A Christmas to Forget

You would never think that it was the holiday season during the month of December in Mallorca. Temperatures are still in the mid 60's with sunny blue skies and salty ocean breeze. If it weren't for the displays of holiday candy in the stores and the Christmas lights on palm trees along the Paseo Maritimo in downtown Palma, you would never know that the holidays are upon you.

It was my first winter on the island and like most Spainards who worked in tourism, was unemployed for the winter. Fortunately for us, Eva had a year round work contract with the car rental company and still had a job. It brought in enough money for the both of us to barely scrape by. The apartment with the direct ocean view consumed most of the monthy salary, with enough just enough left over to purchase the essentials to survive. Money was in short supply, but we didn't have any bills other than to satisfy our thirst at the local pub while enjoying a few tapas wathching a soccer match. Money didn't matter to me, since I was living my dream in one the most beautiful parts of Europe.

One afternoon, Eva came home after work and announced we were leaving the next day for Germany for the holidays. I was a bit surprised since we were tight on money. I asked how she was able to pay for two tickets, especially on such short notice. She said she had borrowed the money from a friend back in Germany. It turns out that this 'friend' who had loaned us the money for the tickets was man we had met at our old apartment in Germany. His name was Brosel, who was our maintenance guy back at our old apartment back when we lived in Germany.

It turned out that it was not a loan, but a gift from a man named Brosel, who was a man of small stature in his mid fifties. He was from the Tirol area of Austria that I only really knew as an acquantance. He was quiet, balding and for the most part was a loner. I had never really spoken to the man and could sense that he had no interest in talking to me. I had tried at times to make small talk with him while he was at the apartment to do some small repairs, but sensed he had no interest in talking to me, or even acknowledging the fact that I was present. In all honesty, the guy gave me the creeps from day one. To me, he seemed like the kind of guy who you would read about in the news who had committed some henous crime. So this was the guy that was paying for our trip to Germany.

We were going to fly back to a small town in southern Germany called Kuchen, where Eva's mother lived. Or so I thought. I turned out, Brosel lived in the same town and as a 'condition' of the loan for the airline tickets, we would stay at Brosel's place and spend the holidays with him.

The idea of spending the holidays with this recluse oddity of a man did not excite me the slightest. I could see going back to stay with Eva's mother for the holidays, but not like that was much of a great idea either.

Eva's mother was a bit of a character herself and became more so with each nip of Jack Daniels, which was a staple in her diet if you know what I mean. She was often the life of the party. A party that unfortunately began on Monday and ended on Sunday.

I was not excited about the idea of staying with this guy, but I really had no choice in the matter. I chose to look on the bright side. We were going to spend Christmas in Germany and get off the island for a little while. Many people fail to realize how claustrophobic you sometimes feel when you live on an island. Not being able to drive for hours in one direction on the freeway was sometimes a thought that made me feel at times imprisoned. I was always up for a trip somewhere, but usually under different circumstances.

We were picked up from the airport by Brosel on a cold winter day by Brosel. It was gloomy and cold, much like the personality of Brosel. He was somewhat emotionless as always, but I could tell he was happy that Eva had taken him up on his offer. I said my hello, and as expected, was not acknowledged that I had said anything or was even present. I expected nothing else but right then and there made me feel uneasy. I knew going into this situation that this was going to be a long 10 days, and yes, I did say 10 days of living in this guys house.

We arrived at the house in the small German village just outside of the little cow town called Kuchen. Not much going on there outside of a church, a few small family owned businesses and a few pubs.

We walked in the front door of the house and I immediately noticed a picture of Eva on a small table. Next to the picture was a small base of flowers. Brosel told Eva that he puts fresh flowers in the vase every week. So where did this picture come from in the first place was my first thought.

I wasn't to thrilled to say the least. The thought of any kind of jealeousy was the furthest thing from my mind. To me, the guy had the resemblance of a small troll...but now, my mind was spinning thinking that this guy was some sort of psycopath and wasn't playing with a full deck.

We put our suitcases down in a spare room where we were going to stay. Brosel and Eva decided they needed to go to the store before it closed in order to have food around the house for the coming days. I stayed behind with thoughts of the Eva shrine and what should I do or say. I already had a feeling in my stomach that made me feel uneasy about staying in this man's house. Something just didn't seem right.

Upon coming back from the store about 45 minutes later, Eva said she urgently needed to tell me something. Brosel had dropped her off along with the groceries and needed to go run a few errands around town. I sensed a bit of panic in her voice after coming back from the store.

She told me that while they were in the car, Brosel told her that he was in love with her and wanted to be with her. That was no surprise to me, especially after seeing the little shrine he had of Eva in the living room. She went on to say that he wanted to move to Mallorca to be with her and start a business in heating and air conditioning repair on the island. She told him he was dreaming and had somehow gotten the wrong idea from her. He went on to say he would 'get rid of the American', so they could live happily ever after.

I could only imagine what his plans were for me while I stayed there. I could only assume the worst case scenerio and new that I would not spend another minute in that house. I grabbed my suitcase and said we were going to stay at her mother's house who lived about 5 miles down the road.

I was out of the house in about two minutes, walking down the street without even thinking of calling for a taxi to get out of there. I proceeded to walk down the street with Eva behind me. It was freezing cold with left over snow from a recent storm lingering on the ground. I could only think about what would of happened had I spent the night there.

I rang the doorbell of Eva's mother's apartment, wondering how she would react to our unannounced visit. She came to the door with a coffee cup in hand in typical fashion. I knew from earlier visits that the coffee cup usually consisted of her whiskey of choice. I could sense that Magdeline was already in good spirits and was quite happy to see us.

We came in from the bitter cold to the non-stop chatter of her mother as we slowly thawed out. Magdeline was quite talkative, even more so with each drink.

We told her about the little incident with Brosel and his apparent plans to do away with me. She said we were more than welcome to stay with her and should of planned on staying at her place from the start.

I felt a sense of relief getting out of Brosel's place, but the thought of staying with Eva's mother would also be a challenge. At least I wouldn't have to fear for my life.

The 10 days went by rather quickly. I never saw Brosel during the remainder of our stay. He had called a few times asking why we left and Eva gave him some excuse about her mother not being in good health and that was it. I never wanted to see that lunatic again.

It was Christmas Eve and I had hoped that the constant bickering between Eva and her mother would settle. All I wanted was an evening of peace and quiet between the two. Wishful thinking on my part.

I suggested going out to a nice dinner in downtown Stuttgart, since I could see that no preparations of cooking anything for the occassion was in place. I thought we could all take the train into the city, since neither mother or daughter was sober enough to drive after 1 p.m. on any given day anyway. I anticipated that the drinking may be a little more intense this evening since it was a holiday, so why not be safe.

We borded the train to Stuttgart which was practically empty with the exception of a few people that looked like they had nowhere to go and were on the train most likely to get out of the cold. Eva's mother began pointing out the fact that no proper people are on the train on Christmas Eve with her tall can of beer in hand. Funny you should say that, I thought to myself. She was in prime shape and ready for an evening on the town with two or three more tall cans in her purse.

We arrived in Stuttgart which appeared to be a ghost town. Totally unlike the typical hustle and bustle of the big southern German life that I was used to seeing when I worked there as an English teacher. I had thought some of the nicer restaurants would at least be open. It was freezing cold that night with a strong east wind. We walked through the pedestrian zone hoping to find a restaurant without any luck. All the while with Eva's mother constantly reminding me of what a brilliant idea I had to think we could go out for dinner on Christmas Eve in Germany. At this point, I just held my breath and counted to ten without saying anything in response. It was best not to say anything at this point to avoid throwing more fuel on an already burning fire.

After wandering aimlessly around downtown Stuttgart in the bitter cold looking for a place to eat, I noticed a small pub that appeared to be open. We went inside and was greated by a curtain of second hand smoke. It was a dimly lit pub with a few local down and out regulars hovering over their drinks with the qualm of their cigarette smoke adding to the stale air parked inside the bar.

I was happy to finally find someplace where I could sit down and get out of the cold. I was hoping to at least be able to get some kind of bar food. Unfortunately, living in Germany I knew better than to expect to find hot wings or a quesadilla on a menu. The only options we had was shelled peanuts and pretzel sticks. I ordered a beer and began my feast of the peanuts that more than likely had been sitting on that table for who knows how long. Eva's mother was still complaining in her loud, ear piercing voice for all to hear. At this point, all I wanted to do is throw down a few beers to ease my nerves.

I asked the bar owner if he knew of anyplace that was open to eat. He told us there was a Chinese restaurant that may be open. It was on the way back to the main train station, so I thought we could take a look on the way back.

It was getting close to 11 p.m. and wanted to make sure we didn't miss the last train back home and I at least wanted to check to see if the Chinese restaurant was open.

As I turned the corner along the quiet empty street, I saw lighted gondolas in the window of the Chinese restaurant. I felt my rumbling stomach begin to intensify in anticipation of something other than peanuts and pretzels. I was finally going to eat our long sought after dinner.

The rest of the time with Eva's mother went as before. Full of endless arguements about anything and everything. And me counting down the minutes to our flight back to Mallorca. All I wanted was the piece and quiet once again, enjoying the Mediteranean view from the balcony and sound of the waves gently lashing against the rocks below.

We finally made it back from our long, unforgetable Christmas trip to Germany. We arrived at the apartment and I could hardly wait to get inside and open up the balcony doors to let in the fresh air. As I walked in the lobby of the apartments I noticed a strange smell. We made our way down the long hallway towards our apartment. As we got closer, the smell of something burnt became stronger. At the end of the hall, I could see our apartment door. It had a big black hole as if someone had punched their way through the door. A fire extinguisher stood on the ground next to the door in the hallway. My heart began to race.

I opened the door to the apartment and was hit by the smell of ash and lingering smoke. The entire apartment appeared to be charred black, with water standing on the once white tile floor. I could only see from the light of the hallway, that it appeared everything had been destroyed in the apartment by a fire.

I went inside to assess the damage. It looked as if the fire had started on the balcony and made it's way to the couch. The glass balcony door had been shattered and the chair that used to be on the balcony was now a pile of ashes. I had moved a small reclining chair on the balcony before we left on our trip from inside the apartment. I had moved it there to comfortably watch the ships out at sea as I enjoyed the sunset. It was now a pile of springs and charred remains.

I went to the back bedroom to see how bad the damage was. Luckily, I had left the door closed before we left, minimizing the smoke damage to the back side of the apartment. It still smelled strongly of smoke, so I opened the back balcony door to let in some fresh air.

A sick feeling came over my entire body with the question of what happened? I went back out to the balcony once again to look for signs of what started the fire. In the charred remains of the chair appeared to be a large bottle rocket. Fireworks are a big thing on New Year's Eve. It appeared that the cause of the fire was from a rocket that had landed on the chair from the New Year's Eve celebration. I felt a slight sense of relief, knowing that I had not somehow caused the fire out of my own neglect.

Feeling lost as to what to do, we knew we needed to call our landlord, Herr Guenter. We needed to let him know what happened immediately. On the phone, Herr Guenter was as calm as ever, assuring us that everything would be ok and not to worry. He told us that he would come on the next flight in the morning from Germany. He told us to go ahead and check in to a hotel for the night and he would cover the costs. Herr Guenter was more than just a landlord, he was more of the caring grandfatherly type that had indirectly claimed us as his own family.

The next month was spent living in a rented room in the same apartment/hotel. Herr Guenter assured us that the cost to renovate the apartment would be covered by the insurance and not to worry. It even worked out for me that Herr Guenter offered to pay me to help with the renovation of the apartment. It couldn't have come at a better time since there was no work to be found during the winter months on the island. I spent hours on end painting the walls and ceilings of the apartment to hide the damage from the smoke. It took an entire month to revovate the apartment.

Although everything felt like the world was begining to unravel at the time, we fought through it and kept a positive attitude.

That following spring, I started work again at the car rental company. New tourists would come and go by the bus loads. The hot summer nights with revelling party goers in the streets and sleepless nights being dive bombed by mosquitoes had returned. Life on Mallorca went on. I was living my dream my on the small Spanish island. A place that people would save for months on end to afford a two week escape from the hustle and bustle of the 9 to 5 routine. As tough as times occasionally got, I would not of traded places with anyone.

A Living Part of History

One of the most fascinating aspects of travelling and living abroad is meeting new and interesting people. Throughout my travels, I have met so many different people of various backgrounds, all of whom have helped me see the world from a different point of view.

One person who I met along the way, was my landlord during my time in Mallorca. Mr. Guenther was a German man in his mid 70's from Hanover, Germany. He was a retired Civil Engineer who had invested in several rental properties on the island. He was was a very traditional German who had grown up with the typical strict German values of hard work, honesty and integrity during some of the toughest times in Germany's history.

It was one afternoon that Herr Guenther had scheduled a time to come by the apartment to do some kitchen repairs. He had arrived at 2 p.m. right on the dot as he had promised. I learned from my time living in Germany that punctuality is a notable trait of the Germans, as is attention to detail and one hundred percent accuracy. I always enjoyed times when he would stop by, since he reminded me a lot of my own grandfather who had immigrated to the U.S. prior to World War II. Herr Guenther always enjoyed talking with Eva and I, and we could tell he enjoyed our company as well.

I have always been interested in World War II history and knowing that Herr Guenther was of the war time generation, I was dying to ask him questions about what he did during this time, but was afraid to ask. It was one of those things you are never sure how to approach, with it being such a dark subject that many would like to forget.

I had bought a sword a few weeks prior to Herr Guenther's visit at a flea market in Santa Maria in the central part of the island. I bought it from a German that who said it was found buried in a vegtable garden in Berlin. It was rusted and worn from over 50 years of constant rain and cold German weather. I would spend hours trying all kinds of chemicals to remove the rust and restore it back to it's original gleam.

It was this afternoon that that Herr Guenther was to stop by for some kitchen repairs in the apartment. I was excited to take out to show Herr Guenther my find at the flea market to break the ice and see if he would open up and talk a little about his war time experience. I mentioned that I had recently bought an old German sword and asked Herr Guenther if he would be interested in taking a look to see if he could tell me anything about it. I could tell that he was quite eager and was anxious to see my newly purchased treasure.

I hurridly went to grab the sword out of the back closet. As I came back into the living room with the sword in hand, I could see Herr Guenther's face light up like a little kid on Christmas day. I handed him the sword and he said it was a German officer's sword. He went on to say that it was part of the German formal dress uniform during the Second World War. With the sword in his hand, he made a few sweeps and jabs, as if he were fighting an invisible foe. It looked like something out of a Zoro movie you would see on t.v.

Since we were on the topic of the war, I decided to ask what he did during the war years. I had always wanted to ask and figured this was a good time. He looked at me with a proud look and said he was in the Waffen SS, which was the Nazi elite fighting and most feared unit during the German's reign of terror throughout the war. I could sense his feeling of pride in his response, so I continued to probe and find out what role he had during this time period.

He went on to tell me that he was part of Operation Barbarosa, which was the infamous attack on Stalingrad in 1941. He and over 90,000 of the Waffen SS were under orders to bombard the strategic city of Russia into submission. They had made their push to take the city during the summer months expecting a quick and fierce overthrow of the city. Taking Stalingrad would of been devastating for the morale of the Russian people and lead to an inevitable defeat. To their surprise, they would end up fighting long into the winter months, cut off from re-inforcements from Germany and still equipped with summer uniforms. They had not anticipated fighting during the harsh winter months and the level of resistance they encountered. The Germans suffered heavy losses, many of his fellow soldiers who weren't killed in battle would end up freezing to death from the bitter cold.

I had seen many documentaries on this topic over the years, but in front of me was someone who had experienced what I had only read about first hand.

I will never forget asking the question of whether he thought the Germans were going to win the war and take over the world. He stopped for a moment, and looked at me with an ice cold glare in his eyes that sent a chill down my spine. He paused and said, 'there was no doubt in my mind that nobody could stop us...we were going to take over the world.' It was as if for a moment it was Nazi Germany in 1940 all over again there in my apartment. I could see the intense look in his eyes, formulated from the years of Nazi propaganda, leading them to believe they were superhuman...an unstopable machine.

It was in Stalingrad where the momentum of the German war machine was stopped it it's tracks. The 90,000 man army was soon surrounded by 1 million Russian troops. The Germans had no where to run and were under strict orders from Hitler to fight to the end. The Germans were physically and emotionially defeated at this point, and were left with no alternative but to surrender.

Herr Guenther went on to tell the story of how his fellow soldiers had shamefully surrendered. He was taken by the Russians to a prisoner of war camp for a short period of time somewhere in Siberia. He was later involved in a prisoner of war exchange with the United States. He was then sent to an American prisoner of war camp in what is now the Czech Republic for the remainder of the war. He said this move was what saved his life. Many of his fellow soldiers in the Russian camps died from the harsh conditions they endured in the Russian prisoner of war camps.

Mr. Guenther spoke freely about his role during the war with still a sense of pride on one hand, yet traces of shame that they were defeated. It was an eery feeling to speak with someone from the other side that took part in such a horrible period of our history.

Over the next few years, I would ask questions about post war Germany and what it was like re-building their country during the post war years. I learned a great deal speaking with Herr Guenther, who was a living part of history.

My Gypsy Life in Mallorca

When I first set out for my move to Europe, I had intended on making my move a permanent one. I had sold all my material possessions and was determined to make it work and get the most of my experience meeting new people, mastering new languages and learning as much about the culture of my destination. I was up for any challenge big or small and would face some pretty hefty challenges with the language and cultural barriers that I would soon be faced with.


I came to Mallorca with an eccentric German woman that I had met while teaching business English. She had worked on the island and had a large circle of friends and a job already lined up with a car rental company. However, when we landed in Mallorca, I had no idea where were were going to live. It was late winter and most hotels were still closed in preparation for the coming tourist season. A friend of Eva had picked us up from the airport and drove us out to a town called Paguera on the southwest corner of the island, where we would begin our search for a place to stay.


The weather was much warmer than what I had left behind in Germany and the sun seemed blindingly bright from above. I will never forget the scent of the ocean and pine trees as we walked out of the airport in Palma. I felt a sense of excitement for the new chapter that was to begin in my new life in Europe. I honestly had not even taken the time to look on the map to even see where Mallorca was.


It was about a half hour drive to Paguera from the airport. Eva had a Mallorquin friend whose family owned a small hotel not far from the beach, on the Boulevar, which was the main street running through the sleepy little town. The hotel was under construction for the coming season, but was still booking tourists. The Hotel Beverly Playa was to be my new home for the next 3 weeks until we could find permanent housing of some sort. It was a simple hotel in a convenient location surrounded by restaurants and small bars. It was a stone's throw to the beach, where I would spend much of my time admiring the incredible view of the Mediterranean Sea.


The hotel was great for a temporary place to stay with half board (breakfast and dinner included). It was my first time eating Mallorquin cooking, which I soon found out was heavy in olive oil and garlic. My American stomach took a while to get accustomed to the olive oil though. I felt like I had been punched in the stomach from my digestive system trying to process the olive oil, which would subside in the coming weeks. My only challenge was trying to watch t.v. after 7 p.m. after a long day. The hotel entertainment outside my window down in the courtyard was a duo that would sing each night old hits from the likes of Billy Joel, Lionell Ritchie and Elton John with a slight eastern European accent. All music was played on one of those electro pianos where you push a button and the beat begins. They weren't bad, but sang the same songs everynight until midnight making an early evening to bed pointless after a long day. I couldn't turn the t.v. on loud enough to make out what was being said, so I just gave up and would hope to eventually be tired enough to pass out and sleep through it.


My 3 weeks in the hotel started to seem like 3 months from lack of sleep with our nightly entertainment going on outside. At that time, a co-worker of ours said he had a friend with an apartment to rent. It was conveniently located in Paguera, just a short walk from the main street with all the tourist action and a short 10 minute walk to the beach. It was a 7 story building that had a view of the wooded hills outside Paguera. I couldn't see the ocean, but did not care since we finally were getting out of the hotel. It was a one bedroom, fully furnished apartment with all amenities from bathtowels, dishes, t.v., washer and everything else you could ever need.


In no time, we made our move in to what was going to be our home for the coming tourist season, or so we thought. We paid our first and last month's rent which was a bit expensive for the size of the place, but I didn't care. I was happy to have a place we could call home. We requested a rental contract from the landlord which is customary in any rental agreement in Europe. The landlord responded by saying, 'we will get the contract, but the owner was currently in Germany and it would be a while before we could have anything in writing.' It was imperative to have the rental contract in order for us to register our residency to live and work in Spain (legally, I might add), so the sooner we got the contract the better.


A few months had gone by and still no rental contract. We continued asking the landlord and were always put off with the excuse being one thing or another. It was soon after that, we found out that the landlord was actually only supposed to be taking care of watering the plants at the apartment for the owners who lived in Germany. She was by no means the landlord of the apartment and to make matters worse, we heard that the actual owner of the apartment was coming to Mallorca for a two week vacation, totaly unsuspecting that someone was living in his apartment. Totally unsuspecting that the lady he trusted to water the flowers was renting out his apartment and pocketing the money.


Upon learning about our 'landlord's' scam, it was no surprised to me when she said we would not get our 1 month deposit since we were leaving without giving notice. My arguement was, 'where is that in writing?' Naturally, there was no proof of anything. It was a case of our word verses hers and with no real legal ground to stand on. We ended up kissing the deposit goodbye. Without being able to speak Spanish, I had no chance of explaining my story to the police. At that time, 'una cervesa por favor' would only get me so far.


After a few nights staying in another hotel, we found an apartment in the town of El Toro, which was a small, predomininately Mallorcquin town. The apartment complex was situated on a cliff overlooking Porto Adriano with a few hundred yachts anchored in the harbor. The apartment had a nice garden view in a quiet setting, with a breathtaking view of the Mediterranean a short distance from my front door.


It was owned by a 30 something year old Spanish man who was native of the island. It too, was a fully furnished apartment with everything you needed. I had no idea really of how much I was paying, since everything was still negotioted in Spanish pesetas and I really had no clue of the value of the Spanish currency. The Spanish insisted on discussion finances in the old currency, the peseta, although we were already all on the Euro. It just added all the more to the confusion for an American accustomed to the dollar.


I lived there with Eva, who after a few months came home one day excited about finding a different apartment through an acquaintance that was less expensive and was directly on the beach in the town of Santa Ponsa. To me, it sounded nice and I too, was excited to live directly on the ocean. The only problem was that this time, we had signed a one year lease with an early termination fee of one month's rent and losing the non-refundable deposit of an additional month. Now I am not a math whiz here, but calculating my losses from the previous apartment fiasco, along with nights spent in a hotel, losing another deposit and to pay it all again in a new place did not sound like a feasable decision. Eva on the other hand, was set on the idea and there was no chance of me changing her mind.


We made an appointment with the landlord to view the apartment the following day. We met up with the owner of the apartment, who was an elderly German man named Guenter in his late 70's. He was from Hannover, Germany and owned several apartments in Santa Ponsa. The apartment we were going to look at was in a hotel situated directly on the bay in Santa Ponsa. It was a renovated room in Hotel Verde Mar which was frequented by Irish tourists. A few of the rooms in the hotel had been sold as privately owned condos to private investors.

I knew the first moment we walked in the door of the one bedroom apartment that this was the place for me. The first thing I noticed was the view of the turquoise blue waters from the Mediterranean and sound of the water splashing on the sea wall below. I walked out to the balcony to check out the stunning view. To the left, I could see the white sand beach of Santa Ponsa full of vacationers working on their tan (or in this case, their sunburn since 90 percent of the tourists there are fair skinned from Ireland, who rarely see the sun)and to the right was the wide open sea. The harbor below was full of yachts anchored in the bay with their sails blowing in the wind. Below me, I could see the hotel guests of all shapes and sizes, with drinks in their hands soaking up the warm Spanish sun.

I spent a good 15 minutes on the balcony taking in the view before I stepped back inside to look at the apartment itself. Once I went inside, looking around I could see the apartment was of typical Spanish decor with simple furniture, t.v. and everything else you could need. Herr Guenter (in German, everything is Herr or Frau out of formality...it's just one of those German things) could see we were impressed with the apartment. At this point, I still had no idea of price and suspected from the view alone that this was out of our price range. Herr Guenter looked at us and said, 'normally, I would rent this out on a short term basis for vacationing Germans, but I like both of you and will offer the room to you at 650 Euros a month. It was truly a bargain price, considering the location and what he could make on renting short term to the wealthy Germans.

We moved in for the summer tourist season and felt everyday like I was living a dream. I would sit for hours on the balcony gazing out at the wide open sea, watching million dollar yachts quietly moving across the horizon. Each day, I would come home for my siesta and check the view of tourists lounging around below. I saw a lot of good, a lot of bad, and a lot of ugly...but there was always something interesting to say the least. I will never forget the sleepless nights from the revelling tourists coming back to their rooms at all hours of the night to continue their party. I had a lot of nights where I maybe got 2 hours of sleep from the comotion, but it didn't matter...I was living a life many people only dream of. Many people who were back home saving up for that one week vacation in Cancun or Hawaii to come back to the life of a cubicle and 8 to 5 work week. Everyday for five years was a vacation for me in a sense. It was a time I will never forget.

Saved by the Siesta

One of the things I miss most today from my time living in Mallorca is not only the fresh ocean breeze off the Mediterranean or the fresh fish and vegtable dishes laden with garlic and olive oil, but the best part of the day...the siesta. The word siesta comes from the Latin sexta hora, meaning the sixth hour (counting from dawn). The siesta is predominant in many of the Spanish speaking countries in the warmer climates and used as a time for a little nap and to recharge. In Mallorca, the siesta begins at 1 p.m. and lasts until 4 p.m.. All stores and businesses close to go home for lunch with the family and to take a nap. For me, I took advantage of the best hours of the day to do what I enjoyed most.


I liveed directly on the sea and would spend my time swimming, workinging out at the gym, coming home to eat lunch and take about a 20 minute nap all during the course of my four hour break. I couldn't have asked for a better schedule. It was during those four hours, that I too felt like I was on vacation enjoying the beautiful blue skies and ocean view. There were days when I needed the sleep after being kept awake during the night from the partying tourist. This was often the case during the summer months when I would be kept awake from the late night bar crowd heading back to their hotels. I had heard and seen it all from my windows at night, from the drunken brawls outside my apartment to the not so happy drunk couple fighting in the street.


I recall one incident where I was woken up around 4 a.m. to a loud fight between a man and a woman who had obviously been drinking through the night. The Guardia Civil came rather quickly with screetching tires, jumped out of their truck with billy clubs raised, and with four swings the noise was over. That was a scene that I saw countless times to settle the often unruly intoxicated tourists. It amazed me to see the Guardia Civil in action, who were often times 'quick with stick' to bring situations under control. They are a highly respected organization by the Spanish people, which is an organization left over from the days of the Franco dictatorship.

Most of my German co-workers were against the siesta and would rather just get the workday overwith. There were the days at work where I needed the extra break. Dealing with tourists all day at the car rental company could on some days be stressful. I recall one day in particular where I had rented a car to a German family in their late 30's. They seemed like your typical happy, middle class family on the island for their two week vacation. I had rented a car to the husband for 10 days. Two days later, the man returned with the car saying he was hearing some stange noise coming from the engine and he wanted to exchange the car for one in better working order.

I went outside to take a listen to the car and the first thing I noticed, was a dent on the front grill of the car. He obviously had hit something and denting the car, pushing the radiator back a few inches, therefore making a loud screatching sound when the car was running. He acted as if the dent wasn't there. I said, clearly the problem is this dent in the front of the car and asked, 'what happend?' He responded, saying that the dent was there when I had issued him the car. This was a tactic that many customers who have some sort of accident would frequently try. They would always say I gave them the car in that condition.

Okay, I went into my office and called our headquarters, explaing the situation to the owner in Spanish so that the German gentleman now standing in front of my desk could not understand. All the owner said was, the contract states that if you have an accident with the car, the contract is null and void. No refund will be given and no car replacement will be offered. He said, 'tear up the contract...no car for him,' and slammed down the phone in my ear.

The German man was looking at me with somewhat nervous anticipation since he obviosly could hear the yelling on the other end. I switched now back to speaking German and said, 'sir, I have good news and bad news. We inspect all cars before sending them to our customers and are certain that the car was in proper working order. Since there was an accident with the car and you have full insurance, you will not be billed for the damage. The bad new is, I cannot issue you another car and per the contract, cannot give you a refund.' In a split second, the once easy going friendly man turned 180 degrees into what appeared to resemble a rabid dog. He lunged towards me with a closed fist. Sensing that I was going to be hit, I tried to slide my chair back quickly, only to feel my $2 flipflops sliding on the tile floor.

As he lunged towards me, in a split second he decided against throwing a punch. The next 2 minutes was a tirade of swearing and knocking things over in my office. I somehow found the strengh to remain calm and told the guy to leave my office, but apologized for the company policy as if that even mattered at that point.

Once he had left and my heart rate settled, I noticed it was about 5 minutes to 1 p.m. My beloved siesta was about to begin. I closed up my office for the four hour break to take full advantage of my time off and enjoy a beer tthat day instead of my usual workout routine.

Today, I was going to have a beer or two with my lunch. I would go home and enjoy the fresh sea breeze from my balcony and enjoy the view of tourists working on their sunburn. I miss the Spanish siesta and my life in Mallorca. The good and the sometimes not so good, but the worst days were still some of the best memories of my life.

Getting to Know Prague

After a good nights sleep after a long trip, I was looking forward to starting my new life in Prague. I had always been interested in history and growing up during the cold war, was particularly drawn to Eastern Europe and the history of the Czech Republic. I set out the front door of my dorm to grab something to eat. I made my way to Old Town Square which was a few minutes from my dorm. I was amazed at the Gothic architecture of the city center, especially Tyn Church, which dominates the view in the city center with it's two symetrical spires built in the 14th century. Across the square, I noticed a flock of tourists taking pictures of the astronomical clock which is one of the third oldest and still functioning in the world. The square was alive with tourists from all over the world. I sat down at a cafe for breakfast (one of the most expensive menus in the city) to enjoy the spectacular view. The square later would be a meeting point for friends due to it's central location. I would spend hours at the base of the Jan Hus memorial, erected in honor of his death over 500 years ago for his religious beliefs and to honor other martyrs throughout Czech history. I would entertain myself watching everything from frantic tourists trying to get as much in on their two day visit to the city to groups to the rush of the Czech people on their way to work. Monday morning and the first day of my language class finally arrived. It was going to be another warm summer day, with the sound of church bells chiming from Old Town Square, I had a feeling of nervousness in my stomach. I guess it was typical nerves that I always had before the first day of class as a little kid. I went to the administration to get my class assignment and begin my 4 week intensive course of 5 hours a day. My class was a diverse group of 12 people from around Europe and another American besides myself. All of which shared the same intrigue as me for the city of Prague. We all seemed to click rather quickly. We would all meet at a pub after class to work on our homework and talk about our experiences in the city, while enjoying some of the Czech Republic's finest beers. A few beers would later lead into the evening, where we would get together for dinner and continue talking late into the evening. Everyone had a different story to tell. One of the most intriguing was Marjan, who to me seemed like a gypsy or an undercover international spy. She was British, lived for several years in Germany, of Iranian decent with 5 different passports. She spoke fluent Czech, German, Farsi and had the strongest British accent. She had lived in Prague for a few years and was writing a movie script. I will never forgent the first day of class, she got up and went to the back of the room to lay down on the floor and started doing some kind of yoga routine and said, 'don't mind me, please continue.' There was also Walter from L.A. on a Rotary scholarship and several others from Germany and Switzerland. It was an interesting group to say the least. We spent the next four weeks with the same routine. Five hours of class and meet up later at a different place for food and drinks. Eating various local specialties which all seemed to include pork, a dumpling covered in gravy and a good beer. It gave me the opportunity to branch out and try different foods and break away from the overpriced tourist traps that many visitors easily fall in to. I strongly believe that making an attempt to learn the local language opens up so many cultural doors and enable you to get an inside view of the country. For anyone traveling or planning on living in another country, I would strongly urge you to make an attempt to learn at least the basics of the language.

Landing in Prague

It seemed like an incredibly long flight. I guess any flight seems long when you are 6'4. I felt like a sardine crammed into a can for 13 hours. I have never been able to sleep on a plane no matter what I have tried. I landed at the airport in Prague feeling like I had just been through a meat grinder. I felt as though everything was moving around me so fast. Hearing Czech being spoken all around me only added to the feeling of confusion. The airport itself wasn't like the fresh, modern looking airports back home. I noticed the colors were more drab and looked out dated. I reached in my backpack to grab the address I had for the language school where I was going to study Czech for the next 4 weeks. The school had also included the option of dorm style housing or a homestay that was arranged by the school. I had opted for the homestay for an additional $200 for the month, but for some reason that I can't remember, the person with whom I was going to be staying with wouldn't be around until the end of the week. I was going to stay in the school dorm until until I could meet up with the person offering a room. I made my way through the airport, not really even knowing which direction to go. I finally made it outside to where several taxis were waiting outside. I asked if anyone spoke English and the first gentleman just nodded. I handed him the address for the school. I was heading to Charles University, which is one of the oldest Universities in the Czech Republic. I got in the taxi and we headed off. Looking around, it seemed like there was graffiti on everything and overgrown grass. Maybe it was just the part of town we were in, so I thought to myself. We made it to the school and I paid the driver. I actually wasn't sure what I paid him. I opened my wallet and he grabbed a few of the bills I had exchanged and he was off. I got out and tried opening the door to the school, but it was Saturday and the door was locked. I rang the doorbell and waited, wondering what I would do if nobody answered. After I short time, the door buzzed and popped open. I went in, dragging my two suitcases with backpack on my back. I remember this old, musty smell and that it was stuffy. It was a warm summer day and I could tell that the a.c. was not working that day. It must be because it was the weekend, I thought to myself. I found the school administrator that had been expecting me. The guy told me his name was Jan and spoke functional English. He took me to my dorm room which was exactly that. A room with a bed, a desk, a closet and a sink. All looked like it hadn't been renovated since the early 50's. The community shower and bathroom were down the hall and it appeared that I was the only one staying there. Jan gave me a map and said to meet at 8 a.m. on Monday downstairs for my orientation. He left and I plopped down on the mattress in exhaustion from the long trip. The lumpy mattress and springs stabbing me in the back, I tried to sleep. My eyes were twitching from I don't know if it was excitement, nerves or overexhaustion. I laid there for about an hour in the hot stuffy room and couldn't relax enough to sleep. I decided to get up and talk a walk outside to find something to eat...better yet, a good Czech beer. I couldn't wait to walk outside and have a look around. Not knowing where to start, I took a right and started walking aimlessly looking for a pub. It felt good to be outside in the fresh air. I was tired, but excited to explore. I walked down the cobblestone streets until I found a main street along the Vltava river. I continued to my right and at last, I found a pub. It was a small, smoke filled pub with a nice view of the river and city landscape. It felt like I was thrown back in time. I looked at the menu and all was in Czech of course. The only Czech I could say was, 'pivo', meaning beer (one of the most important words to know in any language). The waitress couldn't speak a word of English and I had no idea what to order, so I just pointed to something about halfway down the menu, hoping that I was down far enough past apetizers and salads. I wanted something solid, since the plastic tasting airplane food the last 24 hours wasn't cutting it. I got my first beer and was proud that I was able to have success with my first attempt at the Czech language. I practiced the word 'pivo' several more times that afternoon at that little pub. I started to notice the river was starting to appear a little blurry, along with everything else. I thought it best be time to head back to my room. I paid the bill and headed out the door...but thinking, which way back? I wondered in circles for an hour or so, lost until I somehow found my way back. This would happen quite often the next few days...even the next five months. I made it back to my room and finally fell asleep, excited for what tomorrow would bring.

Coming to Prague

My decision to leave my job working for Adidas the spring of '00 was something I would do again in a second. A co-worker came to me holding a small newspaper clipping she had thought I would be interested in. It was an ad from the backpaqe of local newspaper with a job posting to teach English in the Czech Republic. I thought the idea sounded pretty exciting. I had already been on a day bus trip to Prague on a previous trip to Europe. I had gone with a group of senior citizens for a day tour and lunch at an exclusive restaurant. I was only there for a few hours, but it had definitely sparked my interest and I knew I wanted to come back. Once I got home, I went to the company's website to find out more about the program. It was a 4 week TEFL course in downtown Prague that guaranteed job placement at the end of the course. It was roughly $400 USD and I had to go through the application process which included an essay on why I wanted to be an English teacher. I'm sure the essay had little impact as to whether or not the school would accept me into the program, since the strength of the dollar at the time, I was sure they wouldn't be turning too many people away. I was soon accepted into the next course in June of that year. I had started doing research on the city and also stumbled across an intensive language course that conveniently started one month before my teaching course was to begin. I decided that it was time to push forward with my plan. I started selling and giving away anything that I could not take with me. Which included some great Taylor Made golf clubs that I got for next to nothing while working at Adidas. They were hard to let go, but how was I going to pack them around? The plan was to go and start a new life in Europe. I had no plan of returning this time to the U.S.. I was determined to make it work. I bought a ticket to Prague, round trip (just in case) that had me scheduled to come back in 3 months. My plan was to take the month long Czech course, then get certified to teach English in Europe. I wanted to experience Prague for a while and later move to Germany to settle down and get a good teaching job. In about 3 weeks time, I had sold just about everything I had, except for my clothes, a suitcase and my dream. I gave my two week notice which seemed to be an eternity. I will never forget that day of walking down the concourse at the airport. I thought, this is it. My dream of moving to Europe has finally come true.