Monday, February 06, 2006

A Feast for the Princess that I am

Chirstmas Eve—not Christmas Day, in Germany is the big day of celebration, and that night, my hotel was only serving guests a special holiday meal—nothing à la carte nor room service (as they were running a skeleton crew).
Now, this backpacker brings only essentials when traveling the world, and when traveling by myself, I don’t go places that necessitate nice clothing. Thankfully, I was able to dress up jeans and a black t-shirt with a corduroy blazer, scarf, and a pair of burgundy kitten-heeled ballet slippers I had just bought in Berlin. It wasn’t anything like the fur and leather* on display in the dining room, but was much better than my soon to be retired Pumas. Alone, I was hopping for a small table in a back corner, or perhaps, at a table of other mish-mash diners: I was seated at my own booth in the dead center of the dining room. Now, I have an amazing ability to completely zone out, and move into my own little world, but warding off stares from fellow diners proved too difficult, and I was not able to enjoy myself as much as I would’ve liked. So, I ordered a carafe of wine J.
Then, as if the evening had not been humiliating enough, the host asked me if I wouldn’t mind sharing my table with a few late-to-check-in guests. “Sure,” I grumbled drinking more wine. Enter a young Japanese couple. He spoke English and she understood it, and we exchanged a few pleasantries. Overhearing from the next table, a middle-aged Irish couple joined in, and the five of us passed the rest of the remaining two courses making fun of the French (regardless of the fact that there was a French couple sitting right behind me), and how, for the Japanese, at Christmastime, it is tradition to eat Kentucky Fried Chicken. *shrug* Richard and Mary (the Irish couple) live near the Black Forest while she finishes her doctorate in German History. They were affable and offered me lots of tips on Rothenburg and the surrounding area (they spend every Christmas here). I will see them several times throughout the next several days.
The 5-course dinner, 35 centiliters of the house red, and a bottle of table water (because, like France, tap-water doesn’t exist in Germany) cost me just a little under 60 euros, and was worth every cent. I retired to my room and watched Christmas Eve celebrations being televised from all over the country.

*What is it with European women—okay, the men too, pouring themselves into leather pants (I saw someone in a unitard—that was… um, er… disturbing: it zipped up from the ankle to the chin)? These women tend to be much to old to sport the second skin look, and adding a fur hat to your head? It doesn’t make you look fashionable or rich. Just tacky.


Blogger exMI said...

Is KFC their personal tradition or a national pastime?

6:45 PM  
Blogger UrbanCannibal said...

:) Hey Dollface, nice to have you back

1:38 AM  
Blogger Serena said...

National Pastime, I'm afraid!

7:17 PM  

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