My New Year’s Eve Day events included getting up early for the three-hour trek to Ellicottville, N.Y., to ski at Holiday Valley.
Just before the sun started setting on our second-to-last run down Mardi Gras, the ski cleared from an ugly gray and cast a warm hue over the hills.
The conversion to the euro in Europe was disappointing to me as a collector of currency. Check out some of my collection in this post: Collecting foreign money.
With the euro, the bills look the same amongst the participating nations and only the coins can be tailored to each country. For instance, Austria has a 1 euro coin with Mozart, Ireland has a coin with a harp and Italy has a coin with the Colosseum. These are nice, but really, I’d prefer a Schilling from Austria or a Lire from Italy.
When I was studying abroad in Salzburg in 2008, I made 
it a point to visit Slovakia before the new year, because on Jan. 1, 2009, Slovakia was introducing the euro, and I wanted some Slovak crowns. Bratislava, the capital of Slovakia, was a short and inexpensive train ride away from Vienna.
I haven’t been back to Slovakia since the currency change, which was much anticipated there. Physically, the country is probably much the same, but the change in currency would have been good for Slovakia’s economy.
Now there is talk of returning to Slovak currency because of the forced bailouts of Greece and Ireland.
Other recent members of the European Union, like Romania, Poland, Hungary and the Czech Republic have not yet adopted the euro, and when adopting the euro means paying for economic recovery and government bailouts, it isn’t likely going to be a top priority.
In an AP story called “Euro turns to problem for Eastern Europe,” the author explains the anti-EU feelings many countries, including Slovakia are having.
“But anti-euro sentiment remains strong in a country that defied its partners earlier this year by refusing to provide its 800 million ($1.05 billion) share of the 110 billion ($145 billion) EU bailout loan for Greece.
“… With euro-skepticism extending into the
top levels of government, Slovakia is among the most vocal of nations pressing for new rules that would force private investors, not only taxpayers, to pay their share. Under discussion is a so-called European Stability Mechanism, which would force private creditors to do just that by allotting them a share of the bailout burden if a nation is deemed insolvent.”
This skepticism isn’t new. I spent a lot of time in my political science class in Salzburg learning about the EU, how it functions and why some countries, notably Norway, don’t want to join the group or don’t want to give up their currency, like the United Kingdom.
I’m quite interested to see what happens with Slovakia and the other countries of Eastern Europe that are EU members or trying to become members.
But whatever happens, the currency collector in me can relax a bit, because I have at least one more year to get currency from the Eastern European countries that I am missing.
I can easily spend an hour or two agonizing over 
flight times, connection airports and the length of the layover there, and of course, the price.
I live just under two hours from the Detroit airport and just about two hours from Cleveland Hopkins. Toledo Express is about an hour away.
Toledo, without a doubt, is the closest and has the cheapest parking and the shortest security lines, but flights aren’t always so convenient there. Detroit Metro and Cleveland go back and forth in prices, but parking prices are really different. Parking at the main Delta terminal at Detroit costs $20 a day and parking at the North Terminal is $10 per day, though there is a shuttle available between the two. At Cleveland, parking is $10 per day or $8 per day in the economy lot.
All of these locations give me a variety of choices, but really, they sometimes are a hindrance.
When I search for flights, I use SideStep and have to search Southwest directly.
When I recently searched for a flight to Salt Lake City, lights from Toledo were just too expensive and had terrible connections, so I couldn’t even consider them. Out of the other
flights available, a Frontier flight from Detroit through Denver with a 30 minute layover was the cheapest. I flew through Denver on the way to San Francisco in October, and I was worried about such a short layover there, especially coming from Detroit in the middle of winter trying to get on the last flight to SLC of the day. After checking the airport terminal map, I was able to tell that the Frontier terminal was smaller than the main Continental/United terminal I was in for the October flight and I decided that there would be enough time to get to my connecting flight.
On the return from my West Coast trip I flew through Houston and turned down a flight with a 30 minute layover because I thought the gates would be too far apart from each other. I was able to pick an earlier flight with a longer connection time for the same price to ease my worries, which turned out to be accurate. I timed my hike between gates, and I don’t think there was any possible way I could have made it.
With my SLC plans, none of the other flights to and from SLC gave me the most time there or the best price. The direct flights from Detroit to SLC were much more expensive and the parking with the least hassle for that flight is the expensive McNamara parking. The Southwest flights were the next best in price, but had connections through Chicago, which I wouldn’t mind any time of the year other than winter.
So in the end, I picked that Frontier flight. I’m still not comfortable with the layover time, but it met more of my requirements than any other flights. I was able to get an aisle seat pretty close to the front of the plane, as well, which was the best I could do to console myself.
My worries about connection times come from a few near misses.
In March 2006 I went to Paris for a conference and the group arrived at Charles DeGaulle Airport with plenty of time to make our flight. But then there were all sorts of holdups at the ticket counter, including the staff serving people at the end of the line before the people in the middle. I remember standing there for an hour or so in the que before reaching the counter. By the time we made it, the chaperones had left this group of four students for the flight and boarding time was rapidly approaching. Once we got our tickets, there fortunately was a short security line, but someone from the group had to be searched. Once we all made it through I remember running through the terminal singing “Run, Run Rudolph,” the song the McCallisters run through the airport to in “Home Alone.”
This happened again in Amsterdam this spring when my flight from Munich was late and I had to make it to my flight to the States. I had so looked forward to some shopping time at Schiphol, but that was elusive in my quest to make it to my flight on time. When I realized I had to go through security in the airport because I was leaving the European Union I panicked. I found an airport employee and breathlessly explained my situation and I was escorted to the front of the line.
Flying makes me nervous enough in the first place (after the plane is airborne I can relax) that I don’t need anything else to worry about while in an airplane.
How do you select flights? Have you ever missed a connection?
The Vienna Rathaus (city hall) was absolutely stunning all lit up.
The Christmas markets of Austria and neighboring countries were so pleasant and memorable. Walking around with all the lights, wares, smells and music was just amazing.
I went to the Salzburg markets as often as I could, whether it was to drink some Glühwein (mulled wine) or purchase a delectable snack or present. When there was snow it was that much better.
I spent a little over nine months in Salzburg, taking thousands of pictures from my travels as far west as Dublin and as far east as Romania and Greece and everywhere in between.
After agonizing for a week or so after my return to the States in July 2009 over which pictures to print, I settled on 700 or so. My epic scrapbooking plans began after that, with a goal of finishing the book by July 2010.
Two books, a couple rolls of picture tape, arm-lengths of ribbon and 120 pages later (and 17-and-a-half months later), I finished my scrapbooks. I was half a year behind schedule, but I finished.
It was quite a relief to finish, mostly because I have other projects waiting. But I did enjoy all the time working on this, even though I suffered through hours of my left leg falling asleep. I really like being crafty, and this was a perfect outlet.
Of course, I have a handful of favorite pages, and below, that’s what you’ll find.
The cover page, with me at the Cleveland airport checking in and at some of my favorite places in Salzburg.
Venice, with my favorite sunset, inside the Doge's Palace and some canal shots
Venice, with a couple canals and another sunset
At the Krampuslauf where we got the bad beat out of us by these winter ghost creatures.
On the ferry to Santorini and a sunset over the volcano and caldera.
I took my parents to Mondsee and Hallstatt, two lakeside, picture-perfect Austrian towns.
I was in bulb heaven at Keukenhof Gardens in The Netherlands.
Ljubljana loves to celebrate their history of dragon slaying, so there are dragons all over town.
We went to Mauthausen for the liberation day celebrations, where former prisoners returned for the celebration.
I'd been to the East Side Gallery before, but this time was particularly special because the murals were in the process of being repainted, and on the bottom right, you can see an artist at work.
I've seen the Memorial to the Murderd Jews of Europe in three seasons and with three types of weather, and this late spring sunshine after a storm was lovely.
The Barajul Izvorul Muntelui, near Bicaz, Judetul Neamt, Romania, was quite a happening tourist attraction.
On Lake Izvorul Muntelui, which is the largest artificially created lake in Romania, there is a hotel boat. The dam here creates hydroelectric power. There are beautiful views of the mountains, especially when there is snow.
The dam is not far from my former roommate’s hometown of Piatra-Neamt and was quite a pleasant excursion.
Here’s what the dam looks like:
This fall I received my first postcard from Germany. The card shows the town of St. Goar am Rhein. Interestingly enough, the card was mailed from England by someone registered with Postcrossing in the US. What a journey this postcard had!
My second postcard shows Vancouver, British Columbia. 
The sender lives in Victoria, which is an hour-and-a-half long ferry ride away. I would love to travel to either of those places, especially to see the mountains and learn about the Native Americans.
My trip to Portland, Ore., in October grew into a trip to California as well because I wanted to see the redwoods. In my pictures, I feel like the size and grandeur of the trees isn’t well represented. Jon snapped a few pictures of me at some of the trees, and this shows just how big a redwood is.
The Avenue of the Giants cuts through the park, and about five miles north of the visitor’s center, you’ll find the Founders’ Grove, home of the first tree saved in the park.
The trees here were giant. The night before I had camped under the trees and spending a few hours the next morning admiring their beauty in this part of the park was time well spent. We walked around gazing at the trees and it was definitely one of the most peaceful places I’ve been, even with the drone of Highway 101 in the distance. The trees made everyone quiet and I was glad that they did.
I met the Pacific Ocean for the first time last month. I saw it a day after I arrived in San Francisco, but it was a couple of days later before I got to touch it.
The first part of the Pacific I saw, from the Marin Headlands
Jon and I were spending the night at Gold Bluffs Beach campground, near the Redwood National Park Visitor’s Center in Orick, Calif. Like the campground’s name, there were cliffs at the beach’s edge and I could hear the waves pounding at the coastline, past the grassy knolls where the campsites were.
The view of the ocean from our campsite
The grassy knolls and bluffs shrouded in fog
Jon and I made our way down to the water so that I could touch it. I stuck my hand down on the beach as a light wave approached us, and after my introduction to the Pacific, we moved back a few yards to watch the waves for a bit longer.
I’d read throughout my preparations for this trip to not turn your back on the Pacific, and we didn’t. We had turned sideways, and out of the corner of my eye I see a wave much bigger than the ones previous.
Before I could say anything, the wave was breaking at our knees. I shrieked and we turned to run away from the broiling sea.
We laughed, replaying the scene over and over. Jon had earlier suggested we go for a swim, which I declined because it was mid October. That wave got us wet enough that afterward, a swim, in my mind, definitely wasn’t needed.
My shoes dried the next day because I wore them for our hike in the Tall Trees Grove. My jeans weren’t so lucky, and neither were my socks. This happened on a Wednesday and they weren’t dry four days later, and I bet there is still sand from Gold Bluffs Beach in Jon’s car.
Encounter No. 2 was in Bandon, Ore., about two hours north of the California border. We stayed in a rustic room (more expensive rooms were much less rustic, I’m sure, because there were lots of renovations on the property) at Sunset Oceanfront Lodging, which I would totally recommend.
But we did not stop in Bandon for the hotel, though we could see the ocean from our room. We came for the coastline my guidebooks raved about, and the hotel just happened to be across from a spectacular grouping of sea stacks. (We could see these from our room, too.) These were free to visit with beach access from the hotel property, though there is a state park a mile down the road where there is an entrance fee.
Sea stacks on the beach across from the hotel
We climbed down the stairs on the cliff to the beach, which was strewn with these really strange-looking, tentaclly-like, ocean-growing plants that were many feet long. I wanted to touch them because they looked squishy, but I refrained from doing so. I also wanted to pick one up and swing it around, but I refrained from that, too. (You can check out a video, below, of the beach where you can see these plants strewn across the beach.)
We climbed around on the rocks, and while doing so, with certain waves, the beach on all sides of the rocks would flood and I was worried we would have to wade through pools on the beach. We managed to get off the rock without getting wet, but we didn’t leave the beach without another encounter.
The view from our climb up the rocks
Cedric the gnome with Salzburg at night
Jon was taking pictures of his Yerba Mate jar on the beach (just like I photograph my gnome Cedric) and I was filming a couple clips of the beach. And then, I see another wave. Another really, really big wave. And it’s time to run. Again.
The jar of tea gets left on the beach as we bolt away from the ocean. It’s gaining on us, practically nipping at our heels. And then, we realize we are running out of beach. The bluffs are approaching and the ocean is still coming at us. We climb up a pile of sand with almost no where else to go and the ocean finally ends its pursuit.
I only wanted to love the Pacific Ocean and it really was giving me a run for my money. We did, though, manage to safely turn our backs on the ocean for a photo.
At the beach in Bandon
I again turned down an opportunity to swim in the ocean, because it had already given me enough grief, and this time, it destroyed Jon’s container of tea.
We drove farther north on U.S. Route 101, which runs along the coast for the next couple of hours. We really weren’t in the mood for stopping, because we had other places to go and we enjoyed a lot from the view from the car. We drive past Coos Bay and past the dunes in Florence. Then we approach an area with the (supposedly) most photographed lighthouse in the U.S. My guidebook suggests heading down to an oceanfront park with great views of the lighthouse. It turns out that the great views are from the pulloff on the highway we’d already driven past, though we were able to catch a glimpse before our descent to the viewless beach.
Heceta Head Lightstation State Park, sans lighthouse, of course
Here, at Encounter No. 3 with the Pacific, Jon again asks if I would swim in the ocean with him. I finally acquiesce. We change into our swimsuits in a smelly bathroom and head to the beach.
We hurridly drop our clothes far from the ocean and run full force into the waves. Of course, there are lots of tourists standing around, and I’m sure we added a happy moment to their day as they thought: Look at those crazy kids running into the Pacific on a chilly October afternoon.
Once we entered the water we noticed we were swimming with a seal. Yes, that’s right! A seal! I thought it was driftwood, bobbing along until it reached the shore. And then I saw another brown head sticking out of the water, just like a submarine. There were two seals! We swam with seals!
The one closest to us seemed quite curious about the humans in their water. It followed us as we moved around. I wished the seal would bark at us, but that didn’t happen.
After exiting the water, one of the women on the shore asked if we went in because of the seal, and we had to admit that we didn’t know it was there until we were a stone’s throw away from the first one.
Jon says there are four types of fun. You can dread the activity and still hate it afterward, you can love the idea of something and hate it afterward, you can love the activity and love it afterward, and you can dread something and later love it. Encounter No. 3 with the Pacific Ocean would definitely be that fourth type.
It was dreading the swimming because the ocean was cold and it was cold outside. It wasn’t January and I wasn’t going to get hypothermia or pneumonia from a quick swim, is what I finally told myself.
Traveling is all about learning and trying new things. There really wasn’t an excuse for me to not go for a swim and I finally, begrudgingly of course, said I would take a dip. And what did I get out of this small step out of my comfort zone? A sweet story about swimming with seals! Jon was able to judge my character and he knew I would be able to handle the swim. And I don’t even remember him telling me, “I told you so.”
Berlin is a city that has grown on me over the years. My first visit a few summers ago was interesting but not thrilling. My second visit was an improvement, perhaps because I wanted to give it another chance, and I spent a lot of time in Prenzlauerberg, an up-and-coming neighborhood in East Berlin.
After getting dinner upon my arrival to Berlin on the second time, I headed here, to the Reichstag, to go up into the dome at night.
The dome was built in 1999, as an addition to the refurbished building. It has a tower of mirrors in the center and a revolving sun shield to prevent reflections of the sun into the parliament chamber many floors below.
Architecturally, I found the dome fascinating. It’s like the glass pyramid at the Louvre — a combination of old and new. It is open to the elements, though, which made it a bit nippy. You can also walk around outside on the top of the building, which is where I took this shot.
This visit was a good start to my second trip to Berlin. The rest of the trip went well, which made my third trip there — only six months later, too — quite pleasant, because I was so worried about dreading another week in the German capital.
travelin' the globe 