Nothing to tell you

How can it be, that after a month of absence I still feel like I don't really have much at all to say? Perhaps the truth is, that there is indeed so much to tell you, and well... Where do I begin?

The Australians

We were visited by some Australians in April. The type of Australians that come and stay, expecting hospitality and tours of the country. Did I hear someone say 'high maintenance'? That would have made for a much better story, but they weren't. They were the type who didn't ask for much at all but appreciated everything to such a degree, you felt like giving them more. They left us with a super cute 'Thank You' card and some fond memories. Unfortunately, nothing juicy to write about. They were here for about 3 weeks, taking off now and then to see other parts of Europe but always returning to declare that Germany was their favourite. Now, this may have had something to do with the beer and the leather trousers but I'd like to think it was the tours and the hospitality. I am so glad they enjoyed it. They ate our food and loved it, drank our coffee and tolerated it, sat in our garden and chatted in it. Our place hadn't seen so much action since last Christmas. On parting they made promises to re-invade and invited us to do the same the next time we are in Oz. You don't have to ask us twice. After all that blood, sweat and hospitality we felt like we needed a break.

One of the Aussies twisted my arm into climbing the Münster. The view from half-way up.

The Holiday

Husband always maintained that he wanted to do nothing but lay in the sun, winter had turned his skin an interesting shade of transparent. But I on the other hand, like to think of myself as a young and sprightly adventurer. Surely a week at a resort, with nothing but sun and sea would kill me? I insisted on Madrid. I mean, what kind of person has lived in Europe for three years and hasn't even been to Spain? I put my foot down and Husband agreed. Madrid it is, he said. And that is where I came undone. If he had said 'no' I would've insisted and Madrid it would have been. But he said 'yes'. Knowing, I believe, precisely what kind of reverse psychological effect this would have on me. I started thinking and the more I thunk, I realised the very thought of scouring the city for the perfect tapas made me lethargic. Madrid isn't going anywhere, I told myself. Maybe a week of indulgence and nothingness is what I really need? And that is how we ended up in Makadi Bay, a few kilometres drive from Hurghada, in Egypt. A huge, but tastefully designed resort (almost as big as a small German village and possibly with more restaurants than one), where we could snorkel with the many multicoloured fish of the Red Sea. After 7 days of lying by the pool, swimming, snorkelling and handsome Egyptians, I've never felt fresher. And you can't see Husband's veins any more.

Where we stayed, Makadi Palace by night.

The Garden

Yes, we have one now. For those of you who know of our front garden as the bare, desolate place of wood chips, things have changed. The garden no longer serves as the neighbourhood cat restroom. It is home to life.

Photo taken on the mobile (sorry), our Japanese Larch.