Touring Bavaria III

There was still a bit of a chill clinging to the sides of the mountains when we reached the Königssee ("King's Lake"), which is not only Germany's cleanest lake, but also it's most impressive. Situated right on the bottom of the infamous climber-devouring Watzmann (the mountain fading into the clouds), it is as clear as a pool full of Evian. Hitler and his genocidal maniacs liked this area a lot. His Eagle's Nest and his Berghof are just a few miles away. The area is milking that part of it's past a bit too proudly for my taste, selling loads of Hitler DVDs and soldier song CDs in the kiosques by the landing of the Königssee boats that take you to the pilgrim's church at the far end of the lake, which otherwise can only be reached in a five hour hardcore mountain hike. Luckily none of the dubious nostalgia is touted on board the old-fashioned electric cruise boats. Instead mid-course they stop to demonstrate the power of the mountain echo with a Fluegelhorn. We skipped the nostalgia part altogether and instead skipped stones across the pristine surface of the lake, which Karl got a kick out of.



Later that night Fred indulged her boys and spent quite a few of her hard earned designer Euros to take us to the Heinz Winkler Residenz. Winkler is one of just seven German cooks awarded three Michelin stars. His restaurant is in a palatial building from the 1400s, decorated in an outrageously funny 1980s baroque (think Tony Soprano meets the Da Vinci Code). Karl quite liked our spacious suite, which was literally double the size of our old Brooklyn apartment. Since we selfishly didn't want him to disturb our eight course extravaganza he got served his own three star kids menu (custom order from Mr. Winkler) consisting of gnocchi with spinach and an orange cake which was as fluffy as an Upper Eastside lady's poodle. I think he could get used to the lifestyle. One more reason to excel in whatever you wanna excel in, young man!

Touring Bavaria II

Touring Bavaria I

Okay, I'm planning on making this a series: Touring Bavaria. We just got back from an overnight trip through southeastern Bavaria and it was – yes – beautiful. There's more pictures to come, but I couldn't resist posting this one right away. I mean, come on, I know there's a couple of proud parents out there reading this blog, but can you really top this amount of cuteness? I didn't think so.

Hosting

Sunday we had a house full of guests, one of them being two and a half year old Luis, so Karl demonstrated immaculate hosting skills. First he checked on his guest, if he was satisfied with the provided array of toys. Later on he showed him how to raid a bookshelf in style.



All the while a full buffet was served, so a combination sugar- and playdate-exhaustion-crash was inevitable.

Omi Is In Town

Karls Omi and Opa are in town for a couple of days at the occasion of an international law conference. And while Opa hung out with other supersmart people, Karl, Omi and I had a superfun time at the playground. There was obviously a lesson learned from the Bobbycar-jacking twins, so Karl grabbed a little doll stroller from we don't know who and proudly paraded it around the playground. Later on there was a private reading of Dr. Seuss' Foot Book.

Swing Kings

Because it's a big swing, there's two swing kings in it. One is King Karl, the other one King Leo. And yes, this blog entry has very little text.

Playground Sociology

We've been hitting the playgrounds quite a bit, so there starts to be a cast of recurring characters. Our favorite playground right now is the one behind the old cemetary. It's kind of a professional scene so there were a few classics to be found there. First there was Superpreggo and her evil Bobbycar-jacking twins. To ease the burden of late motherhood and so far no husband in sight (although the meticulous and very expensive wardrobe hints at a hardworking man behind the scenes) she is always accompanied by her mother whose hair is died in a fiery red. They already claim semi-ownership of Karl's Bobbycar so upon arrival Superpreggo stirs her snotty offspring right towards our red streamliner. Too bad Karl's just a lover not a fighter, but there might be a lesson to be learned and taught soon. Then there are divorco-dad 1 and divorco-dad 2. Both only seen on holidays and alternating weekends. Divorco-dad 1 can barely contain his anger about the whole situation behind his Ray-Bans, so he pushes his daughters really, really hard on the swing and seems to clench his jaw a lot. Divorco-dad 2 is quite the opposite. He can definitely not contain his raging depression, so he tends to solemnly push his son around a tricycle or catatonically watch him have fun in the sand. Then there's multiculti-mom and her dreadlocked Brazilian boyfriend. They have a few kids of different shades, so I'm not sure what the actual makeup of the patchwork is. They have kind of a hostile air about them, probably because multiculti-mom convinced dreadlock-man that all her fellow Germans deep down are really racist and not worth dealing with. Dreadlock-man only smiled once, when older rich couple came by with their adopted chubby African girl, who didn't quite know what to make of the solidarity smile from dreadlock-man. Normally they tend to avoid eye contact with anybody else though, which is really hard, when Karl stands in front of you with his beaming blue laser eyes, fixating you for three, four minutes without blinking.

Yesterday we changed venue though and went to the playground with the small sports park. Somehow we don't know the lay of the land that well yet, because the place was packed with chain-smoking, morbidly obese Russians and their mullet sporting kids (and they mean it, not like the result of a few barbershop hissy fits Karl is sporting). Stereotypes were reinforced right away, when Karl shoveled some sand into some deserted toy bucket. Red mullet boy charged at him, screaming "Mine! Mine! Mine!", immediately accosted by beige mullet boy screaming at him to leave the baby alone, otherwise he'd get some beating he'll never forget. Karl didn't quite get what the ruckus was so he walked and hung out with mercenary boy who was trying to teach him to throw a frisbee.

Caroussel

We had a strange morning at the playground. I think it was national "Communication as Understood by Nerdy Teutons" day. Some of those baby mamas sure gotta work on their social skills. So we took to the Englische Garten in the afternoon where they have the great Caroussel at the Chinese Tower beer-garden. It was built in 1912 and has been kept pretty much the same. There's photos of 3 year old me riding the white horse just behind Karl. Here on his first ride Karl wasn't quite so sure, if he likes the whole merry-go-rounding that much. He warmed up to it though and we had to go again twice. We also bought a balloon. I got him a great one in the shape of a blue helicopter, but he was so steadfastly set on the huge pink Bugs Bunny, that I had to go and ask for an exchange. Oh baby tastes. Always a mystery. It sure made people smile though, having that two feeter bunny float over little Mr. blue-eyes. Probably because the Englische Garten is adjacent to the old hippie neighborhood of Schwabing and it reminded them of some really nice acid they once dropped.

A Day at the Zoo

We hadn't been at the zoo in a while, so Good Friday seemed a good day to go. Most of the Orthodox and Muslim population of our very Catholic town obviously thought the same, so we gleefully walked the pathways in clouds of heavy Russian perfumes and aromatic Arab fragrances. We did work our way further down the list of animals to see, crossing off the rhinos (feeding), the pink pelicans (parading), the bears (sleeping) and the Rocky Mountain goats (looking like something out of "Lord of the Rings"). Biggest hit were the fighting geese though, who definitely made the WWF look like an Emily Post class.

Joyride

Spring is here, so Karl got to take out his Bobby Car to the playground for the first time. Big adventure. He was every bit as proud as all the convertible sports car drivers turning our streets into a speedway this weekend. The really square red Bobby Car galoshes turned out to be a great investment, since one of the fun things about being pushed around town on a Bobby Car is dragging feet over cobblestones, pavements and other shoe-destroying terrain. The tipi in the background by the way is not the famous tipi of "Isar Indian" Willy Michl, the Bavarian Blues Singer who moved into a tipi by the river some years ago and started to dress like a native American, but part of a Kindergarten playground that also comes with a totem pole.
Over at the playground a major step in playground autonomy - swinging on the swing for the bigger kids without being held upright by an adult. Well, the adult was right behind (the photo is a reenactment on the non-swinging swing). But definitely another boost for the boyish sense of self. It's Ego Time!BR>

Playground Season

Playground season has officially begun – I hope. So this is what most of the pictures might look like from now on until September or so.

Heist Team in Training

Karl hung out with his buddy Luisa today. Not that I've been there, but looking at the photos they sure look like they weren't up to no good. What in the world are they doing here? Casing a joint? Listening for hollows? We'll never know. Strutting towards mom Karl sure gave his best Steve McQueen impression though.