Menorca R & R

Both sets of grandparents joined us for a two week reunion to Menorca, a Mediterranean island just off the coast of Spain. This was our R & R. It was neither restful nor relaxing (what vacation is with a 3 year old and 8 month old?) but we did party and play hard to make up for lack of sleep. We also enjoyed developmental milestones:  Deets and Mark celebrated their 3rd and 36th birthday; Margo said her first word: Dada. As for me? Well I guess I learned about sensitive skin and salt-water-sea-itch.  I swam and snorkeled in the ocean anyway. 

We'd go back to this place in an instant. It was family friendly, gorgeous and easy to navigate. We left with much more to experience, but here are the top ten things (out of about 22 particular favorites) about Menorca according to the Schlinks:

10. Rock walls: some 2,000 years old
lining nearly 45 km of the tiny island.

9. Monte Toro: a nosebleeding elevation of 357 meters
near the town of Es Mercadal provides a panoramic
view of the entire island.

8. Market morning: delivery of carcasses
every morning to local butchers.
Local specialty: suckling pic.

7. Siestas: Menorca takes their sleep seriously,
leaving ghost towns from 1:00-5:00pm.
It forced us to drink gin slushies and nap
in the shaded garden of our house.

6. Jelly Fish: floating blithely and inconveniently near the shore
every couple of days. The island cliffs gave us aerial views
of them, clumped by the 1,000s.

5. Childless mornings with Mark,
drinking cappuccinos at Imperi, a bar on the main plaza.

4. Cami de Cavalls: A horse/hiking trail
that circles the island cliffs. We rented mountain bikes for a day,
to remind us why we road bike instead.

3. Cuitadella: the town we stayed in has incredible vitality.
Each night was graced with strolls along the port,
shopping in the pop-up shops, live music, and gelato.

2. The beaches: pick one, any one.They all rocked hard core.
 Deets went from belligerent to brilliant with swimming.
We made it to half a dozen beaches out of approximately 50.
 Our favorite got dubbed Deets Beach (in Ciutadella) which
 had a tiny 15 foot perfectly sanded cove.
We saw fish, crabs, jelly fish and boobs.  TONS of boobs.

1. Gin: All things gin in Menorca are awesome:
the gin factories, gin & tonics, gin & lemonade, gin slushies...
their gin is made from distilled wine and juniper berries
(where other places make it from barley).
We drank with unadulterated pleasure.

What's on Tap?

Romania doesn't have urban hipster microbreweries like my home state does, nor do they have the variety of flavors and styles that would rival Applejack's or Argonaut Liquors. Generally, I'd say the beer here is fairly run of the mill, mass produced and cheap. Every once in a while Mark and I splurge on imported Belgians like Orval or Rodenbach Grand Cru, but just like anywhere else, summertime heat and humidity in Bucharest always calls for icy cold local beer.

At our home, Ciuc Premium is our staple of cold brew.  Ciuc originated in 1974 from a city in Transylvania called Miercurea Ciuc, aka: the North Pole of Romania. Locals often joke about cold weather with the caveat that "no matter how cold their place may be, it's still better than Ciuc." That's not to say the city is a terrible place, quite the contrary. Ciuc in fact, is one of the prettiest areas in Romania with eye burning evergreen trees that coat the mountainside and is a hot location for pristine mineral springs.

At any rate, the beer rates a 70 according to beeradvocate.com meaning it's okay and worth trying but probably not worth coming back for. However, we love it for its classy updated pop-top green bottle and flavors that capture the bottled from the source taste of Harghita's mineral springs. That, and well, it's cheap.  Served cold, its drinkability quenches the thirst of a sticky, mid-walk through Herastrau Park on a glorious day of listening to bands and people watching. And that, is what's on tap for the Schlinks in summer time Romania.

Bere dupa bere eo placere: beer after beer brings pleasure.

Shiva, I've Got This

The fact that our eight month old daughter woke up every other hour last night to talk to herself didn't help my task to roll out of bed for a 5:00am yoga class. Ignoring the nauseating early morning fuzz and bleariness at 4:29am, slumped into the car and headed to a studio across town. Even at 4:43am, Bucharest was up with folks walking into traffic, taxis flying down the street, delivery trucks cutting me off.

I somehow convinced myself I should celebrate the longest day of the year by joining a hoard or early morning risers and do 108 Sun Salutations, something yogis routinely do at least quarterly with the changing seasons. They do it to represent a spiritual offering of sorts and the number 108 comes with assorted symbolisms:

-Take in some light reading: the number of Upanishads, philosophical Vedic texts comes to 108.

-Hey Shiva! Destroying something? Well great because you have 107 aliases to cover your trail.

-Don't like the name Buddha? That's cool because he also has 107 other aliases.

-Catholic and Tibetan rosaries/prayer beads ring in at 108, a healthy length of solace and comfort.

-Get in line boys because 108 men coveted the gorgeous Penelope, the wife of Odysseus. Besides, she wasn't interested anyway.

-Giro d'Italia knows how to show respect: they retired racing number 108 to honor Wouter Weylandt who fatally crashed his bike in 2011.

My not-so-discreet picture of class. But I was SO excited!

At any rate class started with a bang. The sweat, heat, and vibration took over that room.  I fantasized about espresso and a big ol' breakfast burrito, while hammering out my 108, somehow managing to fall into a rhythm between that and my breath. It was a major victory blocking out my usual distractions: picking a wedgie, fixing my hair, day dreaming about to-do lists. We finished in just over an hour leaving plenty of time to lay on the floor. Not a terrible way to start my summer.

I am not sure if 108 means anything to me after this, but I certainly will keep my eyes open. Well, starting after I take a nap if I can get one.

108. Done.

Beached in Bulgaria

Last weekend we took the brother and sister-in-law to Obzor, a small Black Sea beach town in Bulgaria, a five hour drive from Bucharest. We reasoned with the new highway leading from Bucharest to Constanta we could easily cut off 45 minutes of driving, thus making the drive feel oh so short. Sure, if you drive a sports car without children. With the VW filled with sticky children and luggage, Nettie and I hopped into the teeny rental car where we bonded: engaging in loud conversations over the roar of the engine at 55 mph and Romanian hip hop playing on the radio.

Black Sea in June: still cold.

Six hours later, everyone arrived relatively intact, excited to stretch our legs and get onto the beach. Wading into the Black Sea, I tried to ignore its chill and instead focused on the thousands of hermit crabs scrambling along the sea bed. Wait. Hmmm, no. The idea of pinchy crabs having access to my toes did not appeal to me so I scampered back onto the beach. I blew up my son's inner tubes, content to float and kick the waves but somehow I exceeded the recommended weight limit. One bob in the water and I went ass up. Back to the sand for me. I'm not much of a water person anyway.

All day in the SAME swim diaper. Whatever you imagine first is probably correct.

 We all just hung out relaxing, or at least faking it. There's only so much relaxation afforded to parents on vacation when kids are involved, right? All weekend the kids enjoyed digging and eating the sand, and splashing in the startling cold water. But I felt at peace even with knowing the nights would likely end with two sandy children sleeping in our beds. 

The sun-exposed pass-out sleep

I liked the idea of using this beach trip as a practice run for our upcoming R&R in Menorca and I thought I packed well: loads of beach towels, cheap beach toys, sunscreen, swim diapers and suits. I decided to go big and buy a hearty two piece bathing suit that would guarantee support and coverage of the essential tidbits.  I was so proud, giving myself a pat on my pasty white back. Then I realized I had a very hungry daughter.

Hangry babies and bounce proof bikini tops don't exactly go well together. Without any chance of discretion I ended up giving the beach and pool goers full on hard core show; I damn near ended up taking my whole top off just to gain access. Not that any of this mattered since boobs, cheeks and junk of all shapes and sizes strutted up and down the resort.

Taking a sun-rise schlep along the beach. Thanks Margo.

Aside from my impromptu brusque showing, we enjoyed a relatively uneventful and quick weekend. I didn't know this ahead of time, but I paid for an all inclusive stay involving another show of sorts: mass consumption of buffet-style food and drink. In a way I enjoyed the easy and continuous access of food that my insatiable children regularly require but after 24 hours, I saw enough gorging and wastefulness to cover me for at least ten more years. I think we all felt the same.

That bubbly could take off the rust on your car. No amount of free could make us drink it.

Dillon Trip #3-B: Prahova Valley

We woke up to cool breeze, clear skies, and ripe cherry trees but I had zero interest in subjecting Margo to another bike ride. I saw the family scoot off on their ride and met them via car to visit Bellu Manor, a 19th century building once owned by who else? The Bellu Family who hailed from Pellus, the same place as Alexander the Great but found their way to Romania in 1780. They made a fortune as merchants and collectors in the region, selling and trading exquisite pieces of art and goods from all over the world. 

The manor inside was filled with gorgeous furniture, porcelain, paintings and silverware collected throughout the years. Some even dated back to the second and third century. Ironically, while the director granted us to take some pictures inside the museum, Deets had none of it. Extricating our toddler outside to smell the flowers, I waited for the others to finish.

Bellu Manor

They know their flora.

Uncle Gabe

Such a trooper.

Departing ways for nap time, they continued exploring the countryside instead. At some point they climbed 10-12% grades, enjoyed basement wine and ate ice cream as the clouds began to gather. Mark rode ahead with Deets after convincing him to get into the trailer one more time. But not before his spot-on civil disobedience; no tears, no whining. He just laid his head on the cool pavement and waited.  Luckily they finished just in time. Gabe and Nettie flirted with wind, downpour and hail before arriving wet but happy. One more home cooked meal at the Children's Settlement and it was time to go home to Bucharest.

Dillon Trip #3-A Prahova Valley

Since my last visit to Prahova Valley back in August,  I pined for a return trip. I missed the wildflowers, hilly vineyards and welcoming locals so I couldn't wait to drag my brother and sister-in-law to a local part of Romania that so many people don't even know exists. Recruiting Mircea with Cycling Romania for extra bikes and expertise, we all spent the weekend touring what continues to be one of my favorite places. 

Snack break with "Fetitza Mica" aka Margo

We started off at our hotel Casa Colinelor en route to the Monastery Jercălăi known for its 300 year old mobile Transylvanian church that was built and rebuilt in several different locations before sinking its roots in the village of Urlati. We wandered their vineyard and drank natural spring water before continuing onto Monastery Vărbila, a newer one down the road.

Monastery Jercălăi

Nothing quenches thirst like wine. Except maybe beer, but we couldn't deny the fact this was grape country so we continued onto Crama Urlateanu, a British owned, Romanian run winery. The Sommelier enthusiastically shared her favorite stock and after tenuous dealings with a very vociferous 7 month old who didn't like the bike trailer. At all. Not one bit. Ir didn't take much before all the adults were feeling no pain.

Empty bellies started talking and luckily the trip ended at the Valea Crângului Children's Settlement for dinner and a long anticipated reunion with my friends at the foundation! I last saw them in August 2012, and they were thriving: the house, the garden, the children. The little girls took one look at Margo and snatched her away. Deets ran off to stare at the three chicken varieties: the Tony Blairs, the Bellasconis, and the Singhs. Mark, Gabe, Nettie, Mircea and I sat and relaxed under the vine covered awning. 

Just one of the girls.

Dillon trip #2: Veliko Tarnovo, Bulgaria

In order to satisfy historical appetites and a increasing obsession with Bulgarian wine, I drove my brother and sister-in-law down for a quickish yet long day to a crazy-old Bulgarian town about three hours from Bucharest called Veliko Tarnovo. Origins of this city date back to 3000 BC, the beginning the Bronze Age and has endured empire after empire.  If the expansive bluffs and cliffs could talk imagine the stories they might tell about a city once claimed to be Europe's Third Rome (after the Byzantine Empire and original ancient Rome). 

We walked directly to a highly rated restaurant right at the food of the citadel walls and scoured over their fifty two page, multi-language menu before setting on a cheese platter, a veggie platter, a meat platter, and a hot pot of all the above. Filling up (and out) nicely, we simply took a walk around Tsaravets, Veliko's big time fortress used primarily from 1185 to 1393 and enjoyed the expansive views  provided on the hill. 

While reading up on the city, wishing we had time to visit the central square for shopping and catch their popular night time light show, of I found an interesting fact: Just 100 years before the birth of the great Mark Schlink, and 133 years before the birth of Deets, Russian general Joseph Vladimirovich "liberated" Veliko Tarnovo effectively ending the Ottoman Empire that reigned for 480 years.