want some chocolate? yes. and yes. and yes!!

August 8th

I love chocolate. I could eat chocolate on a boat. On a plane. On a train. I could eat chocolate wearing a coat. In a moat. Carrying a tote. Ok, ok I'll stop trying to Dr. Seuss my way through this one, but you get the idea. Well, I'll just say that Germany is the most perfect place to eat chocolate. Besides the fact that the chocolate is dangerously creamy and delicious here because it melts in your mouth like butter on hot toast, I have to say that the setting real adds to the experience- no, the art- of eating chocolate. Constantly hearing native Germans chatter away in their fun language filled with throaty sounds and dignified words like danke (thank you) and biergarten (i will explain later if you don't already know what this is), really puts me in the European mood, if I dare say so. What i mean is, I think of German chocolate like Hanuta Haselnuss-Schnitte and other tasty, exotic sounding brands as the perfect narcotic. It's like drinking coffee in a cafe in Paris. It just fits with the atmosphere, and tastes even better because of this. Anyways, I am thankful I don't live here, because between this tasty commodity and Nutella (don't even get me started on Nutella), I would soon resemble the German by in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and- as Tess puts it- I would need a bulldozer to transport me around town.

But enough about chocolate. Tess, Laura and I got to Kleve Germany, a small town in the North where her grandparents live, and were greeted by her step-grandpa,Eric. Eric is tall, with white hair and glasses. And he wears the uniform of all German older men- leather slip-on sandals with socks, tight jeans, a polo shirt, and a tan vest. I swear, every older man in Germany wears a tan vest and a polo shirt!! It's so funny. We even started counting all the "twins" we saw in Germany, but there were so many I don't even remember anymore. Anyways, Eric drove us to their flat, which is located near the city center. We climbed a stairway with a wall covered with paintings and children's artwork to the main floor, where we met Tess's Oma (Grandma) named Rinatta. Rinatta recently had a stroke, so she has a difficult time walking and talking, but still has a sharp wit and a deep love for her German-American granddaughter Tess. I was immediately struck with the beauty and uniqueness of Rinatta and Eric's home: it was covered in artwork (Rinatta was once an artist herself), faded oriental rugs, sculptures, and photos taped loosely to the wall. There was no order, no rhyme or reason to the placement of a pair of espadrilles with pink laces tied above the doorway, Spanish wine bottles standing on tables, and bright windows splashed with sunlight. But every piece of the house as a whole made something beautiful and artistic. We ascended another staircase to where our bedroom was. In me and Tess's room, there were two beds with matching plaid bedspreads and huge square pillows that looked like something staight out of an IKEA catalog. Laura's room across the hall held a bed up in a loft, held above a small office area lined with white bookshelves all the way to the ceiling, filled with colorful binders and files. A large desk with a computer sat in the corner next to a small nook with a huge window overlooking a brick-lined garden and a back alley with more flats behind it. We had lunch out on a small deck: potato soup with sausage followed by this amazing dessert of fresh, local strawberries in a thick cream cheese/yogurt sauce. Mmm!