Just back from on the road. Washington D.C., Delaware shore, Baltimore, Chicago, St. Louis, Vienna, Munich, Hamburg, and finally back to Berlin. It's been like one of those James Bond movies, where they flash the title for a new locale every other scene and the background changes without rhyme or reason, but it's still the same characters and plotline. The plot this time: will the poopy diaper hold until we get out of the cab, train, or plane? Can Agent 001 execute a change of diaper during breathtaking turbulence (or hair-raising turns), with baby screaming uncontrollably and inconsoleably and baby's talon-like fingernails sticking into daddy's pituitary gland?
But it was a very good vacation, and I believe I also managed to read 60 or so pages of a novel, a number of newspaper articles, two or three AARP magazine pieces, and various newsletters from Chicago North Shore suburban health care associations, clubs, and societies. I also read the "Eensy-Weensy Spider," "There's a Wocket in My Pocket," and "Meine grossen Tiere Tina, das Schweinchen" approximately 75 times each.
My parents have to be the only people on the planet who subscribe to the Jewish Weekly Forward, the British Economist, and the Waynesville (North Carolina) Mountaineer (motto: "all the news you need"). It's nice to finally be informed again.
Returning to Europe, I had to fly alone with the baby, since Nicole came back early. This was rather less like a 007 picture and more like a scene from
The Exorcist. I'm not sure I can tell this story. I'm still too shaken.
But I will say that any doubts about whether British intelligence harbored ex-Nazis after World War II have been cleared up by my experience with British Airways stewardesses. One sees the unmistakeable stamp of Wehrmacht training in their style of customer service.
Warren: This stroller doesn't seem to fit in the luggage bin.
Stewardess: Well, you'll just have to take it back outside to the rampway.
Warren: But they told me it would fit, and I just carried it down the length of the plane, with the baby and my luggage in the other hand.
Stewardess: Yes.
Warren: I don't think I can make it all the way out again with the baby and everything.
Stewardess (with all the tenderness of Margaret Thatcher meeting with the miners) : It's alright. I'll watch the baby.
Warren: No. The baby would start screaming if I left her here.
Stewardess: Oh, I see, you're spoiling her.
After that, things got ugly.
Vienna was wonderful. I especially liked walking into the corner tavern with baby Eve on our first night there. It was 9:30 PM. Big burly Viennese guys at the bar. Furtive, oddly dressed guys at each table, looking like they just came from an early porn show. A rowdy group of couples getting sloshed. All conversation stopped as we walked in. And the waitress seemed to want to tell me I was in the wrong place, but I had already unpacked Eve's toys and bottle and made myself totally comfortable by the time she made it to my table. Eventually we made lots of friends. Excellent wienerschnitzel too, and the cabbage-potato salad was a revelation. The beer was also good, and the steamed milk seemed to be a big success.
Munich was much less my thing, though the reunion with mama was of course great. I think I've picked up all the Berliners prejudices regarding Munich. Too clean. Too happy. Too polite.
Hamburg was more to my liking.
But now we're home, and everything's perfect.
