OnBlueUnderCanvas

If you’ve read this, you know about the relaxing days my parents and I spent on a vineyard in Germany. And this, gives you a taste of how much I drank on said vineyard.

The stay at the vineyard, in fact, was a bonus. The reason we decided to travel to Germany in the first place was to celebrate this:

The 50th Wedding Anniversary of my great-uncle and great-aunt, Jürgen and Marianne. (Jürgen is my Omi’s brother.)

Their children, Gudrun and KarlHeinz, organized the big bash. It was so well-planned and so fancy! I felt like I was at an actual wedding reception.

There was dancing,

a four-course dinner (The trio of mini desserts was my favorite!),

my name “in German,”

a couple of random people,

(kidding, those are my ‘rents)

fireworks for the guests of honor,

and even an opera singer!

Relatives from all over Europe and from the US (that’s me and the ‘rents!) traveled to Germany to join in the festivities. Since not everyone spoke German, translations of the speeches were projected onto a screen in English, French and Dutch.

And there’s another technological feat:

Omi unfortunately could not make the trip to Germany to celebrate her brother’s anniversary. Even though she wasn’t actually there, thanks to Skype, she still could attend!

She sat at the head table.

Lots of people came by to say hello. Here is my second cousin Patrick and his girlfriend Kati having a chat with Omi.

She was even introduced to the entire party.

I sat at a table with my great-aunt Christa (Omi’s and Jürgen’s sister) and her husband, my great-uncle Heinz.

On the other side of the table sat Dieter (Christa’s and Heinz’s son), his wife Ingrid, and my parents (involved in what is clearly some riveting conversation).

QUIZ: How is Dieter related to my mom?

Ahhh, made your brain hurt, didn’t I?

They’re cousins. Dieter, my mom, Gudrun & Karlheinz are all first cousins.

Now, Britta here is Dieter’s daughter, so that makes me and Britta second cousins.

And here’s the Italian opera singer again. He was fantastic. I wish you could have heard him sing, Omi!

The party was an amazing reunion of far-flung relatives. Just a handful spoke fluent English, so my mom and I spoke with whoever we could in our hack-job German. It might not have been pretty, but it was wonderful to be able to understand each other.

When’s the next big party, Gudrun? Let me know–I’l be there. ☼

Does this look like a rowdy crowd to you?

Hmm… not exactly.

It looks like is a polite dinner party, on a unassuming deck, overlooking a vineyard in the Nähe winegrowing region of southwest Germany.

And if we look closer, we see this:

A lovely bottle of Gut Hermannsberg riesling. But one bottle of wine, of course, was no where near enough for a dinner of five people. But two? Surely two would have been sufficient. But just two? Gudrun and Tomas had other ideas.

We started drinking. The sun went down.

And looked pretty on the house.

Specifically the window.

Oh and before the sunset, there was me smiling for this photo:

By the time dusk rolled around, we were in the midst of a rockin’ good time. Gudrun had served a delicious dinner of salmon, potatoes and roasted vegetables.

Periodically during the meal, Gudrun would look at Tomas and say something like, “Oh we simply must have that bottle of such-and-such from France!” or Tomas would say, “Wait, I have something…” And each of them would scurry off and procure yet another bottle from the ‘Maurer Schatzkammer.’

Tomas and Gudrun have wines from just about everywhere. And they have (quite) a few bottles of the stiffer variety too.

This resulted in a parade of wine and cognac bottles across our dinner table.

In addition to the first bottle of Gut Hermannsberg riesling, we also drank a

• German pinot noir
• French ‘port’ (hey–it’s in quotes, you wine snobs, I know a real port can only be from Portugal)
• Italian ‘port’ (stings, doesn’t it?)
• “Tomas & Gudrun” cognac (you can’t refuse liquor when you know the people who’s names are on the label)

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think my relatives were trying to get me schnockered. (And yes, that word, in its present tense, is a real word.)

All of these bottles all over the table wouldn’t have been a big deal, if the wine wasn’t so darn good.

By this time, we were slowing down. I was not (thank goodness) that I recall (oh dear) acting too weird by this point. But if I was, then lucky for me that more food came ’round…

Cheese plate!

I LOVE cheese. When you’re feeling tipsy actually kind of drunk, eating a fancy cheeseboard (not the board) is one of my favorite ways to nip a hangover in the bud.

But the bottle parade was not over. Tomas went and dug up this beast:

Scary. (As if we I needed more alcohol.)

But I just had to try this 15-year old bottle of cognac. (By the way, doesn’t it look much older?) And so, the cork was popped.

That did me in. Early the next morning, Gudrun, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed and dressed in running pants and tennis shoes, was ready to play adventue guide for us up and down the hills of the vineyard. (How can I compete with someone who lives and works on a vineyard? It’s just not possible. Read: it’s her job to drink wine.)

Are you coming? they asked. My parents, the early-morning-every-day-no-matter-the-weather walkers they are, joined Gudrun for some lovely fresh air. I think not, I said.

No sir. On that particular morning, I did not care for fresh air. I preferred that my head stay in bed.

However, it could have been much worse. It was a bit of a headache, and nothing else.

And for that, I thank the cheese plate. ☼

Que calor! Even before 8 a.m. we could feel it was going to be a hot one. After dropping off Sofiá at Natalia’s aunt’s house, the four of us grown-ups (ahh!?) took off for Jaco, a popular beach town just two hours outside of San Jose.

On the way, we stopped at a roadside chinamo.

Agua de pipas for all of us.

Cheers!

Further down the road we crossed the Rio Tarcoles bridge. But not before pausing to peer over the side…

Crocodiles. Usually, a couple dozen of them can be seen sunbathing on the sandbars. This time around the water level was too high. Still, we spotted a bunch of the prehistoric brutes lurking in the coffee water.

The week before Easter (Holy Week, Semana Santa), is a vacation week for nearly all Ticos. The beach was busy, especially at sunset.

Here in Costa Rica, the sea is so much warmer than the brisk (and that’s optimistic) ocean of California. Kirk, giddy as a schoolboy with a full can of Silly String, slapped down $5 to rent a board and headed out into the waves.

By evening, we all had soaked up enough solar energy to power a small town for a week. Tired but content, we climbed back in the car.

Vamos la casa. ☼

On Friday, Kirk turned the ripe old age of twenty-seven. He didn’t like this one bit. The number 27 in particular wasn’t to blame, Kirk just has a general aversion to getting older. (Don’t we all?) Some of us accept the inevitable with grace (me), others, (cough, Kirk) would do almost anything to keep from getting older. I can’t prove it, but he might be allergic to aging. Since no amount of wishing, praying or lamp-rubbing will turn back time, what is left to do? Exploit the day for its intended purpose: celebration.

We didn’t do anything crazy. We didn’t even spend that much money or drink too many beverages. It was a fairly normal day. But, it was Kirk’s day, and we did what Kirk wanted to do. First off (after a tasty breakfast of pancakes made by yours truly) we visited one, if not The, most famous surf break in the United States: Trestles

.

Every year, Trestles hosts the ASP World Tour and NSSA Nationals.

The wind was kicking the waves around, so the surf wasn’t that great. We explored the beach instead.

No matter how old (or young), every birthday boy or girl needs a cake. I decided to make Kirk a cake from scratch. That morning before he woke up, I snuck out to the grocery store to pick up some last minute ingredients: cake flour, butter, sprinkles (okay, not every part of the cake was from scratch) and candles.

After getting back from Trestles, I spent the better part of the afternoon baking two 7″ x 11″ cake layers, whipping up frosting and assembling the whole mess into something pretty. While I was baking, Kirk was cooking. He put together a Portugese chicken marinade and set to deep frying chopped potatoes. The results? Pineapple & chicken sandwiches (perfectly sweet and spicy) with sides of homemade french fries and ice-cold Pacificos.

But wait, there’s cake.

And presents.

And more cake.

Maybe getting older isn’t so bad after all. ☼