Author Archives: gmroeder

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About gmroeder

Author: - there was so much I never talked about and now, that my memoir "We Don't Talk About That" is written I can't stop talking about it. And the reviews I get are awesome; so I think this book needed to be written. Interesting that I receive many e-mails from people who read the book and now tell me their similar stories... Did I open "a can of worms?" I think there are so many people who carry a heavy memory load and they do need to "unload". But interesting enough, even more people want to know MORE of my life and therefore I am working on a sequel.

Hot weather and cold water

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Is it warm or hot enough for you when the thermometer reaches more than 30°C/86 Fahrenheit? Do you still feel energetic and go about your day with enthusiasm? Is the sweat not yet running down the side of your face, from the hairline above your forehead and, when getting into your eyes, cause a burning sensation? Can you still sleep comfortably without air conditioning? Are your ankles swollen and hurt? Do you suffer from light-headedness or do you have constant headaches? Here are some tips from my book “Healing with Water”:

One solution for many of these problems is COLD water. Simple ‘treatments’ like a cold arm bath, a cold leg rinse or wading like a stork in cold water will provide some relief. Always do just one of the following, never several of these ‘treatments’ one after the other. There should be at least 4 hours between them:

  1. Arm bath

    Arm bath

    Fill a sink with COLD water. Bent over it and insert your arms (right one first) covering from hands to over the elbows. Keep the arms covered with water to the slow count from 1 to 30 or even 40. Lift the arms out, stroke the water off, swing them dry. This ‘treatment’ is refreshing and relieves pressure in the head and upper body. If you have access to a garden hose use it to rinse your arms all the way up to the shoulder, (right one first) hold for 15 seconds, move back down and do the left in the same way.

 

  1. Water stepping

    Water stepping

    Fill half the bathtub with COLD water to knee height. Walk in there on the spot by lifting one leg after the other completely out of the water so that you have an exchange of air and water. Do this until you feel “it’s enough” or 2 – 5 minutes. Carefully get out of the bathtub, stroke the water off your feet and legs and walk on a towel until they are dry. This has a fantastic effect on the circulation, helps with the lymph flow/swollen legs, and is very refreshing. If you want to save water you can keep it in the bath tub and add ice the next time you want to use it. You could also use a large pail filled with water, sit on a chair in front of it, insert the legs and lift one after the other out and back in as if you are walking.

 

  1. Instead of the bathtub you could also just let cold water run over your feet and ankles when suffering from swollen legs. You will know when it’s long enough. Again, just stroke the water off and let your feet air dry, possibly elevating them by lying down.

 

  1. If you have a garden and a garden hose available, use it to run the water slowly up your legs, starting with the right foot and go as high as possible above the knee. Move the stream of water around on the leg so that it is totally covered with a ‘water mantle’. Move the stream of water down and then up the left leg. If you cannot stand, sit on a chair and do the same.

 

  1. For swollen legs and a better sleep you can wrap both calves in COLD towels and cover with a thicker dry one to keep the bed from getting wet. Should you fall asleep take the wraps off when you wake up, otherwise take them off when they feel hot since they will absorb the heat from the legs, usually after about 30 minutes.

 

  1. Another way to treat hot feet/swollen ankles at night is using “wet socks”. Take a pair of knee high cotton socks, soak them in ice cold water, wring out slightly so they don’t drip, pull them on, right leg first; take a pair of larger dry socks to pull over the wet ones. Take them off when you wake up or when they feel warm/hot. Your body will tell you when it’s time!

 

  1. Should you be one of the lucky ones to live close to a stream, lake or the ocean, try to walk in it at least once every hot day. If the ground is covered with pebbles wear a pair of cheap plastic sandals.

 

  1. It’s important to stay well hydrated. If you normally drink about one and a half litres of liquid go ahead and almost double it. You lose a lot of moisture through perspiration. You may not even be aware of it since it evaporates into the hot air. The more evaporates, the more likely your skin will dry out and form a lot of wrinkles…

 

I wish you a good and enjoyable summer, stay coooool…..it’s better for your heart!

 

“In My Own Words” #memoirs #books #writers

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A special event to chronicle four memorable memoirs at the West Vancouver Library

“We are always excited to celebrate literary talent” said Information Services Department Head, Pat Cumming. “For this panel we gathered an entertaining range of personalities, adventures and stories. Having the always enigmatic Eric R. Brown (author of the Edgar nominated novel ‘Almost Criminal’) on hand to moderate the panel is the icing on the cake. It’s going to be a great night.”

And ‘in my own words’, it was, so much so that I was not able to sleep the following night. There was so much to process, so much to digest and so much to think about. It was exciting to meet the other writers, first for me was Judy McFarlane, a calm and quiet pleasant woman, then I was startled by the gorgeous long-legged creature Cea Sunrise Person and, luckily, meeting former Judge David Roberts brought me back to earth. The room slowly filled up, the four of us were seated facing the audience and after Eric’s welcome address and the introduction he explained the program of the evening. Each writer had to read a 5-6 minute piece of their book after which he would ask the reader questions relating to the memoir for 15 minutes. At the end of the over an hour long program there would be time for questions and answers, interacting with the audience.

Cover-8I was appointed the first to read because “your memoir goes back the longest time”. From my book “We Don’t Talk About That” I had chosen the story about the miller who had no flour but my family was hungry and I decided I should go and ask him anyway. He must have felt sorry for me because he told me to crawl under the millstones and sweep up the powdery dust. He told me that one has to eat 400 pounds of dust anyway before one dies and this stuff would still be good with the bran in it to cook soup or bake bread. Then he asked me if I was hungry. Hungry? What a question! I was always hungry. He invited me into his house to have a sandwich. I was apprehensive because if my experiences with the Russians during the invasion but he seemed so nice I wanted to trust him. While he busied himself he asked me to tell him about me. I couldn’t. He kept prodding and all of a sudden it all came tumbling out of me, it was as if some flood gates had opened. I told him about the Russian invasion, what they did, how we lost our home, the walk to nowhere next to the Russian war machinery towards Berlin, the diphtheria and the sleep in the strawberry patch, the train and the murder of the young woman and her daughter, what the murderer did to my mother and how the next morning she pushed us out of the moving train and more of the cruelties to which we were subjected. The miller had one hand on the bread, a knife in the other, stared at me and just said: “Oh my God…”

The questions from Eric, who apparently had read all the books, were about writing a memoir like this, how I remembered, how we dealt with and survived the horrors of rape and murder and starvation and how years later my life took a different turn.

Cea PersonThe next one to read was Cea Sunrise Person, the youngest of us. Cea was born into an unusual family consisting of grandparents, aunts and uncles, grew up in the wilderness and in teepees living from the land and nature during the so-called counter culture. I assume it is safe to call it the hippie time with its sexual freedom, nudity and drugs. For me a look at a totally new way of life I had never been able to comprehend. I also had never met anyone who was involved in it. She mentioned several times that even as a child “I always felt I did not fit into it”. In my mind remains the question how she, as a very young child, would know that and how and when or at what age was she able to compare her life with another? Reading several chapters of her book “North of Normal” online I was intrigued by her memoir and it was mainly “SHE” and her story that had kept me awake that night. To really understand I guess I’ll have to read her book. As a writer of a story I never told for seventy years I know it must have taken guts for her to tell all and open herself up to judgement. She says “it took me seven years…” Yes, Cea, I believe it. She read a story from her book about being invited to a birthday party, had no idea that she needed a gift and decided to give away her most beloved item, she also had no dress and on arrival naturally felt totally out of place. By chance she happened into the room of the birthday girl, saw a dream dress on the bed, took off her t-shirt and tried it on. It was too small but the picture she saw in the mirror took her breath away….It was sad how the story ended. She went home in her old outfit and took her unappreciated ‘gift’ with her. For a child of about five (?) it must have been heartbreaking. But let me tell you, Cea went on to become a model at thirteen, lived in New York, Los Angeles and Paris, she modelled in Munich and even then “I felt like a freak, never fit in.” Now she is married, the mother of three and people who read her memoir wonder “how were you ever able to become so normal?”

David RobertsDavid Roberts, a former judge and attorney wrote “Letters to His Children from an Uncommon Attorney”. Cea was a very hard act to follow but within minutes David had the attention of the audience. He had picked a humorous story to read and there was not a person in the room who did not join in the laughter! Let me try to somehow piece it together. For some reason David had to go to a liqueur store and as he entered he glimpsed a man standing not too far from the entrance holding out a cup. He briefly thought of the people needing to beg and avoided looking at him. When he came back out with a huge bag with bottles in his arms he pushed the door with his backside and then dropped the change of three quarters he had received, into the man’s cup. He was surprised and shocked when he heard a splash and now, glancing at the man, was told “My goodness, I am just holding my coffee and waiting for my wife…” The voice sounded familiar and the man was also known to him: Another judge! The 15 minute interview by Eric following the laughter was surely a release of tension in the room caused by the previous readers. It revealed that David had four children, three boys and a daughter. He often told them stories from his life and it was the daughter who had told him “to write it all down before you die.” The result is this at times humorous and at times harrowing memoir of a father, a husband and an attorney.

Judy MacFarlaneLast, but not least, it was former lawyer Judy MacFarlane’s turn to read from her book “Writing with Grace”. One could be under the impression she had written guidelines to write with ‘grace’ and be surprised to learn that it was a twenty-four year old girl with Downs Syndrome named Grace Chen who had come to seek help with a poem. The mother of this girl was in the audience and was introduced. It was heart wrenching when Judy read about Grace telling Judy “My real truth is too scary, I like to hide my real truth” when talking about her poem and Judy is taken in by the earnest desire of this girl to become “a famous writer”. When Grace was born the grandfather had told her parents ‘put her away and forget about her’. Judy traveled with Grace when she gave her own book to this grandfather. Judy read a piece about Grace’s memories about the Titanic, what happened, her fears, a helicopter coming to save the people.

The book Judy wrote about her involvement with Grace is an account of her own and others prejudices and the often dark history of Downs Syndrome. The book is called inspirational, exceptional and I am sure of great interest to all people having to deal with this disease that is no disease and not a birth defect but, according to the Canadian Down Syndrome Society ‘a naturally occurring chromosomal arrangement that has always been part of the human condition’. I could tell by Judy’s tone of voice that the story of Grace is still deeply troubling her and close to her heart.

Check out the books on Google by name or title. I think reading any one of them will enrich your life. The evening when all of us writers came together will long stay with me and I am extending a big THANK YOU to the West Vancouver Library to making it possible.

Upcoming Special Event

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I am proud to be included in this event at the West Vancouver Memorial Library

West Van Library logo

 

 

For immediate release
In My Own Words to chronicle four memorable memoirs at Memorial Library
Thursday, June 11, 2015, West Vancouver, B.C. – One grew up off the grid in the wilds of BC. Another helped a woman with Down’s syndrome write her Cinderella story. One spent her formative years in East Germany during the Second World War. Another wrote lovely letters to his children about his experiences as a father and lawyer. Join us for these and other stories at 7 p.m. on Wednesday, June 24 at In My Own Words, a memoir panel featuring four eclectic and fascinating local writers, moderated by celebrated author E.R. Brown.
“We’re always excited to celebrate literary talent,” says Information Services Department Head Pat Cumming. “For this panel, we gathered an entertaining range of personalities, adventures and stories. Having the always enigmatic E.R. Brown on hand to moderate the panel is the icing on the cake. It’s going to be a great night.”
– In North of Normal, Cea Sunrise Person recounts the story of her wilderness childhood, her unusual family and how she survived both.
– David Roberts wrote Letters to His Children from an Uncommon Attorney after his daughter convinced him to write his stories down “before he dies.” The result is this at times humorous, at others harrowing, memoir of a father, husband and attorney.
– Writing with Grace, by Judy MacFarlane, explores the challenges and perseverance of an aspiring writer with Down’s syndrome as she tries to fulfill her dream of writing a book.
– In We don’t Talk About That, Giselle Roeder tells the often hushed story of growing up in Second World War Pomerania and her post-War move to East Germany.
– Moderator E.R. Brown is the author of the Edgar-nominated Novel Almost Criminal.
All of the authors participating in the panel are available ahead of time for interviews and photos. Please contact David Carson at the phone number or email address below to make arrangements.
More information about the Memoir Panel is available on our website.
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Media Contact David Carson, Communications and Event Coordinator 604.925.7407 dcarson@westvanlibrary.ca

“A letter to Cindy:” #Dog #Poodle #Grief

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CindyFor a long time you have been on my mind so I just have to write about my thoughts and maybe even feel a little closer. I won’t ask you the typical question: “How are you” because I know that you cannot answer it. But sharing my memories is another cup o’tea. Memories are the only way to connect and not let somebody you loved so much, die. I will not go into believes about an “after-live” and the hope to see everybody again: My granny, my parents, my sister Ingrid who had to die so young and several of my dearest friends. But I do have to admit: I have had moments when an almost wild joy flooded my veins that it might just be possible.

image0 (3)I will never forget how much you loved me. You were always there for me. I still wonder how you knew when I needed you most – but you always did. My tears were flowing copiously when I read the book about the two brothers sailing, their boat had keeled over and one held onto the hand of the other and finally the hand slipped away and only the younger one survived, sitting on top of the boat. The elder boy was the darling of his mother, she blamed the young lad and never forgave him, the marriage broke up, the boy needed counselling, – it was heartbreaking.

Cindy, my dear little Cindy, you sat close to my legs, kept cuddling closer and then you put your little head on my knees and when I did not stop crying you pushed it up between me and my book, looked at me and stopped me from reading. Another day, I came home from work, totally exhausted, made it up the stairs and lay down on the blue Tunisian carpet in the fetal position to ease my back. You lay down next to me and looked right into my eyes. When I turned around to ease my other side, you walked around me and again, lay down and looked at me. We did not need words.

Or all those mornings, when I would sit at my office desk, dealt with letters that my secretary had placed there, phone calls that came through, – and you were close to me, next to the radiator, sleeping or maybe pretending to sleep. Never failing, at 10.30 you put one of your little paws on my knee. I pretended not to notice, until after a while you put a second paw there, I still did not notice and then, with a deep sigh, you pushed your little head through under my arm and looked straight into my face. “It’s time to stop, – let’s go out for a bit.” This game became a daily occurrence and I still miss it.

Another thing I relive in my head seeing you sitting in my car at the steering wheel, your eyes fixed on the door into the bank where I had gone. One day there were about 10 people around the car and I almost had a heart attack seeing them all looking into it. I rushed across the street, expecting something terrible. But as soon as you saw me you jumped to your place on the old blanket on the back seat and assumed an air of innocence. You were not allowed in the front seats! I ask the people why they were standing there and they exclaimed:

“It was so damned cute seeing that little doggie with the paws on the steering wheel! But she never even looked at us, no matter what we did. Her eyes were fixed on that door across the street.”

Ohh yaah, Cindy, you were quite a character. When I came back from my annual trip to Europe after three weeks and my family was happy to see me, hugging me and I was looking at you, talking to you, and you would walk away several steps, sit down and put your nose into the air, not looking at me. I admit, the first time this happened I was really hurt. But then, after a few hours, when the excitement of the family had died down, you came to me and showed me sooo much love, you couldn’t even help yourself, wiggling, cuddling, making little noises- oh my God, it brought tears to my eyes and I felt bad to have left you for so long. I miss you to this day.

I was awful when I was called to the vet. My seven year old boy, Eric sat there crying, holding you on his lap. You lifted your head just a bit, looked at me, giving a big sigh to say: “I am so very sorry.” Then the doc came, carefully took you from Eric. You looked at me with very sad eyes and after not even another minute doc came back out and said: “She is gone. Do you want to take her body or should we look after it?”

Cindy, I cried for six weeks. You were my best friend. The best I ever had. You gave me so much love, unconditional love, during a time when my life fell apart. Without you – I honestly don’t know how I would have managed.

One thing I learned: “TAKE MORE TIME” for what is most important…
image1 (2)Just sitting there.
With big brown eyes you looked at me
to tell me – you are mine.
And I – pretend not seeing you,
because
there was no time.

Because there was no time?

You loved the car. You want to come?
One step – you stopped, then ran,
you couldn’t resist to be with me;
One nod was all – oh man!

When I lay down – you did that too,
you were so close to me.
Oh little dog, where are you now –
I want you here, you see?

I want you here. Just sitting there.
I’ll tell you, you are mine.
I’ll love you unconditionally
as you did all the time.

It is too late..

The car hit hard,
your eyes, they closed forever.
I’ll never see your wagging tail
invite for play me, clever.

You were all mine..

It will be quiet in my house,
no welcome bark nor whine –
Oh Cindy, why, oh Cindy why
did I not take more time.

Did I not take more time…

 

Learning to Kayak #Kayaking #EastGermany

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Getting that balance right

Getting that balance right

It was probably the best thing that could have happened to me: Afred, a young man in charge of the kayak racing team, came to my office to get the permission stamps for the team to go to a regatta taking place in a different city. As I asked him questions he invited me to come to a training session and see if I would like to join the club. Well, I said ‘yes’ right away and his girlfriend Christa showed me how to get in and out of a kayak. Balancing wasn’t easy as I was trying to sit in that narrow nut shell. When I mastered it without tipping over I was in love, – in love with the novelty of it and in love with the water. Christa also let me try out the KII. I became obsessed with kayaking, I was determined to be in the top group and secretly even promised myself to become better than all the other girls. And, you know what?

image1It was only a year later that I won the District Championships in the KI over 500 and over 3.000 meters. Mind you, after the 3.000 meter race I fell out of the kayak as soon as I crossed the finishing line. Christa, my trainer and also my KII partner was disappointed because up to now she had won all the races. But we won the 500 and the 3000 meters in the KII, it made up for it.

image3We became very close friends. Even now, more than sixty years later we are still close but mostly in telephone contact since we live on different continents. She saved nearly forty five years of the letters I wrote to her from Canada after my emigration. She gave them to me last time I saw her. To read them again was quite a revelation for me. In my memoir “We Don’t Talk About That” you’ll enjoy reading about my kayaking and the great love I had for my own paddle boat “Max”. The best years within my first 30 years I cover in that book have to do with the water, my boat and my desolation in leaving it behind when I had to escape from East to West Germany. As it happened, my racing abilities helped me to find a job in West Germany. I am sad to say that I never reached the top groups again. I just had to work too many hours and did not have as much time for the necessary training.

image2You might find it interesting that in East Germany every sport was very highly promoted and financially supported, it hardly cost anything for either memberships or competitions,– but in West Germany you were on your own. And as I made very little money I could not really afford to participate anymore either. When I was 5th once at a competition I dropped out. I thought it was better if people remembered me and said “oh, she was good” rather than “yaaah, she got too old and had to drop out”!

 

start 'em early

Start ’em early!

Did you know they now have real racing kayaks for kiddies? And train them very early? Just like Austrian kids start to ski as soon as they can walk, at the Baltic Sea where I lived the kids can start at two or three years old getting into a kayak. Amazing! Start to train early for future Olympics? Yes, the children are our future in more ways than one. Kayaking is healthy, you breath fresh air, develop muscles but mainly around the upper body. So training included running, all-body exercises and during the winters we went to gymnastics and played competitive table tennis. One more thing: The comradery. I give it ten points out of ten. It’s wonderful and becomes a big part of your life. I just LOVED it.

 

 

Hope You Are Not Superstitious #Ghosts

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My new home

My new home

Waiting in front of the elevator door I heard people talking a floor below in the parking garage. The elevator door was being held open and made rattling noises as it tried to close itself. When it finally came up to the lobby I entered and said “Hi” to the friendly looking lady already on board.

“Hi, Miss”, she smiled, “my name is Marge and I am the caretaker of this building. Are you visiting?”

”No. I bought Mr. Bailey’s suite. I want to take some measurements before I move in.”

”Oh! Congratulations! It’s a nice place. I hope you aren’t superstitious. Well, I’ll be seeing you.”

With that she exited on the fourth floor. Apprehension built within me as I continued up to the eighth floor. I had just come from the lawyer who had handed me my keys. MY DOOR! While I was still trying to fit the right key into the lock the door beside me was opened rather abruptly. It made me jump. A tiny, pale white haired lady peaked around the corner and stared at me:

“Oh,” she said, “I thought someone was breaking in. Are you the new owner?”

”Yes”, I replied. She looked at me with her steel blue eyes and exclaimed:

“Congratulations! You bought a beautiful place. I just hope you are not superstitious.” She was about to withdraw when I stopped her: “Wait a minute, why did you say that? You are not the first one to make that comment. What is this about?”

Coming a step closer she confided in a low voice: “Two women died in there, mother and daughter, first the mother, then a year later the daughter, in the master bed room in the same bed, on the same day, at the same hour.”

She explained that the widower, a man of over ninety, had never used the room again and had slept in the back bed room. A grandniece was his only family now. For several years after moving into a care home he did not want to sell the apartment which held so many memories for him. His grandniece brought him to visit it occasionally. When he was ninety-four and not well she persuaded him to let it go.

So that was it! I had met the grandniece when she sold all the furnishings. Her aunt had been a painter. The walls had been covered with her work. All the paintings were sold except for one, a rather large one of oriental lilies in soft pink, green and lilac tones. I did not think it valuable enough to pay the price she was asking but told her to just leave it so something of her aunt’s beauty loving soul would remain.

View from the balcony

View from the balcony

 

With mixed feelings I entered the apartment. I walked up the long hallway towards the kitchen, stood a moment in front of the sink and enjoyed the view out of the west facing window. I turned and went into the living room. My heart soared! The room was bathed in sun light. It was large, very bright and absolutely gorgeous. The front wall was glass from floor to ceiling. To the left was an oversized sliding glass door to the large balcony. I stepped out and felt as if I was in a dream. The ocean shimmered and glistened, a light breeze curled the silvery water slapping against the rocks of the Seawall. Tug boats, sail boats, fishing vessels and the cries of many seagulls enchanted me. The outline of Vancouver Island was barely visible.

To the west a lighthouse at the end of the mountain range on a high rock jutting out to sea looked solid, trustworthy and eternal. It blinked at me. At least I thought so… I inhaled the salty sea air deeply and understood why the old gentleman could not let go of this place after he lost both the women he loved.

“No”, I said aloud, “I am not superstitious.” I thought it kind of him to let them die at home and not in the hospital. The daughter, sick already when the mother died, might have cried herself to death on the first anniversary of her mother’s passing. I wandered into the front bedroom, the room in which they had both died. There were the lilies, the painting that did not sell. I looked at it, talked to it, promised to love this place just as they did. The flowers seemed to grow towards me, reach out to me. Yes, I thought, I can handle this, it is alright. I’ll respect their spirits.

It was fall. I had lived in the apartment for more than a year. One dark evening, I decided to bake a cake. Standing in front of the sink I was mixing the dough with a hand mixer when I heard the happy laughter of two women behind me in the hallway. A cold chill ran up my spine. I just knew I was not alone. I slowed the mixer and turned it off. Ever so carefully I turned around and willed myself to walk down the hall to check the entrance door. The dead bolt was in place, the safety chain was on. Nobody could have come in. I opened the closet doors when it dawned on me: “It must be them.” So I started talking to them, soothingly, and hearing my own voice helped me to calm down. I felt terribly alone, yet not alone. On unsteady feet I went back to the kitchen and continued mixing. After all the ingredients were added I filled the cake form and put it in the oven.

There! There it was again, this time close to my kitchen entrance. Now it was more like a giggle, a secretive chuckle and I heard quick running feet right behind me. I hunched my back and felt my hair stand up, I wanted to scream. Heavens, I was a grown woman. “Come on, Giselle, be realistic! Your mind is playing tricks. You are overtired.” Again, I willed myself not to lose control of my actions. Slowly I turned and tip-toed towards the living room where they had gone. I talked to them again before I switched the light on. There was nothing, absolutely nothing. But the room seemed grey, strangely quiet and empty. The painting with the lilies now in the living room appeared darker than usual. The clock on the book shelf showed nine thirty. My heart was racing. My skin had goose bumps, my scalp prickled.

An hour later when the cake was done I went to bed in the room in which they had died all those years ago. I had a water bed and I was happy it had a box under it tightly hugging the floor. Did you think I felt safer because nobody could hide under the bed? You betcha!

When I left my apartment to go to work in the morning, my neighbor with the steel blue eyes yanked open her door:

“Giselle, have you heard? Mr. Bailey died last night around nine thirty.”

I felt faint. “Oh my God”, I whispered more to myself than to Mrs. White. She stared at me “Why are you so shocked? You didn’t even know him!”

It seemed impossible but she turned even paler than she was when I told her about my experience the night before, exactly at the time he died. She whispered: “I told you. I warned you. But you thought you were not superstitious. You even told me you could handle it. You see? I always believed there is more between heaven and earth than meets the eye.”

Acrilic, paid 350.00They never visited me again. I lived peacefully and happily in the apartment where they died for nearly twenty-five years. The painting with the lilies has been with me ever since. I had tried to sell it, but it never sold. I am looking at it while writing this…

 

“Too Bad It’s Canada” #Vancouver #Travel #Cruising #Alaska

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Leaving Vancouver bound for Alaska

Leaving Vancouver bound for Alaska

One of the most beautiful cities in the world is Vancouver in British Columbia, Canada. It offers everything: Mild winters but high enough mountains for the ski aficionado and situated only about 100 miles from the town of Whistler, the world renowned ski resort. If you like water sports you can hardly ask for a more beautiful setting than Vancouver at the blue Pacific Ocean for any type of boating, sailing, paddling, windsurfing, motor boating, fishing and even swimming for many months of the year. You like ships or bigger boats better? Vancouver has one of the most gorgeous inner harbours and it hosts many cruise ships during the summer months since it is the gateway to the Inside Passage to Alaska. I can hardly imagine what Captain Cook or Captain Vancouver must have thought or felt when they happened upon this hidden gem in the late 18th century. All along the coastline were old growth forests, wildlife was plentiful and it surely didn’t take long for settlements to appear after it was discovered.

Fishing and saw mills and later the arrival of the railway brought hundreds of new settlers. Many warehouses were built. The story of “Gassy Jack” is interesting, (use your imagination why “gassy”) a Yorkshire man who noticed that there was no saloon available for the many men. He was smart enough to offer to start one. With eager help from all the thirsty men it was built and finished within a few days (some say overnight) and soon women appeared to add to the fun. The area, originally known as Granville was later renamed after “Gassy Jack” and became “Gastown”. Nowhere could you find more drinking establishments than right here. Over the years and as the city of Vancouver grew this area went into decline and the warehouses were falling into disrepair. Squatters, hippies and many artists had taken over. The area with its architecturally interesting old buildings was rescued in the 1970s when Gastown was declared the most historic part of Vancouver. Tourists now flock to Gastown because of its quaint artsy flavour and it surely is one of the most beautiful parts of Vancouver. It has many wonderful and diverse restaurants and “Gassy Jack’s” statue is a popular photo stop.

IMG_1784

Glacier calving

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River of ice

Here you will also find the beautiful new cruise ship harbour. An unforgettable sight is the castoff of cruise ships and their sailing towards the Lions Gate Bridge, along the rich and very beautiful coastline of West Vancouver, the most expensive real estate and retirement place in Canada. You sail through a dreamland as the ship finds its way through the Salish Sea (formerly Strait of Georgia) with majestic snow cupped mountains turning red with the sunset. Unbelievably lovely views greet you while passing Haida Gwaii, a collection of islands at the most westerly point on the North Coast of British Columbia. Most people are more familiar with these islands originally known as the Queen Charlotte Islands.

I was asked once if I knew how God created certain areas on planet Earth. “Tell me”, I replied and this is how it was explained: The different tribes had to line up and when it was their turn they were asked to give their reasons for what kind of land and how much they wanted. Most of them got what they asked for within reason. The Bavarians where very shy and stayed behind until there was hardly any land left when God noticed them. “You get a beautiful region” God told them, “because you are not pushy and you waited. I kept the best for last” and therefore Bavaria and adjoining Switzerland is so beautiful that many people travel there just to see the landscapes and experience the joyful and friendly people who live there. If you ask me I must say that the British Columbia coastline and a sailing experience from Vancouver to Alaska is an incredible feast for the eyes. God must have had more surprises to hand out because this area is wider, grander and totally unforgettable. Yes, somewhat different because of the Pacific Ocean and it has nothing of the dollhouse prettiness you find in Bavaria or Switzerland. Once,

Inside Passage

Inside Passage

coming back from Alaska I was sitting at a large table indoors with a group of about eight or ten Americans. Everybody had admired the glaciers and the calving when large sections of ice break off and crash into the sea. They couldn’t believe the mighty ice rivers and the ice floats with some seals or seabirds on them and as we were floating on the still waters along the shores of the Queen Charlotte Islands one of the gentlemen said, while dreamily watching the ever increasing loveliness of the surroundings:

”I can’t believe how beautiful this all is. Too bad it’s Canada.”

A Beautiful Rose for a Beautiful Lady #Greece #Rose #Wine

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Holiday in Greece

Holiday in Greece

It was just a small airport somewhere along the Greek coast. A bus was waiting to deliver all the guests to their respective hotels. Looking towards the back of the bus I noticed that everybody seemed to come in “twos”: couples, two women or even two men. One glimpse and I was surprised to see the second row wasn’t taken. I sat down by the window. I was used to traveling by myself in Europe after the conclusion of some business I had in Germany. Greece had always intrigued me and the year before I had enjoyed a “Classic Greek Tour.” This time I wanted a sunny holiday.

As more people entered the bus I wondered what kind of neighbor I would get. Could it be “the one”? Tall, dark and handsome? You never know, right? More twosomes pushed by and finally a middle aged woman asked “Is this seat taken?”

Unique driveway

Unique driveway

“Now it is” I smiled at her, pointing to the seat. She had an easy laugh and sat down. It didn’t take long and I knew her life story. She wanted to know at which hotel along the strip I had booked. It happened to be the very last one, two stops after she had to get out. Her hotel looked pretty nice; it had a beautiful driveway up to the main entrance through a gorgeous garden. Small rocks apparently laid by hand formed intricate designs. I was impressed and just hoped my hotel would be this nice. Marianne disembarked with “Bye, I’ll visit you soon.”

Well, my hotel was just as nice as the picture had been in the travel catalogue. The receptionist was incredibly friendly. I loved my room overlooking the Mediterranean. It actually was a five star hotel while Marianne’s had only three stars. The beach was a bit disappointing, – no sand, just millions of pebbles and little rocks washed smooth by the rolling waves. I had to buy a pair of plastic sandals to wear to walk across when I wanted to go swimming. I had been placed at a table with an elderly couple from Hamburg. We were chatting over an afternoon drink (actually coffee and cake) when Marianne turned up. She found us, just took a seat and exclaimed: “This is heaven! I don’t have access to the sea. I think I’ll visit you every day!” Open and outspoken as she was it did not take long and the Hamburgers knew that she was from Kiel in Holstein and was looking for an apartment in Hamburg since she was going to start a new job there after her holiday. It turned out that my Hamburger friends knew of an apartment in their building and after a phone call to the manager Marianne had rented it. Wow! Talk about coincidences and luck!

Pebbly beach

Pebbly beach

After a small lull in our conversation with Marianne being the main contributor she told us about her arrival in her hotel. All had gone well, she had a nice room on the main floor with a double bed and she joked about a recent stay in a clinic to get some help after a really lousy painful divorce. The double bed had reminded her and she fled the room and took a walk through the gardens. She noticed lots of roses in one area. “I went closer to smell the roses”, she told us, “and I was a bit shocked when a deep voice from behind a huge specimen said hello”. A tanned, nice looking man was dead-heading the roses and she took him to be the gardener. “You won’t believe it”, she told us with by now really rosy cheeks, “after finding my voice again I complimented him on the beautiful garden and I told him that I love roses. He took a branch with a gorgeous rose on it, clipped it off and handed it to me with the words

“A beautiful rose for a beautiful lady”.

We were impressed, laughed and talked about the charm of the Greeks. She came back the next day for a swim and we again had our nice little table in the shady corner.

“You won’t believe what I have to tell you today!” She exclaimed. ”Last night after dinner I was writing in my diary when there was a knock on the door. I went to open it and there was a waiter carrying a tray with a bottle of wine in an ice bucket, two glasses and a rose on it. I told him that he must be at the wrong door because I did not order anything. He had a note and was adamant that mine was the right room. He pushed his way in, set down the tray on my small table in front of the window. He left and closed the door behind him. I did not know what to make of it and was afraid to go to bed. I would have loved to drink a glass of wine, I had the suspicion that this was from the gardener but since there were two glasses I didn’t dare to start the bottle. I got tired of waiting as it was close to midnight, got myself ready for bed but still sat there in the dark expecting a knock on the door at any time. But it didn’t happen. Finally I slipped down under the blanket and drifted off to sleep.

“Can you believe this? What would you have done? I never was so unsure, anxious and even a bit afraid in my whole life. I am not sure what I would have done had he turned up. At breakfast I saw a well-dressed man walk through the room, greeting every guest at every table and finally he came to mine. Can you imagine my shock? It was the gardener! He was the manager. I was totally flabbergasted. He asked me if I enjoyed the wine. I told him that I had thought it wasn’t for me and since there were two glasses I didn’t dare drink it but that I had realized it must be from him and I had thought of him all night.

“That was the idea, my lady” he said, “he gave me the biggest smile and bowed moving on to the next table.”

Wow! What an idea! Who else but a charming Greek man can come up with such an idea?

A beautiful rose for a ....

A beautiful rose for a ….

 

 

May Day, May Day – Dance Around The May Pole

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May FestMay Day is a traditional holiday in several European countries but for me the intriguing part is what leads up to it in Bavaria. A few weeks before the first of May the young males of every village go scouting for the straightest and tallest tree in the surrounding forests. Once they find “the one” they have to guard it to avoid it being claimed by the young men from another rival village. Before anybody can cut any tree they need permission from the Forestry to cut it down and bring it home. Once permission is granted the tree is marked. Now the dangerous game of protecting your own tree and trying to steal another marked for another village is in full swing. The young men of every village, and there are many villages every few kilometers, get involved and they are busy every night with the protection of “their tree” because attempts to succeed are made by every single one. Why? If one village or another succeeds in ‘stealing’ a tree the loser has to pay for all the beer they will drink during that year whenever there is a chance or they get together. I wonder how much beer is already consumed during the cold nights protecting their prospective tree!

Marching BandThe tree has to be cut and brought home in the old fashioned way, no machinery allowed. It also has to be erected without any help of modern conveniences. Ropes and muscle power is what’s needed. The bark is removed in a certain way to leave a design according to tradition in the particular village. Once the tree is “up” a wreath, called a “crown”, is hung at the highest possible spot, often they even attach another small tree on top to reach even greater height. Eighty or even hundred meter high May poles are not rare. All the way down from the top carved logo signs from every profession in the village or city are attached. I gather that those professions, be it a tailor, shoemaker, farmer, hotelier or even the church have to pay to have their painted carvings depicting the profession on the May Pole. And they are proud to do so! Most villagers get pretty sightinvolved in the erection of the tree and especially the celebrations during and after they completed the task. Since it is hard work without any mechanical help the men get very thirsty and again lots of beer will find its way into thirsty throats. Usually there is a brewery in the village or close by and they have a fresh brew, the May brew, which surely has to be tested as well. After the May Pole is proudly standing and secured the people hurry home because now they have to prepare for another happening.

April the 30th is ‘Walpurgis Night’. It’s an anxious and frightening night for all the villagers. It is the night when all the witches are loose and they do some crazy things and no one stops them. One year I happened to be in the beautiful Bavarian Health Resort city of Bad Wörishofen and my hosts were taking all their lawn chairs, terrace furniture and garden ornaments into their hallway. They explained to me that these items could end up in a totally different part of the city or even hidden in places you wouldn’t think of looking for them, in some cases overturned or broken. Police? Forget Scan-003.BMPit. After all, the police do not deal with ‘witches’. It’s free rein to do mischief without being punished. Mostly it’s all done in good fun. During breakfast next morning we had a really good laugh because something “new”, never done before, had happened. All the street signs were covered and new names making fun of certain officials or happenings in the village were placed on top. The one most people got a kick out of was “Roter Platz” (Red Square) at the centre surrounding the statue of Father Kneipp, the “Water Doctor”, a priest who had made this city famous during the 19th century. (As a matter of fact, at least 95% of the population still make their living catering to the “Water Kur” guests.) This plaza had recently been tiled with red tiles and the former grass and the flower beds had been removed. The old-timers in the city didn’t like the transition and this joke did not go over too well with the Mayor’s office either. However, the old street names were restored within a few hours.

The first of May is a big holiday! Literally everybody has been praying for sunshine and, with luck, the weatherman has listened. People gather in their old fashioned costumes around the “Kurhaus”, the bands tune their instruments and in good time a parade winds its way throughout the city aiming to end the march at the May Pole. There are lots of stalls with bratwurst, pretzels and beer (of course!), herring buns and home-made torts and cakes hosted by the different women’s groups. There is coffee, ice cream, sugar puffs and drinks for the children and more beer for the ones who 1 - 2 - 3happened to be lucky enough to find a seat for the rest of the day. The bands play their catchy tunes, the folk dancers as young as two years old or ninety congregate around the May Pole and do their infectious dances and lots and lots of cameras click to catch the excitement. When the official part is over the pubs fill up and the new fresh Maybock beer leads to the downfall of many a drinker who overestimated their capacity to “hold their beer”. But May Day is fun, it’s so much fun! If you ever have a chance to experience it, – rather than aiming for a big city, try to find a smaller village and mingle with the ‘natives’. And be sure not to overestimate your capacity for the Maybock!

 

Two Interviews #BookPromotion #SkinCare

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I want to thank Tracy Koga and Shaw TV in Winnipeg for sharing two interviews made during my recent book promotion in Winnipeg. They appear on my YouTube page but you can also see them here:

Interview 1First interview about “We Don’t Talk About That”
https://youtu.be/jh_e43m0xyo

 

and here:

Interview 2

 

Second interview about Giselle’s Skin Care
https://youtu.be/7vk9s6VLyE4