Prague, Czech Republic

Photo credit: lonelyplanet.com

As I write this post, I'm sitting in one of the gardens of the Alhambra, where the sun is shining and it's warm enough to not need a coat. Prague already seems like so long ago, but it was only about two weeks ago that we boarded a bus to trek from Germany to the Czech Republic. And thus started my favorite leg of our journey.

At some point during that bus ride, I was startled awake by the bus driver making an announcement in German or Czech, I don't even know which, as we pulled off the highway. The only word I could figure out was "police." So I immediately figured that there was some runaway on the bus and things were about to get exciting. But to my dismay, the police only wanted to check all our passports. At least I assume that was the reason. As none of the girls on the trip spoke any of the languages of any of the countries we went to, a lot of times we just played the guessing game.

Hours later, we arrived in Prague.

A panorama of the Old Town Square.

1. The city

Prague is absolutely gorgeous. The buildings are colorful, old and very intact, and the reason for the latter is quite interesting: Prague was Hitler's favorite city, and he told his soldiers not to damage the city because he wanted to visit it after the war. Therefore, while many other major cities in Europe have been rebuilt with many modern buildings alongside older buildings that do look a little damaged, Prague is still very old and traditional.

The astronomical clock in the Old Town Square.

2. The Art Hole

We were all a little weary about this hostel because of its name, but it turned out to be a fantastic place to stay. I don't have much experience with hostels, but I'd still be willing to bet that this is one of the best hostels out there. It had everything: friendly staff, great location, free breakfast, family dinners, large rooms with common areas and a great atmosphere. This was the only hostel we stayed in where it was very easy to meet and make friends with the other travelers staying there.

One of the colorful kitchens in the Art Hole.

3. Chris the tour guide

OK. This may be my only complaint about Prague. Granted, all the city tours we took were free (although a tip was expected at the end), but this guy was a little hard to bear. I surmise that Chris was a theater major, because he treated the entire tour like he was on stage, complete with elaborate gestures, huge fluctuations in voice and he even acted out the Astronomical Clock's "show" that happens on the hour. Most of these antics were met with silence, or a few sympathetic chuckles. But even though it was kind of a painful tour, the awkwardness was a little amusing.

Chris and his unforgettable strut.

4. Mozart

I love classical music, and I was really excited for the Vienna portion of this trip because Vienna is a big fine  arts city. But to my surprise, Prague has a lot of musical history as well, specifically relating to Mozart. (I do have to give credit to Chris for enlightening me with that information.) We passed by the Estates Theatre, which is where Mozart premiered his opera "Don Giovanni." It was there that Mozart got a standing ovation for 30 minutes, whereas in his home country, in Vienna, the same opera put the emperor to sleep.

A statue outside the Estates Theatre commemorating the "Don Giovanni" premiere.

A view of the front of the Estates Theatre.

5. Prague pub crawl

So Illinois has bar crawls, and cities here have pub crawls— you pay about €10, which includes some free drinks and free entrance to pubs and clubs. All while having someone leading you from place to place so you don't get lost. It sounds restricting, but it's actually so much fun. What you end up with is a ton of travelers looking to experience the nightlife of the city. Prague's pub crawl ended at a club called "5 Story," which was right along the river. It actually was five stories, with a different theme in each floor.

6. Exploring the city

We had a whole day to do whatever we wanted, so we made our way over to the Prague Castle, where the president of the Czech Republic lives. There, we came across a museum that holds original scores of works by composers such as Beethoven and Mozart. It cost a little more than I wanted to spend, but I've made a mental note to go back there if/when I visit Prague again. 

Later we saw the John Lennon wall, which is basically just a spray-painted wall with a small painting of John Lennon. Here's a little more information if you're curious what John Lennon has to do with Prague... But we had a lot of fun with a mini photo shoot there.

Next stop: Vienna, Austria

Munich, Germany

Photo credit: lonelyplanet.com

It's been a week since Semana Blanca, but now I'm finally getting around to posting about the individual cities we visited. Turns out there is a bit of homework associated with studying abroad, and I've been a little preoccupied.

So, first stop: Munich, Germany

If I had to sum Munich up in two words, I'd describe it as a hidden gem.

Whereas Berlin may be the New York of Germany, I would call Munich the Chicago of Germany. AKA, the quintessential Germany.

The Glockenspiel in Marienplatz.

Here's a snapshot of what we experienced:

1. Foreign McDonalds is an experience, no?

We arrived at our hostel around 11 p.m., and soon after checking in we set out to scavenge for food. The 11 of us ended up walking into a restaurant nearby, and when no one greeted us at the door, we proceeded to seat ourselves. We then started to get weird looks from the bartenders and the hostess yelled at us to come back to the entrance. Maybe that was the first time we realized that a group of 11 American, college-aged girls can't go anywhere unnoticed.

Anyway, once we were sat down and had decided what to eat, the waitress came over and told us that the kitchen was closed and they were only serving drinks. So, feeling like complete idiots, we dashed out of there and into the McDonalds next door. Yes, our first meal was at McDonalds. But we rationalized the decision by saying that we tried somewhere else before, and this alternative was cheaper. Yay euro menu!

2. We're not in Spain anymore...

When we were buying anything or talking to anyone, we kept instinctively saying "sí" and "gracias." It took a little while for us to stop doing this.

3.Viktualienmarkt

We woke up relatively early and headed over to Viktualienmarkt to buy breakfast. This market was amazing. It was a plaza filled with fruit, bread, cheese, vegetables, meat and German trinket stands. I went on the hunt for a Linzer torte, an Austrian pastry that my dad always gets when we're abroad. I also ended up with a couple pears, which semi-satisfied my fruit withdrawal.

Linzer torte. Delicious!

4. A German bachelor's party

Katie and I had a little time to kill before we were going to meet the rest of the girls in Marienplatz after our tour of Dachau, so we decided to find a place to get a good German beer. We eventually came across a small pub that was decked out in what looked like Christmas/Mardi Gras decorations. So, we walked out of the 4 p.m. daylight and right into a rowdy bachelor's party. We were immediately approached by two slightly intoxicated men, one who was 35 but looked 20, and the other looked about 50 years old. Let's call the 35 year old John (I forget his real name). Anyway, John was wearing this ridiculous hat (see picture — no need for explanation) and after Katie and I got ourselves some sort of beer, he started dancing with me and twirling me around this crowded pub. I felt so out of place in my hiking shoes and coat and scarf still on, but nonetheless, it was still a weird, good time. After the 50 year old asked Katie for her email address (no joke), we decided it was time to leave.

5. Hofbräuhaus

This place was downright fantastic. Founded in 1589 and frequented by Mozart and Hitler alike, this huge beer hall can hold thousands of people. On our search for a table, we met Morgan, an American studying in Berlin who was on a solo trip to Munich. We invited her to eat with us and eventually slid into a recently vacated booth right in the middle of all the action of the hall.

After much contemplation, we all decided to order the €7, 1-liter mugs of beer. (However, we kind of cheated and got the Radler, which is a combination of beer and lemonade. Sounds strange, but it was DELICIOUS.) I also ordered a white sausage with potatoes, and that was one of the best meals I've ever had. My mouth is watering right now just thinking about it.

There was a German polka band playing on a nearby stage and at least a dozen times while we were there it played what I think was part of the German national anthem, and people all around the hall sang along. We all just sang the pitches and soaked up the amazing atmosphere.

Prost!

Next up: Prague, Czech Republic!

Dachau concentration camp

Something that has always intrigued me about the Holocaust is that it really did not happen that long ago.

Within a lifetime from today, people were capable of such atrocities and others were tortured by those victimizers.

But, our tour guide pointed out that the Holocaust was not the worst genocide in history. And concentration camps exist in some form or another in most countries in the world. Guantanamo Bay is a form of a concentration camp.

Even so, visiting the Dachau Concentration Camp, which is about 20 minutes outside Munich, Germany, was a chilling experience.

Entrance to Dachau.

I've read so many books about the Holocaust, learned bits about it in so many classes and I have visited the Holocaust Memorial Museum in Washington, D.C. But seeing an actual camp in person is the best education there is.

As I'm writing this post, I'm having trouble finding adjectives that accurately and appropriately describe this experience. It wasn't a fun experience, it wasn't an amazing experience. All of the adjectives that I'm used to using to describe my travels don't suffice here. Probably the two most fitting words are "interesting" and "important."

Before we entered the camp, our guide gave us a brief history of the war and German history. What I find extremely interesting is that Germany is a young nation (formed in 1871) with a stained history. It has lost two world wars and carried out an atrocious genocide. For this reason, Germans do not fly German flags, unless it is the day of a German soccer game. German students are required to visit two concentration camps before they graduate from high school. Thus, Germans are very aware of their history. But this isn't to say they are ashamed to be German. They just have a different form of national pride — one that is focused on the future.

Dachau opened in 1933, and it was the first Nazi concentration camp in Germany. When we approached the gates to the camp, we immediately saw the phrase built into the gate: "Arbeit macht frei," or "Work makes you free." At the beginning of the concentration camps (which, by the way, existed years before WWII officially started), this phrase meant that by working, you could be set free. But as the war progressed, this phrase took on a more warped meaning: Work leads to death, and in death, there is freedom.

"Work makes you free."

Once inside, we toured the main quarters, where the offices and kitchens were, a building used for torture, the dormitories, and lastly, the crematorium and the gas chambers. In the building where prisoners were taken initially to exchange their civilian clothing for the white- and blue-striped uniforms, a phrase painted on the wall teased the prisoners: "Rauchen verboten," translating to "Smoking forbidden." But at this point, the prisoners had absolutely no belongings. Everything they cared for had been stripped from them, so there was no way to smoke even if they had wanted to. This same type of psychological torture was used in the dormitories, where each bed had a shelf. However, the prisoners didn't own anything that they could put on the shelf. It was a constant reminder that they had nothing.

"Smoking forbidden." A tease to the prisoners, who had no personal belongings.

Outside, we looked at two monuments. The first was a metal sculpture of bodies entangled in electric wire. This sounds like a morbid sculpture, and it is, but its meaning transcends basic levels of comprehension. When working in the concentration camps, prisoners knew they could die at any time. For example, prisoners were forbidden to step on the grass surrounding the outskirts of the camp, and officers liked to play a game of throwing the prisoners' caps onto the grass. If the prisoners went to get their caps, they were shot for stepping on the grass. If they ignored the orders from the officers to get their caps, they were shot for disobeying. This, along with countless other cruel tactics, put prisoners' lives in the hands of the officers. Thus, one way for the prisoners to make a decision of their own — to have some sort of humanity — was to decide when to die and to do it themselves. So, many threw themselves onto the electric wire. And with that, they felt they died with some slice of dignity and defiance.

A memorial ironically depicting some prisoners' displays of dignity.

The other memorial was considered controversial, and it was one that was designed by survivors. This memorial features a collage of colored triangles, which represented the triangles on prisoners' uniforms that signified what type of prisoner they were (political prisoner, Jew, gypsy, homosexual, criminal, et cetera). However, two colors are excluded from the monument: pink and green. Pink denotes homosexuals and green denotes criminals. After the war, homosexuals were still not accepted in society. And during the war, those criminals who were the most sadist were allowed to join the ranks of the officers so they could conjure up methods of torture.

A memorial created by surviving prisoners.

This was a very somber trip, but something that I think was very worthwhile. I am half-German and have always been curious about the history of my heritage. I am glad to have been able to witness first-hand this dark part of German history, but to also learn from our tour guide that this part of history is not brushed over in German history classes. If you find yourself in Germany or Poland, or any place where you can tour any form of a concentration camp, I suggest doing so. Seeing these pictures and learning about the camps from books is one thing, but being there and feeling so many emotions wash over you is another.

It is the best way for future generations to help ensure that no form of genocide should happen again.

Beds in the third phase of the war, when Dachau held the most prisoners.

All original dormitories were destroyed after the war, but two were rebuilt. These plots show where the others stood.

Inside the gas chamber.

Outside the gas chamber.

10 things I learned from Central Europe

Photo credit: pubquizreference.co.uk

Traveling for the past nine days  in Munich, Prague, Vienna and Budapest has been something unlike anything I've experienced before. It's the first Euro trip I've taken without my family or with an organized group — and that in itself accounts for some of the amazing and crazy experiences our group of 11 girls had.

Schönbrunn Palace, Vienna

I'll be writing many posts from this trip because I already can't stop thinking or talking about it, but I'll dedicate this post to things the various things I learned from the trip.

1. I am so fortunate to speak English as a native language.

English seems to be the common language of the world, or at least in Europe. We met so many people from all over the globe and we were able to communicate with all of them because everyone knew at least a little bit of English.

2. The currency in the Czech Republic is called crowns, not Czechs.

But after a day of calling it the wrong thing, it's too late to turn back.

3. Italian men can, and will, buy you food and give you mementoes. Or maybe that's just Fabio.

After the Prague pub crawl, our new friend Fabio from Sicily bought us all sausages as we wandered the streets, trying to figure out how to get back to our hostel at 3 a.m. And once we made it back, Fabio insisted that I keep his scarf so I can remember him. He also taught us a great Italian drinking song at the beginning of the night ("Bevilo tutto, bevilo tutto...").

4. Hostels are the best way to travel.

Tip when booking hostels: Find the small-name hostels. Our favorite hostel was called the Art Hole (many jokes came out of this name) in Prague. It's not a chain, and it's this tiny place with artwork covering all the walls. It serves a family dinner for €2, and breakfast is free. And we paid about €6 euro per night to stay there! My group of five stayed in an 8-person room, so new people were always moving in. We first met a couple of German girls, and then two guys from Russia and Brazil moved in. We invited Denis, from Russia, to dinner one night. He had taught himself English, so we could comminicate, but there were times we could tell he had so much to say, but he just didn't have the words in English to express himself. We could really relate to this, as we feel exactly the same way in Spain.

Our room in the Art Hole, plus our new friend, Denis!

5. Hungarians are extremely friendly and helpful.

On multiple occasions in Budapest, we had people come up to us and ask if we needed help. At first we were suspicious of this, thinking that maybe they would ask for something in exchange for their help. But they genuinely just wanted to guide us, which was so kind and much appreciated.

6. Always check for toilet paper before you go to the bathroom. Always.

At the clubs in Prague, for example, there was a lady sitting outside the bathrooms with a roll of toilet paper. So in front of everyone, you tear off your sheets and proceed to go do your business.

7. There's really no such thing as complementary food. If you're not sure, ask.

In Prague, we were charged for a basket of bread that the waiter automatically brought to us. We didn't order it, and he didn't ask us if we wanted it. In Vienna, we made sure to ask if the water that the waiter brought with our cakes was free. And this time, to our surprise and joy, it was free. 

8. You can survive for nine days with two outfits.

It's not pretty, and chances are your clothes will end up full of smoke since smoking is not banned in restaurants and bars in Europe, but hey, it all fits in your backpack.

9. Do talk to strangers.

You open yourself to so many new people and experiences when you aren't afraid to just open your mouth and say, "Hi, where are you from?" Whether it is in the "Wombar" at the Wombats hostel in Vienna, in a ruins bar in Budapest, at the Mozarthaus in Vienna or at the Hofbräuhaus in Munich, there is nothing to lose and everything to gain.

10. Traveling is expensive, but worth every penny.

Traveling and meeting new people is invigorating, eye-opening and one of the best feelings in the world. We met so many world travelers doing similar routes as we were, or who were about to hop over to Thailand just for the heck of it. If everyone were able to travel, I think we would live in a much more open and accepting world.

Chain Bridge, Budapest

In response to the Super Bowl Coca-Cola ad: E pluribus unum

Something I have always loved about the United States is that you can walk down a city street and see people of all colors and languages — but these variances are not due to different nationalities, for many are indeed American — just with different heritages. There is no "typical American."

These variances show in my own family — my mom's mom grew up in Denmark but has lived in the United States for most of her life. My uncle married a Chinese woman. My aunt and uncle adopted a son and daughter with Latin-American roots.

In Spain, I've done an about-face, because most everyone looks similar, more or less. While there are locals here who don't fit in the typical Spanish mold, many foreigners stick out like sore thumbs. 

These sentiments added to my lack of comprehension over the anger that the Super Bowl Coca-Cola ad emitted.

For those that haven't heard the hype, this ad featured the song "America the Beautiful" sung in many languages.

The response?

People were furious that the song was sung in anything but English.

These are some of the less offensive responses to the Coca-Cola ad.

I don't know how many people were truly angered over this, or if it was simply the words of the uneducated minority that blew up into a big controversy.

But even so, this anger is not justified. The United States does not have an official language, just as it does not have an official religion. People can and do live their whole lives in the States without learning English. I don't recommend that, since I think it would make traveling difficult, but it is done.

I didn't think the ad was extraordinary, and it didn't make me very emotional, but nevertheless, I think the message it sent is beautiful.

The United States is a country made for and composed of all types of people. And Coca-Cola wanted to embrace that, and sell some Cokes along the way. OK, maybe a lot of Cokes.

Being abroad has really made me appreciate the United States for what it is. Yes, it has problems, but every country does. The mere size of the United States accounts for a lot of these problems too.

Diversity should not be given the cold shoulder, as it is the only thing that can truly expand your worldview and your sense of self.

Homesickness

The fact that I'm pretty much leading a completely different life here in Spain is kind of throwing me for a loop.

I'm comparing my current life to the past few semesters at the University of Illinois, where my schedule was basically planned down to the half hour. Between classes, work, The Daily Illini and the Marching Illini, I felt I had a purpose every hour of the day.

Here in Spain, I'm taking 15 credit hours, which is usually what I try to take at Illinois. But I don't have a job. I'm not spending hours at the DI — instead, I write these blog posts. I haven't played my flute since my concert band's performance last semester, which is the longest I've gone without playing for as long as I can remember.

Monday through Thursday, I have a class from 9-10:30. Then, my next class is not until 4:30, and on Wednesday, it's not till 6:30. That's a whole lot of free time.

You may ask, "Why not explore Granada??" And I really wish I could. But, like I recently lamented on Facebook, I have absolutely no sense of direction. There's no internal map that tells me to turn right or left at the bajillionth plaza I come across. I'm convinced that the only reason I can be a tour guide at Illinois is because campus is literally a grid. But here in Granada, you can be walking on a street and continue straight at an intersection on what you think is the same street, but then you eventually look up at the street sign (which, by the way, are these tiny plaques on the side of buildings) and it's a completely different street. So there's that.

It's those times that I don't have a purpose — times where I don't have anything planned to do — that I start to feel homesick. So far, I've always been in my host family's apartment when those feelings happen. I'm not used to not having my own living space, especially after living for two and a half years on my own at college. And when I'm at home in Downers Grove, I know what I can and cannot do, and I feel completely comfortable.

Here, it's sometimes a guessing game. Can I just grab an orange from the fruit basket? How much time should I spend socializing with my señora? Where is the toilet paper stored? Did my señora really just offer me liver?

All these unknowns are tiring and result in feelings of loneliness. So, I turn to things that remind me of home.

I'll play classical music that I've played in orchestra before ("Pines of Rome" always does the trick). I'll munch on sweet and salty snacks (snacking really isn't a thing here). Recently the Wifi connection has been strong enough so that I can catch up on a few episodes of Downton Abbey, a T.V. show that my mom and I love to watch together at home. Even seeing Obama on T.V. is comforting, and I try to listen to his voice under the louder Spanish translation (desperate, I know). Facebook is great (well, my newsfeed isn't great until the afternoon here, when y'all finally wake up) for catching up with friends and family back home. Even though I'm sad I'm missing things on campus, I like seeing pictures and statuses from friends at Illinois. And I can always count on some off-the-wall comment from my Mormor on the pictures I post. (Aunt Anne and mom, you're in there too!)

Also, I've been going on runs with one of my host sister's friends, and he shows me areas of the city and even outside the city that I wouldn't be able to see on my own. He likes to practice his English as we run, so we have a Spanish/English jumble of a conversation as we (well, mainly I) huff on.

As much as I try, I don't think I'll ever get completely used to this feeling of not having a purpose because I've never been able to handle too much free time. I'm like a Border Collie that has to be exercised a lot or else it goes a little insane.

But I'm hoping that I'll get better at combating these feelings and in the meantime, make sure my schedule stays pretty full of things to do!

Skiing in the Sierra Nevadas

I thanked my parents on Facebook yesterday for insisting that I take ski school at Steamboat, Colo., "when I was in middle school and in level 2 with all the 5 year olds."

Why? Because ski school started my love of skiing, it taught me how to ski properly and it made my experience skiing in the Sierra Nevadas yesterday amazing.

The ski base of the Sierra Nevada Mountains is an hour bus ride away from Granada. I went with a group of about 10 students from Cegri. Promotional materials for the mountain boasted a season in which 80 percent of the days are sunny, which is why I was skeptical when we loaded the bus and started to ascend into the mountains while rain fell and the sky was completely overcast.

When we reached the base at 9 a.m., we bee lined to the lift pass line and ended up paying 16€ more than we thought for the pass. (This tends to happen a lot when trying to navigate Spanish websites.) But this didn’t faze us because, after all, we were about to go skiing — in Europe!

Then we set out to find Ski Sol, a shop where we could rent our skis and boots and get a student discount. But every worker we questioned had no idea what Ski Sol was. We decided that maybe it was farther up the mountain, so four of us loaded onto the gondola. A ski school instructor got on the gondola with us, so we asked him where Ski Sol was. And of course, he said it was indeed at the base. But we didn’t turn back, since we were all itching to get on a run as soon as possible.

After we rented our skis at a shop that wasn’t too much more expensive than Ski Sol, we were greeted by a blizzard outside. We made our way up one lift, at the top of which were even more white-out conditions. I had packed goggles and snow pants with me to Spain, but the three other girls hadn’t. Elizabeth had sunglasses, which shielded her eyes a little bit, but Tori and Lizzy had to squint their way down the run. But even with goggles, I could not see where I was going. Literally, everything was white. I’d be moving, but I had no idea if the run was getting steeper, if it was a catwalk or if I was going up a hill. The only other time I'd skied in white-out conditions was in Jackson Hole, Wyo., but even that wasn't as bad. As we slowly made our way down, we eventually heard music, which meant that we must be near the end of the run! Elizabeth, Tori and Lizzy decided that they needed to rent goggles, which were at the base, so I went on another run by myself and then bought ski mittens because my thin liners were not sufficing. We were winter skiing, after all!

Morning white-out conditions.

 But eventually, maybe it was around noon, everything cleared up. The sun came out, the sky was blue and we could actually see the mountain. We had said before that if it didn’t clear up, we would have no idea if the mountain or if the view from the mountain was beautiful. But alas, it was gorgeous. And we could see where we were skiing! It’s amazing how that makes skiing so much more enjoyable.

However, there were a lot more people on the runs then. Perhaps the locals know not to get to the mountain too early, or else risk their lives. Even so, it seemed like most everyone didn’t know how to ski properly. People were zooming by, out of control, falling all the time, while others looked very insecure in their skiing abilities. For once, we felt like the big (wo)men on the mountain.

There were hardly any trees on the mountain, so we could clearly see all the ski runs.

Soon we decided it was too crowded where we were, so we ventured farther to the right on the mountain, where we found more difficult runs. We approached one run that had a net that warned the run was only for experts. But the run was only a black and didn't look like the blacks in the United States, so we took it, and it ended up being our favorite run! I'd say it was the equivalent of a difficult blue out west in the United States, and the powder was great. If you're not familiar with skiing, the type of snow can really make or break a run. If you can hear ice scraping under your skis when you turn, that's bad snow. But when you can see snow fly out behind you when you turn, that's amazing snow.

Tori and I — so happy that we can see!

After lunch (in which we ate the bocadillos our señoras had made us outside in the lovely sun), we came across a red run. I've never seen a red run before, but in the Sierra Nevadas, the difficulty level is between a blue and a black. I decided to take it, even though it wasn't really clear where the run was. In the United States, runs and very clearly labeled, but here, everything was ambiguous. Sometimes there were colorful poles stuck in the ground that denoted the difficulty level of the run you were on, so we followed the red poles. But soon we found ourselves on almost a vertical drop, with rocks jutting out everywhere. Great idea, Kirsten. There was a narrow area of snow with rocks on either side. I debated trying it, but decided that I wouldn't be able to make turns quick enough to control my speed and at the same time not hit the rocks.  Tori decided to traverse across the run (though I don't think we were on an actual run anymore). But Lizzy decided she would crawl it, so I took her skis in my arms and she took my poles. Elizabeth, in the meantime, was trying to turn around but took a tumble and almost rolled off the cliff. And that's really not an exaggeration.  We slowly made our way across, and Lizzy eventually just slid down on her butt. I found this situation oddly exhilarating, and we were able to laugh about it at the bottom when we knew we were all safe. I knew we had all looked like a hot mess though, because everyone on the nearby lift had been staring at us. But that's OK — everyone needs something to talk about on the lift rides.

At the end of the day, we turned in our equipment, which was basically a free for all. I compare it to trying to buy a drink at Firehaus on a Wednesday night when there are a million barcrawls going on. It's basically survival of the fittest, and no chivalry is shown for the ladies. We struggled our way to the front of the line, where huge male snowboarders towered over us and little kids tried to squiggle their way in. We quickly turned our stuff in and got the heck out of there.

After that, it was time for a drink and then the bus home.

We asked for a hot chocolate with Baileys, and we got Baileys with some melted chocolate.

 Despite the weather mishap at the beginning of the day, we all knew we wanted to come back in the spring, when prices are lower and we could maybe make a weekend of it with hiking.

Beautiful views on the bus ride home.

I also decided that I need to marry someone who either a) knows how and loves to ski, b) is willing to learn to ski or at the very least c) won't have a problem with me taking off with the kids to Colorado.

I can't put my finger on what exactly is so addicting about skiing. But the fresh air, the beautiful views, the challenge and the adrenaline rush combined factored into a fantastic day in the Sierra Nevadas.