Going Out with a BANG (and some tears)

**Forewarning** This post has little to do with Germany and a lot to do with hair, which I acknowledge is a very trivial thing.

Before pic

I haven't cut my hair since, oh, I don't know, maybe last November? So, to say I was in need of a trim is a serious understatement. I googled a salon near me that would do balayage highlights (more on that in a sec) and I found one in Munich with great reviews, so I gave them a call.

Now, even in English, I hate making phone calls. It is just uncomfortable to me. (Side note: I wish we had the option to text appointments. You'd text, saying when you wanted your appointment, they'd text back with a confirmation number and a date and time. How simple would that be? No waiting on hold, listening to that crap elevator music, no getting "accidentally" disconnected... Alas, I digress.) So if English phone calls are a serious pet peeve of mine, you can imagine how thrilled I was to have to make a phone call in German.

Ring Ring

"Laskdfaifwneka adfaidhfwae adlsfja Salon asdfa;sldirew fdhauwefak?" <-Insert German words there. Note that I did not detect a Hallo.

"Um, hallo, Sprechen Sie Englisch?" I ask, my face turning bright red. (This happens all the time when I get embarrassed when I'm on the phone- how weird is that?!)

"Oh, of course! I'm sorry! Would you like to make an appointment?"


"Yes, I would like to get a hair cut and balayage highlights."


"Okay, how does Wednesday at 4 work?"


"Perfect."

Encouraged by the fact that the receptionist spoke English, I thought there wouldn't be a language barrier between the stylist and me...but just in case, I thought I'd bring along some pictures, because what could get lost in translation if I pointed to the picture and then pointed to my head??

I wanted to get some long, side swept bangs, and I brought a picture of Eva Mendes to show.

I also wanted to try balayage highlights, where the colorist freely paints them into your hair for a more natural look than regular highlights, which can appear streaky since they're evenly spaced out and an even color from root to tip. I brought this picture of Lily Aldridge to show.

As would be my luck, the stylist, Ceasar, spoke no English. I'm talking not one word. Not even ein bisschen (a little). Bummer. There was another stylist there, Tina, who translated what I wanted, and according to her, Ceasar responded that he wanted to cut off the dead hair and do the balayage highlights a caramel color. Then Tina said she was done for the day, and left us to figure it out on our own. I wasn't really concerned, though, because my mom is a hair dresser, and when I was younger I remember getting some cuts I wasn't particularly, um, fond of (Hi, mom!! Miss you!!), but she'd always tell me my hair would grow back and to not be too concerned about "the wrong thing". I guess it prepared me for future questionable hair cuts, and I never really got too upset about hair....

But there's a first for everything I suppose.

Ceasar kept asking to see the pictures (See?? Good thing I brought them!) and continued to get crazy with the highlighting. I started to get worried because it was taking him forever to finish and I was concerned he was leaving the bleach in too long. (Aside from the ombre, I have never dyed my hair, so I didn't know the typical time you leave the bleach in.) Of course I couldn't communicate my concern, so I just sat there like a sitting duck and envisioned my poor hair get eaten to shreds by the bleach. 

He finally finished, and then walked away. For a good fifteen minutes!! No other stylists were around, so I couldn't even give them Looks or try my luck at sending ESP messages.

Ceasar returned from his disappearing act, smelling of cigarette smoke and coffee (what an aroma!) and motioned for me to follow him to the sink. I sat down in the grey leather chair and stared at the only thing in front of me: a white washed wall with a piece of art. The "art piece" was a giant black canvas with a silver door handle attached to the middle, surrounded by a cluster of huge grey cubes. I tried to make sense of it while Ceasar removed the wax paper from my hair, and started shampooing. I heard him take a sharp inhale and say, "Hmmm," and I immediately envisioned the worst case scenario: bleach blond hair.

"Ist O.K.?" I asked, fearing his response.

"Yah yah yah, ajhsdf;iafawjef;kajf;ljsjfas;lkfdja."

"Oh, ok." I'll believe it when I see it, I thought.

He brought me back over to the mirrored area and motioned for me to continue standing. I slowly turned around to face the mirror and was relieved to see my dark hair still dark, save for some honey colored highlights. He got a chair, sat behind me, and started cutting my hair. 

Then, he sat me down, and said, "I cut the pony when dry." 

Ok first of all, he hadn't said ONE WORD to me this entire time, and now he busts out a semi-decent English sentence?! Secondly, what the heck is a pony? The only thing I could think of was a pony tail, but he had already cut the back of my hair so that left the bangs... I've had some stylists cut my bangs dry, so fine, no big deal. In the meantime, this happened:

Hahaha, he had about six round brushes just hanging out in my hair at one point, and they kept getting tangled and he'd have to rip them out...that felt great. Then it was time for the bangs, or, uh, pony. :)

He asked to see the Eva Mendes picture again, and I told him to go very, very long, and if we needed, we'd shorten. He probably definitely didn't understand me, but continued anyway. The next thing I knew, I had SUPER SHORT bangs that started SOOOO far over to the right and sooo high above my eyebrows! Greg had just come in at that point, and I told Ceasar to stop, which he only probably understood because I simultaneously blocked his scissor hands from coming near me, and burst into tears. (Ok, really, who cries at a hair cut when they're 27?!?!?!?!) 

"This is terrible," I kept saying, which I felt really bad about actually. "I'm sorry, Ceasar," I said between tears, "But this is not what I wanted, look at the picture--" I pulled out the Eva picture and zoomed in on her forehead. "See how long her bangs are?"

"Ohhhhhhh.... Shit. I sorry," he said. He shrugged. "In two month, it's fine."

I asked for a bobby pin, and we left. 

The back looked really nice. Apparently I should invest in about six round brushes. But the front was really atrocious. Reminded me of my 5 year old self, with seeeeerious full bangs:

So, the next morning, I took the dog for a walk, and got a good picture of the color, which I really do love:

And then I showered and attempted to style the bangs: 

They aren't as horrible as I originally thought, but they aren't what I asked for, they kind of remind me of fringe, and they start sooo far back on my head that I feel like I've got half a bowl cut! 

But, whatever. Like my Mom always told me, it's just hair, and I shouldn't be too concerned about the wrong thing. :)

Oktoberfest Roundup

On Monday, Greg's team had the opportunity (read: day off) to go to Oktoberfest. The coach was even kind enough to give them 50 euro for the first round of beer. I chose not to go because I didn't think I'd be able to handle the noise, massive crowds, and energy it took to get on the train, sit on the train, and then walk from the train station in Munich to Oktoberfest. I'm doing much better in terms of Lyme disease and my pain level, but my energy is still quickly drained. Plus, I shouldn't be drinking because I'm on a lot of meds, and who wants to be Sober Sally in a sea of Drinking Daisies? So I chose to stay home. And even though I knew I made the best decision for me, I still had a little pity party for myself. Because it is frustrating to not get to do cultural things when you're in Europe with your husband and you're still a newlywed. (I'm not bitter, really.)

Anyway, my husband, who hasn't really had a drink in 5 months, had gone with the intention to have a few beers, bond with the team, and take in the Oktoberfest experience. But he didn't realize that one giant mug is the volume equivalent of 3 American beers. And no one told him (until the next day), that the German beer here is something like twice the alcohol content as American beer. So after an entire afternoon of 5 or so giant German beers, I started getting texts from him that made no sense. This text pretty much summed up the afternoon:

So, that was a joy. Luckily, he returned relatively early, took a two hour nap, and then woke up and made some pancakes before going back to sleep for the night.

Fast forward two days later, when we were headed into Munich for my hair appointment. 

We decided to leave from a train station closer to us, not the one Greg had left from a few days prior. Before, he had his German teammates to figure out logistics, so left to our own devices, deciphering the schedule and trying to figure out which pass to buy was almost comical, but after a few phone calls to the aforementioned Germans, and asking a couple school kids, we figured it out. (New word of the day: Gleis. Track. As in, we followed all the girls decked out in their dirndls to the right track.)

I couldn't stop admiring the dirndls. I love them. I wish I knew the history behind the dirndls and leiderhosen. (Hint Hint to my German reader "Blacky", can you please explain? When did Germans start wearing them and why?)

The train was packed. I managed to find a seat, where I continued my dirndl admiring and hair stalking. (That braid on the girl with the pink apron went all the way around her head!! How did she do that?! Wasn't a hair piece either!)

We followed the masses a couple blocks from the train station and ended up at Oktoberfest! The joy of being there was short lived, however, as it was super hot, and the crowds were out of control. Upon entering, clusters of poleizi stopped people at random to search their bags. All around me were parents with kids in strollers, groups of men in leiderhosen, young and old couples in love; stumbling, drunken Englishmen, notoriously loud Americans in Hawaiian shirts and fanny packs (I'm not kidding), Canadian backpackers, Italians in silver suits and slicked back hair, Middle Eastern women with their Fendi headscarves accompanied by men you wouldn't want to cross, gorgeous Parisian women with Birkin bags and perfectly manicured nails, Euro hipsters smoking and laughing their way to the beer tents- it seemed everyone was at Oktoberfest, and I was overwhelmed.

We pushed our way through the crowds to check out the booths that lined the way to the beer tents.

These fish-on-a-stick (literally) seem to be at all the festivals we've been to. We can't find the courage to buy one, however, because they leave the skin (and eyes) on (and in).

In case you're wondering what kind of parent brings their child to Oktoberfest, rest assured there is a lot more to Oktoberfest than boozing.

I'd also like to know the significance of the heart shaped cookies. Almost all of the girls in dirndls I saw wore a cross-body handbag that was brown and heart-shaped, exactly like these cookies below, complete with colorful embroidery around the outline.

Lots of rides, booths, beer tents, and people!

Finally, we decided we should venture into a beer tent just to see what it was all about. I think there are 17 beer tents at Oktoberfest (maybe I'm wrong and there are 12? Not sure). They are massive, and remind me more of giant barns than tents.

Once inside the tent, you hear this dull roar from the crowd, and you follow that through the corridor to the main part of the tent, seen here:

 This picture pretty much sums up what it was like for me inside the tent: a ton of people walking around the perimeter, and crowded tables in the center. You can see a small group of people standing up on their table. Some people would do this, chugging their beers, and the entire tent would clap and cheer for them (unless they stopped chugging, in which case the entire tent would boo them). It was unbelievably loud and uncomfortably hot and sticky inside...

I thought this was particularly interesting, a sweaty corner of the tent dedicated to washing the beer mugs. Beer is 10 euro a glass.

After that short tour, I had to get out of there. The noise, the crowds and the heat had gotten to me.

The second we left the tent, we felt instantly better, as it was much cooler. We stopped by a few booths- here is a fish sandwich- I've seen these at a few other festivals too. They leave the skin on and you're supposed to eat up! (That's Greg's shadow in the picture, trying to figure out how to order a giant hot dog.)

Success! Hot dog was ordered. The bun was more like a pretzel than your regular bun. He was pumped to get this because he had wanted one when he first came to Oktoberfest but, uh, had a liquid lunch instead.

On our way out, we saw these beautiful giant horses pulling kegs of beer.

Then it was time to take off. Auf wiedersehen, Oktoberfest!

This next picture pretty sums up how my hair appointment went. Your guess is as good as mine. The appointment ended in tears, but I did get to cross off Oktoberfest from my 'Thing to do in Europe' list, so I deemed the day a success. More on the hair in the next blog.

Virtual Tour

One of the first days I was here, my sweet neighbor Rosie told me about this area near our home where Buckles could run off leash. We've been bringing him here every day since, and I thought I'd give you a little virtual tour. The sights are really beautiful- the epitome of German countryside.

The tour starts here, about 4 blocks or so from our place. I have no idea what this sign says, but the blue bike/pedestrian sign indicates we can walk on the path. Cars still come down this road, but infrequently. To the right of this sign you can see the smallish field where this grey cat is always hanging out. Normally the cat stays really still and Buckles doesn't even notice him. Behind the field is the dense woods and you can always hear kids yelling and playing in their forts they've made there.

Across from that smallish field is the first of many larger fields. This one is pretty huge and Buckles loves it, as you can see.

After that, the path continues, past a huge cornfield on the right, and the one and only house on this road on the left. I wonder if they own all this land...

After the lonely house on the left, there is another largish field. This one is Buckles' favorite to explore because it has the most mice. This is also the spot where he killed his first field mouse. RIP, little friend. It's a dead end at that point (oohh, no pun intended), and we always turn left and walk up the hill...

This is the view from the top of the hill looking back from where we just came. And when you turn around, you see this:

I love that winding road! I tried to get Buckles to pose for a pic, but he wasn't having it. 

Actually, no one wanted their picture taken today...

So we headed back down the hill and back home, narrowly escaping a battle between Buckles and whatever animal that black dot is in the middle of the field. Looked kind of like a cat to us, albeit extremely large.

Once you get out of the field area, the streets to our place look like this. Very residential and lots of townhouses. Here are two quite similar to ours. Hope you enjoyed the tour!

Casanova Dinner

The other day I wrote about my hellacious dining experience with Buckles and I mentioned seeing an oyster bar called Casanova. Tonight, Greg and I decided to check it out.

Our car, heavily plastered with hockey decals, blew our cover and as we parallel parked in front of Casanova, we felt the people dining outside turn and stare. Per usual, I felt underdressed in leggings and a sweater, but now that our car had outted us as foreigners, I figured I'd just pretend I didn't get the memo about dressing to the nines 24/7.

Do you like the wine glass centerpiece with a floating flower in it? Totally threw us off when we tried to decide where to sit because as you're walking up to the tables, it kind of looks like one person ordered a glass of wine at each table and then just ran off.

Tonight we ordered pfeffermint tea which we later realized was an expensive mistake. (We're talking around 8 bucks total for two teas!) I swear, if you're not ordering wine or beer, which is super cheap around here, you should just order nothing because you'll end up having to sell your first born to pay the bill! 

Greg made a bold move and chose an appetizer at random without having a clue what the server would bring. After an afternoon at Oktoberfest yesterday that consisted of more liquids than solids (that's a story for another day), he needed all the food he could get tonight. His appetizer ended up being a seafood medley of calamari and mussels with some snow peas and tomatoes mixed in. He loved it.

Tonight's edition of "Salads I had in Germany" consisted of a mix of arugula and field greens, with cukes, daikon, red onion, mozzarella, carrot, and erdbeere (strawberries. Side note: It is annoying to me that the word for peanut is erdnuss. Why does the erd in strawberry and erd in peanut not have the same meaning?! These are the things I notice!). I am very proud of myself because the server only spoke German and Italian, so I had to figure out how to ask for turkey on my salad instead of ham. Word of the day: instead. Statt (pronounced shtot, I think).

Greg's entree was homemade spaghetti with mussels.

And that was pretty much our evening. Tomorrow we will try to get ourselves to Munich by train for my hair appointment. I can basically guarantee traveling to Munich will be a process because Oktoberfest is still going on, so wish us luck!