Bloody Hockey Night in Dallas

I've been in attendance at hockey games since I was a fetus. My brothers played hockey at outdoor rinks in North Dakota and so I went to games before I was born, as a bundled-up infant, and as a child eager to volunteer in the concession stand (the only place with heat). Needless to say, I'm a bit of a hockey fan.

Years ago, I married a hockey player. We both attended UND Fighting Sioux games during college, and fortunate as we were to have an incredible college team, we were excited to move to a city that had a professional team. The year we moved to Phoenix was the year of the lock out, but every year after that we were season ticket holders.

When we moved to Europe, we watched the Coyotes play in the middle of the night wherever we were because we couldn't stand missing their best season in years. When we moved to Dallas, I couldn't wait for the Coyotes to come to town. Last weekend they came, and after 28+ years of attending hockey games, this goes down as my most memorable.

We arrived early in our red and white jerseys so we could watch warmups. I always watched warmups in Phoenix, usually with signs I thought were clever, like "Hanzal, so hot right now, Hanzal", and "Bryzzle fo' Shizzle." This time was going to be different because it was my first Phoenix away game so I had to be down on the glass for warmups to show my support.

Brock and I were the only two Coyotes fans down there from what we could tell, so Brock remarked "At least someone'll probably toss us a puck for once." "Yeah no kidding!" The team skated on to the ice and as I cheered and hit the glass, the announcement to watch out for flying pucks came on. I snapped one picture and seconds later I got nailed in the head with a puck. I felt it hit my skull so I grabbed my head and felt blood right away. Brock asked if I was ok and I said I was but pulled my hands away to see how much blood there was and Brock's face went white and he said he'd go get help. I felt my head again and the blood was pouring down my hair and on the side of my face. I leaned over and it started forming a pool of blood on the floor. Blood was flowing through my fingertips as I tried to apply pressure. Then a guy came right in front of me with his Dallas Stars jersey in his hands and said "here, let me put this on your head to stop the bleeding." I said "No way, I'm not getting my blood all over your jersey!!" He insisted and put pressure on the wound and tried to distract me with questions. (I still can't believe there people as nice as him in the world). I glanced up and saw several of the players looking over at me with concerned expressions; I smiled so they knew I was alright. I was still trying to watch them warm up. The paramedics arrived and I asked where the puck went. I needed that puck. They found it and I held it up while some of the players gave me the thumbs up.

Once the bleeding subsided, we headed up to the first aid room where I looked in the mirror at the mess. There's something awfully disgusting about bloody hair. While I was being bandaged up I found out that it was Scottie Upshall's puck that hit me so he was signing a stick for me. I think I was more excited about that and more anxious for Brock to take some pictures of my wound than I was to hear the paramedics explain their recommendations.

In the end, I made it to my seat just a few minutes after the puck dropped. The Coyotes didn't have their best game. They lost 6-3 and their captain got injured.

After the game we boarded the light rail and stood in the front because there were no seats left. Someone recognized me and asked how my head was and I ended up having to tell the story to all the passengers. Someone in the front read aloud what Upshall wrote on my stick which had the whole train laughing. I guess I provided some entertainment for a few people that night. I also like to think I represented Coyotes fans quite well!

I can't wait for the Coyotes to come back to town because I have some great ideas for a sign that might double as a shield during warmups, maybe with blood dripping from the letters. I'll probably wear a hat too.

Le Fin and a Beginning

"How did we both go from expats to Texans??" I asked my friend who recently moved from Switzerland to Houston. Neither of is really sure how it happened, but I'm pretty sure we both reminisce about our jet-setter lives in Europe daily.

I have been back in the US for a couple of months. The adventure had to come to an end sometime, or at least to an intermission. We spent several weeks in North Dakota with family after our time away, waiting to see what our next move would be. I haven't spent so much quality time with my parents since I was in college. In fact, the whole time I was home felt like summer would wind down and my parents would drive me back to my dorm at UND. It was awesome. I got a glimpse of what life would be like if we decided to move back home, being able to have meals with my siblings and hang out with my niece and nephews frequently without having to take days off of work or purchase flights. I was gardener when my mom needed a hand; I was legal secretary when my dad's was sick; I was babysitter several times for my favorite kids in the world.

My brother asked if I got it all out of my system. Absolutely not. Several people asked what was the best part about living in Europe; what was the best place I visited; what is my best memory. I answer differently every time, because it all was the best. I didn't go there to see anything special or do anything significant. I went to just be there and see what would happen.

If I had to really choose favorite moments... well, celebrating St. George's day in a Bulgarian village with a Bulgarian family, bike riding through the Netherlands, Germany, and Belgium, improving my French by having deep conversations about politics with bartenders and regulars in Paris, meeting up with friends in the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul after a failed attempt at meeting at the Blue Mosque, walking along the bank of the Seine and the Black Sea beaches with Majerle, watching the Super Bowl among Americans and Parisians at 3:00 in the morning, Dutch breakfasts with Jacques, French lunches with Aurienne and Jack, long walks through Montmartre or the Marais with Brock, eating $1 kebabs on the beach in Varna, hosting guests who graciously slept on the old cracked tile floor in my 300 square foot parisian apartment, my view of the top of the Eiffel tower from my kitchen window....

clearly, my indecisiveness extends to choosing favorites, not that I really need to select one anyway.

And so now life has taken us to Dallas. I never really planned to visit Dallas, let alone live anywhere in Texas. But so far, I can't complain. We rented a recently renovated midcentury apartment downtown and live on the 18th story with beautiful city views. Every day we venture out on foot or via the light rail to discover cool neighborhoods. I can't believe how nice people are here. Everyone says hello when we pass them and everyone seems genuinely cheerful all the time.

I originally thought that moving to Texas could not be better than just going back to Phoenix. I mean I have friends and family in Phoenix and I know the city well. But now I can see that Dallas was a good place to end up for now. It's more different from Phoenix than I thought it would be and I feel like I'll have the lifestyle I want here. We will likely end up back in Phoenix eventually, so I'm happy I get to meet a new city before that happens. Now lets just hope I can find a job.

When Going Home's Not So Bad; A Bittersweet Ending

Our time here is nearing the end. I can't believe how these months have flown by. I can say I've really appreciated every single day I got to be here, seeing new places, eating incredible foods, and meeting fascinating people. Of course I'm excited to be home to friends and family, but I'm also dreading leaving this continent and leaving behind this life I love.

Fortunately, the past couple of weeks have been filled with trips around the Netherlands, Belgium, Germany, and Luxembourg, thanks to our friend Jacques. I fall in love with every village or city we visit and promise myself that I'll be back. Some of the highlights of these trips have been visits to monuments dedicated to the Americans who fought in WWII. We visited an American cemetery at Henri-Chapelle in Belgium, a German soldier cemetery, and a museum and monument located at the site of the Battle of the Bulge in Belgium. Additionally, the home I am living in is attached to a factory which served as sleeping quarters for over 80 American soldiers who were stationed nearby.

In Bastogne, Belgium, I got to sit in a US jeep, climb on an American tank, read about the heroic Americans involved in the battle, and watch real war footage. I watched an American veteran who happened to be visiting that day receive a piece of the monument to take home with him. I would have loved to talk to him and hear about his memories of the infamous battle, but I just watched him be honored and wondered what must have been going through his mind.

These trips have been emotional and have incited much patriotism in me. It's difficult to describe how it feels to see thousands of crosses (and stars of David) spread out across a huge area of grass, knowing each one represents a person who had a family, who had goals and dreams, and who gave up all of that for his country and for the security of countries he would never again see and for people who would be forever thankful. All of the monuments we visited were filled with people expressing this sentiment and honoring America's intervention. I hope nobody forgets the sacrifices made.

For me it was most emotional seeing the crosses for those soldiers who were never identified. I was more thankful than ever that my grandfather was one of the soldiers who made it home. Had he not, there are 14 people so far who would not be alive today.

As sad as I am to be leaving Europe, I'm happy that these final weeks have given me reminders of the generous, brave, and beautiful country I get to call home. I have met countless people here who wish they could do the same.

Tour de Netherlands

We set out this morning on a trek that ended up being 31 beautiful miles.

A couple of handsome fellows we met. And fed.

Dutch parking lot

Coffee Break

These tasted even better than they look.

This horse's back itches.

This Nomadic Life

Last weekend we said goodbye to the Black Sea and Varna beaches, goodbye to our friends, goodbye to eight dollar nights on the town, goodbye to Bulgaria. We took a seven hour train ride across beautiful Bulgaria to spend a couple of days in Sofia before our flight to Paris. While slow and bumpy, the train ride was relaxing and the landscape was stunning. Majerle slept most of the trip draped over our laps.

At one point I got up to use the bathroom and was a little surprised to see that when looking down the toilet, I could see the train tracks. Apparently they did not have a very sophisticated commode. I went back to my seat and Brock got up to use the bathroom. I figured I'd let him see for himself and he came back with the same perplexed and disgusted look I must have had.

Sofia was a fun city to explore. There are impressive Orthodox churches, museums, parks everywhere, an extensive tram system, and a lot of cobbled streets. We visited the Cathedral of St. Alexander Nevsky, one of the largest in the world. It was dark inside and while beautiful, it was hard to see all of the orthodox paintings which are usually so vibrant.

As soon as we boarded our France Air flight, I was thrilled to hear French again. Bulgarian is a beautiful language, but I really missed hearing and speaking French.

We didn't stay long in Paris. Our train to the Netherlands was departing from Gare du Nord. It was a hot and balmy day when we hauled our luggage through this high traffic station to catch our train. I was standing in a pedestrian area arranging our luggage when I felt myself being pushed forward and realized the back of a bus had bumped me while turning. Thankfully I had on a backpack, but sheesh!

The train to Liege, Belgium was the nicest train I've ever ridden. I let Majerle have his own seat this time so he could spread out. He had just chipped his tooth and I was feeling sorry for him for dragging him around Europe.

This is Majerle excited about his first ever train ride to Sofia:

This is him after a few days of travel with a freshly chipped tooth, poor guy.

Riding through Northeastern France into Belgium was beyond pleasant and picturesque. We arrived in Liege with a half hour before our final short train to Maastricht. While waiting on the platform which was partially enclosed by an impressive structure, we heard horns honking and vuvuzelas from the streets below. I figured the World Cup semi-finals between Germany and Spain had just ended and by the sound of things, Germany must have won. I mean we were in Belgium so they must have been rooting for Germany, but our cab driver told us Spain actually won. I was really hoping for a German/Dutch rivalry in the finals.

After a few days of traveling, I was relieved to finally be in the Netherlands. We are staying in a village called Voerendaal near the city of Heerlen. This area is rural but with large cities nearby and is close to the Belgian and German borders. It is splendid here!! Everyone rides bikes and the bike lanes are better than most streets. It takes us about ten minutes to ride bike into Heerlen which we have been doing a couple of times each day. There are horses across the street and just down the street is a farmer who has a store front where we can get our eggs and produce. The air is fresh, the villages are quaint and charming, the people are some of the friendliest I have ever met. Six months living in European cities has made me very ready for this slower pace, but I'm thankful a city is also nearby so we have the best of both worlds. I am looking forward to travels around this area and to Belgium and Germany, but I am also looking forward to lots of days spent simply reading, riding bike, cooking, and walking my dog. The simple things! And I'd say this was a pretty good place to see the Netherlands play in the World Cup finals last night.

My Favorite Paris Eateries & Drinkeries

In honor of my return to Paris in a few days, I want to finally devote a blog to commending what I consider to be some of the very best places to convert Euros into food in France's capital.

In the land of a billion restaurants, patisseries, boulangeries, and brasseries, it can be difficult to locate the really good ones among the average or below average ones that will gladly take your money and provide mediocre food. I had plenty of meals during which I immediately regretted my choice to go there. I hate wasting a single meal on bad food in Paris when I know that some of the best foods in the world are out there.

Fortunately I also stumbled upon many places that were incredible. I found some thanks to internet reviews, and so I intend to perpetuate this cycle by providing my own recommendations.

So here they are, my favorite Paris restaurants and bars:

L'Avant Comptoir - Spanish & French hors d'oeuvres bar with excellent mini plates of food & ridiculously cheap but delicious wine. Found this place on my last night in Paris & desperately wish I had found it sooner. It's a tiny restaurant, so there's squishy standing room only, but of course this prompts one to say bonjour to the other patrons and engage in great conversation (neighborhood: Saint Germain; metro: Odeon)

Le Temps Perdu - Amazing traditional French food in an elegant but rustic atmosphere, generous portions and much value for the reasonable prices. The staff was among the most friendly and helpful I ever encountered in Paris. I had the duck confit which was juicy and fantastic and was served over crispy, olive-oil fried hash browns. In an area where small, overloaded restaurants prevail, this one was spacious and classically decorated (neighborhood: Saint Germain; metro: Mabillon)

Comme A La Maison - Dainty & sweet little restaurant with pretty decor and a view of an open square. The menu is small (2 choices or so from each category) but with irresistable food. The old fashioned REAL hot chocolate is served similarly to Angelina (in a small pot with a glass of water to wash it down) and may not be quite as thick but is as rich and the atosphere, though drastically different, is better. Especially if a group of local kids start a pickup soccer game in the square despite the pouring rain, which occurred when I was there. (Neighborhood: Village Saint Paul; Metro: St. Paul)

Le Hangar - Small but impeccable portions of upscale French dishes, lovely & accommodating staff, and whether or not you order dessert, you get a nice little treat at the end of the meal. I ordered duck and potatoes at this restaurant too, and it was seriously perfection. Slices of duck on top of mashed potatoes that made me forget anything I ever liked about a Thanksgiving turkey. Everyone dining together tried each other's meals and none of us could decide whose was better. This is the kind of restaurants that will always be successful from word of mouth alone. One can't help but tell others to go there. (Neighborhood: Les Halles/Centre Pompidou; Metro: Rambuteau)

Dix - Sangria Bar where Toulouse-Lautrec style art cozily surrounds you. Feels the way Paris might have felt in the 60s, maybe, but what do I know? I do know that the sangria is as good as it gets and is priced for the local college crowd at 4 euros per glass. (neighborhood: Saint Germain; metro: Odeon)

Chez Prune - Perfect spot to rest from a long walk on Canal Saint-Martin to have a pitcher of sangria. This is the closest establishment I've found in Paris to what one might stumble upon on any given street in Barcelona. The bartenders were all hippies and the decor was eclectic but still rustically French. The view of the canal from the patio evokes scenes from Amelie throwing stones. Witnessing the canal's lock system carrying little ferries up and down the canal is certainly entertaining. I think when Americans picture themselves spending an afternoon whisked off to a Parisian cafe, this is what they really want. (Neighborhood: Canal St. Martin; Metro: Republique)

To me, one of the best parts of traveling is the process of searching for wherever I will fulfill my ideal visions of that city, often through food, always through atmosphere. I'm sure I barely scratched the surface of Paris, but these are the places I will visit the next time I'm there and they are the places I'll see, hear, taste, and smell in my dreams of my short life in Paris.

Soccer Fanaticism, Euro Style

Being in Europe for the World Cup has been intriguing and enlightening. I do not fancy myself a soccer fan, but I've enjoyed the entertainment by taking in several games so far. Thanks to our Bulgarian friends, I have learned more than I ever wanted to know about this crazy sport.

I road tripped to Greece this past week and arrived just in time on Tuesday night to grab a gyro and catch the Greece versus Argentina game. A few Greeks reminded us of their Euro 2004 win and watched with pride, but quieted down when it was clear they weren't going to win. We were walking through the streets of a seaside village deciding where to eat and watch while the buzzing of the vuvuzelas was coming at us from every direction, from restaurants, apartments, car radios. I'm used to this, however, because in Varna, the streetside cafes and bars all have televisions outside broadcasting the games, so the whole town sounds like faint out-of-tune trumpets are playing in the distance. If the wind is just right, I can even hear the sound while laying on the beach from the beach bar tvs. And I've gotten pretty good at estimating the score of any given game since I can hear fans cheering or jeering from the nearby bars no matter what room of my apartment I'm in.

While I don't really grasp the sport, and I have plenty of criticisms with the logistics that I think I understand (but probably don't), it has been enjoyable to see the enthusiasm these Europeans have for the game. We of course patriotically cheered on the Americans and were usually in the minority. A couple nights ago we watched the game against Ghana and I heard the guys next to us speaking French, the people behind us speaking Dutch, and the rest of the fans were Bulgarians or Russians. Only the French guys were cheering on America with us. Regardless of sides, it was exciting to be part of something bringing people together from all parts of the world and hearing so many languages being spoken.

I probably won't watch many more games since America is out, but I'm looking forward to watching the finals from another part of Europe. I've heard the Dutch are pretty good fans. I'll be cheering for the home team if they're still in it. When it's all over, I doubt I'll watch soccer again for a few years, but I might actually miss the football scene over here, including the vuvuzelas.