Are you from England?

When I first arrived in Germany, I was so self-conscious about being foreign. I would walk down the street thinking that somehow everyone knew I was here from the U.S. It felt as though I was wearing a big sign advertising where I was from.

I recognized there was something a bit neurotic about this. I asked my German teacher if he thought people would easily recognize that I wasn’t from Germany. He said yes, but it didn’t have anything to do with how I looked or dressed. He said there’s something intangible that people would pick up on.

After a few months of living in Germany and walking down the same streets every day, after the newness and strangeness had started to fade, I didn’t feel so self-consciously foreign.

But then I would start to talk with someone, and immediately they knew I wasn’t a native. This was never a problem; if anything people were even friendlier when they found out I wasn’t from Germany.

After asking if I spoke English, people almost always asked if I was from England. I suppose that makes sense: English … England. And of course England is much closer to Germany than the U.S. People were often surprised when I said I was from the U.S. Here I was thinking it was so obvious where I was from, and people really didn’t know.

This happened in Spain and Italy too – people assuming I was from England.

And then in Italy and France I encountered people who thought I was German.

In a restaurant in Girona, Spain they asked whether I wanted a menu in Spanish or Catalan. They were surprised when I asked if they had an English menu – which they had, but which was not very well translated. One of the desserts was “scum of milk with fruit”. I almost tried it, just out of curiosity but I was already beyond having eaten enough.

One of my favorite encounters happened my first week in Germany. While out for a bike ride an older woman walking on a farm path stopped me. She was complaining how someone had run over the reflectors on the edge of the path. She spoke no English and my German was just starting to come along. I was wearing my team Torelli kit, riding my Torelli bike, and she asked if I was a bike racer from Italy. I thought for a moment about playing along and saying yes. But I did know how to say in German, “no, but I can wish.” We talked for quite a while -- mostly her talking, as she complained about the current state of affairs in Germany with all of the foreigners. She didn't seem to have a problem with me though -- I think because I was learning German -- and as I rode off she wished me best of luck during my stay.

Deutsch outside of Deutschland

I never considered that learning German would be all that useful outside of Germany.

But there are other German-speaking countries besides Germany, even if their German is not always the same as the one I understand. In September I went to Austria to see the World Championship road races. My German was useful at the hotel desk, and with waiters at restaurants. Then while trying to navigate the race course I stopped to ask for directions from a policeman. After a moment of confusion I quickly realized what he spoke wasn’t the German I knew. He could understand my Hochdeutsch, but when he spoke it was in the Austrian dialect. I imagine it was similar to what would happen if a German who learned English in, say, Cleveland had traveled to Arkansas for the first time and spoke with a real local. Fortunately I had a map – pointing works in any language.

Traveling from Germany, it was not surprising that other travelers would be speaking German. Coming back to the U.S. at both Thanksgiving and Christmas, I found myself in the interesting position of helping the person seated next to me fill out the U.S. customs form. They each spoke decent English, but I know from filling out official forms in Germany that “official language” is not so simple. How do you explain in simple terms in German the meaning of, “have you ever taken a child whose parent is a U.S. citizen out of the country?”

I didn’t think I’d be speaking German in France though. Sitting at breakfast the first morning I was in Cannes, the waiter came by and asked me in German what I wanted to drink. Without thinking I answered him in German, before realizing, “hey, we’re in France.”

He had noticed the German newspaper I was reading. He said he was from Turkey, but had lived in Germany (in Düsseldorf in fact) for quite a few years and spoke fluent German. The rest of the week every time he saw me he would speak German.

Just a few weeks later in Italy, I was surprised to see many signs in shops written in both Italian and German. I’m sure this is because of tourism. There were several occasions where people thought I was a tourist from Germany. One afternoon I stopped in a combination wine store / restaurant, and when I didn’t understand Italian the owner started speaking to me in German. On several occasions people apologized for not speaking better English or German.

One morning at the hotel I heard German coming from the TV in another room. A team from Südtirol was also staying at the hotel. Südtirol is a region in the border area between Italy and Austria. It was still winter there, so these guys had also come to Tuscany for some decent weather and good training. They spoke German, Italian, and of course the Austrian dialect. Listening to them at dinner, they seemed to speak mostly in Austrian. But to the waiter they spoke Italian, and we had a few brief conversations in German.

Europe is appealing in this way: the mixture of languages and dialects, relative compactness of the countries, blending of the border areas, pockets of different language within a single country. It makes for interesting cultural textures that change so quickly from place to place.

I’m still in awe of people who can switch between multiple languages so easily. Learning one foreign language has been hard enough. People have told me that it gets easier, each new language you pick up. Easy for them to say now. I'm not sure I would have the stamina to test it personally.

Doorways and other things

For some reason in Italy I was always wanting to stop and take pictures of various doorways. There was something compelling about the old buildings, the doorways, and the way they often had window baskets or flower pots out front. Many of the little shops clearly had living spaces up above or next to the shop. I wondered what these old buildings looked like inside, who lived in them, and how does one come to live in or own such a place?



Back home now from Italy, I find myself missing the morning ritual of cappuccino, croissants and prosciutto with a wedge of cheese. Espresso in the afternoon. Wine and olive oil at dinner.

There is something about espresso in Italy. I remember this from the being there previously. I'd never really liked espresso all that much, but this was different -- rich, and with a creamy froth on top. It seemed every little bar or cafe knew how to make espresso well. I was told it had something to do with the type of coffee they use, something with the water, and the skill of the 'barista' who made the espresso.

I also learned that one just doesn't have cappuccino after breakfast. They say it's not good to have all that milk sitting in your stomach. After breakfast, you either have macchiato -- espresso with just a stain of milk, or you have espresso. Otherwise they look at you strangely, or in some cases even give you a hard time.

At the hotel restaurant one night, one of the teams was eating dinner at a big table. After dinner one of the guys ordered a cappuccino and a large groan came up from the rest of the guys at the table.



I was also fond of how the Italians seemed to linger over a long lunch or dinner. Instead of having all the food brought out at once, it's common to have a multi-course meal with antipasti, then a pasta dish, then a meat dish, then a salad or cheese, then a dessert. The portions weren't huge though, so I never felt like I was overdoing it (of course it helps when you are free to ride the bike for a good part of the day).

I was noticing one day at lunch how every person, at every table, had a glass of wine. This was mostly "table wine", so not quite as strong as what you might get in a more expensive bottle. There was one family with a couple of small children, and I noticed how they added a little wine to the water that the maybe 8-year-old girl was drinking.

After 10 days there, Germany seemed like a long time ago.

This was a good transition -- leaving Germany, then something completely different, then coming back home.

Now I'm looking to get my espresso machine cleaned up, so I can try to make something resembling Italian espresso. Oh, and then there's the 4 bottles of olive oil and 4 bottles of wine that resulted in my suitcase weighing 25 kilos (55 lbs).

Tuscan hill towns

The sight of a town up high on a hill is one of the lasting images I have of Tuscany. Everywhere I rode there seemed to be several hilltop towns along the route. These towns were all very old -- I'm sure that in the middle ages it was important to have the town strategically located up high.

There was something intriguing about seeing one of these towns off in the distance, and then having the road eventually start climbing, often with switchbacks, all the way up to the top. Always a good workout too. In this area of Tuscany, the mountains weren't too big -- maybe 600 meters at most. But that's high enough to require some significant effort to climb, and high enough to have some fantastic views at the top.



In the area close to where I was staying, there was Casale Marittimo, Monteverde Marittimo, Sassetta, Suvereto, Massa Marittimo, and others. These were not really tourist towns -- people seemed to live and work there, and they were not big tourist destinations.

Then a little farther away were bigger tourist areas such as San Gimignano and Montalcino. These towns were interesting, and had some of the classic views that you might see on a postcard. But to me they seemed somewhat overdone in their efforts to be a "destination".



On one of the rides, I took an unplanned detour to climb up to a town called Sassa. The climb was difficult, and when I got to the top I found this tiny little town, seemingly perched on the edge of a cliff, with very old cobbled streets and stone buildings. There were no shops or restaurants that I could see. Just a few houses where people lived. There were a few people standing outside, talking or walking the dog. I felt as though I had intruded in someone's backyard. I felt funny taking picutres ... but couldn't resist.

Rain day

Before deciding to come to Italy, I was talking to my boss about it, and said I was afraid it might be too rainy this time of year. He said, “ah, but Tuscany is beautiful when it rains.”

When I woke up to the sound of rain I figured I would get the chance to see if he was right.

I debated on going out and riding, but looked to be the kind of soaking rain that would not let up any time soon. So instead I grabbed my raincoat and guide book and set out for Volterra, which I had driven through the other day and which looked interesting.

Along the way I bought another two bottles of olive oil, meaning I may have to leave behind still more clothes.

Volterra is another very old, well-preserved hilltop town. From the valley floor the road climbs for 10km, with many switchbacks. Many of the drivers here seem to look ahead and if they see no oncoming traffic do not hesitate crossing the center line through the sharp turns. There was a small truck in front of me, and in my little car I could not keep up with him.

Once at the top, there are great views across the valley. Even in the rain, with the clouds very low (see picture above), the views are worth stopping to take in.

I spent a few hours walking around on wet, cobbled streets. I thought about going in one of the museums, or the old cathedral, but honestly it was more interesting to walk around the streets, looking in the shop window and watching the people.


I’ve noticed this before: often you will see 2 or 3 people just standing on a corner, or in front of a shop, talking and gesturing. As I walked through the town it seemed comical – on every corner there would be a few people standing and talking. I was thinking back to what the guy at the car rental place said: “no one wants to work today”.

I found a little café called “Web and Wine” – a combination wine bar and Internet café. It was too early for wine, but I stopped in and ate lunch, while using the first reliable Internet connection I’ve had here.

It was looking like the rain had eased up, so I drove back to the hotel, thinking I might be able to ride. As I was getting ready, it started to come down hard again. Finally, with about 2 hours of daylight left, the rain seemed to let up. I put on as many warm clothes as I had and rode in the drizzle, eventually becoming completely wet. I did find an insanely steep climb just around the corner from the hotel that goes up to Castagneto Carducci. Even more insane was the number of cars that were using it.

I did come to appreciate the best thing about the rain. Next morning, when it had stopped and the sun had come out again, things were even greener than they were the day before. I'm sure the grape and olive farmers were happy.

Hot springs and vino

If I could, I would ride every day. But I know that you need rest days too. My body was sore in odd places from riding a strange bike, so when I read in my guide book about some hot springs not too far from here, it seemed a good idea for a rest day.

I decided to head for a town called Bagno Vignoni. It looked to be a 2-hour drive, and was also not far from Montalcino, which is known for a particular type of very good wine (Brunello) produced only in that region.

Arriving in Bagno Vignoni, I was surprised to find an extremely charming, very small town, mostly deserted at this time of year. There is a large pool in the town center, surrounded by old stone buildings. They don’t allow bathing in the pool anymore – I can imagine it would make the town center a mess, especially during the high season.

To use the hot springs, you must go to the local hotel (and pay), where the hot water flows into a large pool. Just like the rest of town, the pool was mostly deserted. The water was very hot where it poured into the pool, and then a little cooler farther away. I soaked for a while and enjoyed the views out over the valley.


I left to eat lunch, outside at a small restaurant just in view of old pool. I had an excellent meal of polenta baked with cheeses and tomatoes, and broiled pork tenderloin wrapped in pancetta and served with olive oil and balsamic vinegar – simple but made very well.

After lunch I came back to the pool and soaked for another hour. It was incredibly quiet and peaceful. I felt as though I had been extremely lucky in finding this place, at this time of year, without any of the tourist crowds that are surely here in summer.


On the way back home I stopped in Montalcino and sampled the wine at one of the many wine bars. Being so relaxed, I couldn’t resist paying way too much for a bottle of one of the good Brunellos – something I wouldn't do under normal circumstances. I may have to ditch some clothes to make sure there is room in my suitcase for a well-protected bottle of wine.

Cycling paradise

This is a great area for cyclists. It hurts me to say this, but in terms of enjoyment I think my first three rides here equaled 7 months of riding in Germany.

The roads are mostly quiet and the scenery is beautiful – I have to resist the urge to stop every few miles to take pictures. There are lots of hills, some difficult but also many that are long but with a gentle grade. You can ride all day without seeing a traffic light. And then there is the food at the end of the ride.

Apparently other people think this way too. There are 3 different teams staying at my hotel: 2 junior teams from Italy, and a group from Südtirol – a region with parts in both Italy and Austria.


Paolo Bettini, who won the World Championship road race back in September, comes from La California which is just a few kilometers from here. You can see his picture on a road sign as you come into town.


Every day I’ve seen large teams out on the road training. They’ll be riding in a big group, with a team car following, taking up the entire lane on the road. But the other drivers don’t seem bothered. Other times I’ve seen teams out motor pacing, where riders will be following closely behind the car, which is normally driving 25mph or more.

It’s not hard to understand how Italy ranks as one of the top countries in international cycling. Seeing 2 junior teams here training – with team managers, sponsors, cars, and bikes – it’s apparent that there is a good support system. But it’s even more telling that they can train on the roads without drivers (or police) giving them a hard time. It seems they’re actually encouraged to be out on the roads.

I’m reminded of the time when 3 of us were pulled over by the police on a quiet Sunday morning, on a quiet country road, because we were riding 2 abreast and had delayed the local mayor for about 5 seconds.

Out riding the other day, one of the teams passed me, and I took it as an opportunity to get some free training. They were doing an exercise where guys were going out around the team car, one by one, then catching up to the guys ahead. I made a big effort and caught up to the car, then rode behind it for a while after the driver waved at me. Then I went around the car and caught up to the tail end of the group.

The car pulled ahead then turned around to go back for a few guys who had been left behind. The driver waved again as he passed. The group turned around too, while I was faced with a 4km climb up to one of the towns on my way back to the hotel. I just kept thinking: more free calories for dinner.

A normal day in Italy

My first encounter in Italy goes like this: I walk up to the rental car desk to pick up my car. After messing with the computer the guy says the software is not working, and he will have to do everything by hand. When the time comes to get the credit card authorization, no one will answer the phone. “No one wants to work here”, he sighs. There is a sign on the window that says to throw the keys on the floor if no one is there.

This says so much about how different Italy seems compared to Germany (or the U.S. for that matter).

My car is missing a hubcap, the clutch pedal squeaks every time it’s pressed, and the seatbelt indicator beeps even though the belt is fastened.

Right away I notice the difference in driving: lack of turn signal usage, passing without regard to road markings that disallow it, edging the car out into traffic and leaving it there though oncoming traffic must swerve.

I’m reminded again that the afternoon siesta is very much honored – with many stores and businesses closing somewhere between 1:30 – 3:30.

I’d made some arrangements to rent a bike – I hoped. After a brief phone conversation 2 weeks earlier, I hadn’t been able to reach the bike shop. The phone number appeared to no longer work and emails went unanswered. I was a little worried,

On my way to the hotel I stop by the bike shop. It’s being remodeled and is completely gutted. But the owner happens to be there watching the work, and says he can bring me a bike later in the afternoon. I pick up the bike, a very nice Colnago -- not something you’d normally see for a rental. I don’t fill out any forms, sign anything, or give a deposit. I guess that means I can take it home with me.

I’m thinking of two very different books I’ve read about Italy: “Under The Tuscan Sun”, by Francis Mayes, and “Italian Neighbors”, by Tim Parks. While the first is more poetic (ignore that it was made into a bad film), Tim Parks’ book captures so much more of how things are -- the absurdity, chaos, contradiction, and at the same time the importance of stopping to enjoy life. (Parks also wrote a very enjoyable book, “A Season with Verona”, about a season spent with other fans – often quite obnoxious -- supporting the Verona soccer team.)

This trip I think is a good transition to life in the U.S. I’ll try to take some piece of it back with me.

Tuscan vacation

I take back what I said about wanting to live in Girona. I really want to live in Tuscany.

I wanted to take a little vacation at the end of my stay in Germany – somewhere I could spend a week or so riding. After visiting Girona, I thought it would be there. Then I went to France, and the food was so good I thought maybe that would be the place.

But I hadn’t been to Italy since I’ve been here, and had never been to Tuscany. Riding and eating in Tuscany had a nice sound to it.

About a month ago I read where the Lampre professional cycling team held a training camp in a place called Castagneto Carducci (shown in the picture above). I figured if this was where they chose to hold a camp, then the area must be good for riding. Without much more than that to go on, I found a hotel that seemed to cater to cyclists, and booked a cheap flight to Pisa.

It was a good decision.

The area is beautiful – green and lush even in early March. The roads seem quiet. There are vineyards and olive groves everywhere – meaning there is locally produced wine and olive oil. Some initial sampling indicates both are very good.

I now have to make sure I put in enough kilometers in the saddle to make up for the calories I’m sure to take in.

Leaving Oberkassel

I had one last work meeting, 2 hours away in Frankfurt. This meeting was with a group of engineers from different companies, part of an ongoing series we’ve been doing for the last couple of years.

We had met in May, when I was here looking at apartments, then again in September. With a common event such as this to compare, I can gauge how far my German has progressed: not quite as much as I’d hoped, but more than I had feared.

Last May, I struggled to keep up with even simple conversations, and fumbled with trying to say things. This time I was able to carry on a conversation, talking with one guy about his recent skiing trip to Italy, telling him how I was going there also, to do some cycling. I made a joke when he asked if my wife was coming. I said no, I was taking my other wife -- mein Fahrrad (bicycle).

I had an early flight the next morning, and thought about staying in a hotel near the airport. But I wanted to have one last night in Oberkassel. I walked to the grocery and bought some Rostbratwurst that I could cook on the small electric grill I had bought. This was one of the little things that made me feel at home when I first got here.

The movers had come the previous day to pack up all my things. The apartment seemed empty and more like a hotel room than somewhere I had lived. It was good to come back and see it not as mine anymore.

Anxious about waking up on time for the early flight, I couldn’t sleep. So finally I just got up at 3:30 AM and made coffee. I went through the apartment yet again, somewhat obsessive-compulsively, to make sure I hadn’t left anything. In a nightstand drawer I found a money-pouch I had brought with about $50 and a few blank personal checks from home.

Finally I unhooked the apartment key from my key ring and left it on the counter. My car was parked right in front of the apartment – the night before the parking gods had smiled on me and left that space open. I drove off for the last time, leaving Oberkassel over the Rheinkniebrücke.