh too hard because we are actually 13 years old. We searched high and low for a (free) bathroom to use at 10PM, and finally found the free-est most grossest bathroom right by the twinkling lights of the Eiffel Tower, the smell of perfumed urine wafted through the air as an accordion wheezed La Valse d'Amélie. 

Paris IS for lovers.



xoxo

{Bon Bon}