Really.

Language barrier

Any time you tell Manshow something he doesn't want to hear, or obey, he puts up his hand and says, "I only speak German."

 

 

 

From our balcony on Saturday morning...

...and the street smells like wood-smoke, and cows.

I love this place.


. . .

Like magic

Jules and I had two enraging days of failed espresso pulls and failed milk frothing on the Vibiemme. So at 8:30 this morning — Saturday, no less! — I left a message on the phone of the appointment-only espresso machine shop where I bought my set-up, asking for lessons and knowing I wouldn't even hear back until next week. Would you believe by 2:30pm we were in a specialist Kaffeerösterei in Landau, getting a one-on-one, hands-on education AND a tour of the roastery. What are the chances?

Tonight, I pulled a completely successful shot and frothed amazing microfoam. Like magic. My hat is off to the fine men of Espresso-Maschinenraum Landau and KFE Die Kaffeerösterei. They are great, generous people, and they REALLY know their craft.

Big

One of his main concerns about Germany was whether there would be machines. Happily for all of us, they are absolutely everywhere.

Berry is not so thrilled. To her way of thinking, it's grossly unfair that there aren't also princesses cruising down the hauptstrasse and hanging out in carparks.

Location:Germany

Perfect

Schokoladenseite : I learned this today from my new German hairdresser. It's the side of your hair that always looks fabulous and sits just right. We all have it, she says. The "chocolate side".

Narrow

I just realised I can say Kaffeerösterei and Espressomaschinen, and yet I still don't know the German for "Can you repeat that please?" or "I don't understand".

A rapid change in direction is needed.

. . .

Not cutting it.

Berry:  I wish we went to a fireworks on fourth of July. Me:  But you went to a castle! Berry:  Yep.  Which was pretty dark and broken.

Freedom

Happy 4th of July from Heidelberg Castle! 

Manshow has taken the theme too far, with noisy and hard-fought battles against sitting in the stroller, or holding hands, or staying within shouting distance.

Extra-special tactics include collapsing on the ground in various queues, collapsing on the floor of the cable-car, collapsing under the table in the restaurant, and wailing "ouchy ouchy ouchy mamaaaa!!!" any time I hold his hand. (Gently hold his hand — but try asserting that to passers-by casting startled glances at the spectacle.) 

When it comes to three-year-old boys, independence is so overrated.

To market, to market

It's all too pretty. Too neat. Too beautifully arranged. I just can't say no.