Round Five- Moonshiners, Tourist Traps & Neuschwanstein

After the complete and total nervous breakdown Ma had while getting us from Hannover in the north or Germany to Munich in the south, we were both totally excited about getting on a bus and sightseeing with the other tourists schlepping about.

It was one of those whoop ass double decker numbers.

The cool thing about a guided tour is that you can just kick back, not worry about directions, not worry about getting lost.

So, it's Sunday morning. It's 7:00 am. It's cold. It's cloudy. It's a mile and half walk to the tourist trap station where all the tour buses meet to load. Brrrr.

Again, thank God for Starbucks being worldwide.

This is David. David was our tour guide. He was a friggin riot. Sarcasm, check.
This guy spoke fluently English, Spanish, German, Chinese & Italian. Dayum.

They load us up. Spanish and English speaking folks on bus #1. That would be us.

We found a seat mid way back on the upper deck and settled in for the ride and listen to David say he's coming around to meet and greet in a minute... in English then in Spanish.

Once the bus gets a movin, David comes around to collect the cash for entrance to the castles.

Sort of a sucky McDucky deal, we'd already paid more than 80 Euro for the "tour", nothing said admittance to the places we were going wasn't included.

As he collected, he was chitty chatting with everybody. He asked where we were from. I said "Tennessee" with my very bestest southern twang.

David smiles, "Ahhh, Jack Daniels comes from there. You like Jack?"

I smile even bigger, "Buddy, I love Jack, Jim and Jose."

We laugh. He goes on. I go back to sipping coffee and kicking back.

Money collected. David goes back down and gets on the speaker thing.

"Ok, kids. We are about an hour from Linderhoff Castle. Now there will be lots of tour buses there with lots of groups. It is very, very important that you understand that when I call for you, you get to me."

I look at mom. "Heh. They'll leave our asses if we wander off."

Mom said, "Shut up and listen."

I think Mom was starting to grow tired of me. 9 days had been enough for her.

David continues..... "Now, I could say 'group 1", but there will be alot of 'group 1's'. So, what I like to do is give each of my groups a unique name. And you, babies, will be called 'Moonshiners' named for the folks from Tennessee."

*blinkie* *look at Ma*

"Ain't that some shit, Mama. He digs that I dig Jack. I knew my alcoholic tendencies would pay off in fame one day and now I've got a whole friggin tour named after me."

"You're adopted."

So, on we go. Up a steep ass mountain. Now looking down off the edge of that mountain from the upper deck of that bus just about made me yack.

It was beautiful out there though, once we got to the top anyway.

First stop was Linderhoff Castle. It wasn't really a castle. It was just an overdone house. But it was awesome inside.

King Ludwig, the crazy brother that built it and the other castle, was very particular.

Of course, the castle polize would take your camera and throw you in castle jail if they caught you taking pictures inside.

So, we go through the inside. Ornate. Beautiful. Gold everywhere.
About 5 minutes after we get through, we here it...
"MOONSHINERS!! Get to the bus, pronto!"

Back on the bus, we start off an hour to the east to Neuschwanstein. We went through a little town where the cool little houses were painted like pictures from fairy tales.

The bus was tooling fast but I caught one of them... Hansel & Gretel...

Finally, we get to Neuschwanstein.

Now, this is the castle that Cinderella's castle is based off of at Disney.

This is a mo-hunkin castle.

Anyway, David tells us we have an hour and 40 minutes before our tour for lunch and to walk our asses 1.25 miles from where we were to the gates.

You guessed it. I only thought the stairs of death hurt me.

We had to walk from where I stood to take this picture all the way up...

SHIT!!!! My fat ass is outtta shape!!!

This is Ma telling me not to take a picture of her ass...


Heh... This is a picture of Ma's ass...


This is Me & Vashi (a chick we sat with at lunch) hoofin ass up the mountain...


We finally made it!! David was there to greet us... He smelled like Gin.



This is from the top of the high tower to the north... Bungee jumping?? Anybody???


Anyway, we made it through, without going to castle jail.

But, what a jip, it was only 1/4 of the way completed on the inside.

Ain't it funny, that even in a 400 year old castle, they can make you exit through the gift shop???

Round Four ~ Won Tons, Manicotti & Haufbrau Haus Beer Garten

I wandered over to Speedcat Hollydale's page today for the first time. Interesting stuff.

In honor of this visit... I post a chicken!

I never realized eating in a forgein country would be so damn difficult.

First, I am the second pickiest bitch you will ever meet in your life, behind the boy of course... he'd have starved to death.

Ok, being the typical American tourist type, not to mention a closed minded, livin in the box kinda girl, I never realized that Chinese people that run a chinese restaurant in Germany wouldn't speak English.

It was odd to me that they spoke Chinese and German and not English.

Go figure, huh?

But, the place was across the street from our hotel, and smelled really, really good.

The only lucky part is the menu did have English, I can point and the chick could speak some limited broken English.

Chicken Won-Ton Soup: #3 on the menu.
Mini-Spring Roll: #2 on the menu.
Cashew Chicken: #42 on the menu.

Best Won-Ton Soup I ever have had... EVER.

Since I am afraid of anything ending in -wurst or-snitzel, I steered clear of tradtional German food.

God forbid I pork-penis-wurst or something like that.

I'm sure I'd yack.

It's not like I can translate German to English very well.

We were in Pforzheim the first several days:

So, we ate Chinese food at the same place on Sunday and Monday nights.

The Tuesday night, we switched off for some Itatlian. The spinich manacotti was yum and the wine was a-flowin.

Then Wednesday night, we were gonna give the Brazilian place a crack.

But I wussed out, paid for my beer and ran away. They couldn't speak the English and I couldn't figure out anything but shrimp from the Brazilian/German menu.

I don't do shrimp.

So, we ended up back at the Chinese place again, where we were greeted with..
"Hello. You wanta Coka Light and Hotta Tea, yes?"

With a sweet smile I tell her, "Of course and can we have the same table by the window?"

I know she had to be thinking... Crazy American bitch won't eat anything.

She's right. I have food fears.

Then we went to Hannover:

Thursday night we ate food from the hotel bar, which is always tasty with beer.

Bar food = GOOD.

Friday night, we had another awesome Italian dinner with the owner of my company.

Then to Munich:
Saturday night, I finally broke down.

Mommy & Me went to Haufbrau Haus Beer Garten in Munich.


It's one of the oldest original beer joints with 400 years o' history.

Oktoberfest was over. Missed it by a week.

But you couldn't tell it by the guy on the table who had a bucket on his head and was leading the whole place in a German ding dong sing-along.

After several pints of some the delicious brew, I was starting to pack a nice buzz.



So, I broke down and ate stewed steak smothered in roasted onions (DAYUM!!) and some kind of potatoes.

The beer was the best ever though. It didn't have that watery as piss taste to it.

Sunday night, we found us another Chinese place. It was pretty tasty and it overlooked downtown Munich..

So, I guess I totally blew the opportunity to expand my culinary palate...

I suck. If it ain't Taco Bell, I don't want it.

I do know one thing for shizzly. Germany has the corner on the beer and ice cream markets. It was grub and I had my fair share.

Round Three - Heidelberg Castle

My pal, Markus from Pforzheim, decided that we needed to go to Heildelberg to the Castle grounds and wander as it was a beautiful Sunday afternoon. We parked the car and looked up the hill. There it was, as it was last time I was in there, very eery yet beautiful.


I assummed (ass-u-me) that we would go the same way I had went in last time.

Up a nice stable incline to the front of the grounds. Not so much.

Let's just say I assumed way wrong.

We ended up climbing the STAIRS OF DEATH.

All 315 of them.



Straight up.

On the bright side, I was feelin bad that I thought I was gonna have a heart attack because I smoke and I was climbing stairs...

until my non-smoking Ma almost fell out too!!

Thanks for making me feel good about being me, Mom!! I loves ya!

And here are Mommy & Me at the top in the gardens.

We survived the climb.

Since that was in October, now I can say it was worth the pain & suffering.



Although in total ruins from WWII...


still a very beautiful place...






"I'll give ya $5 if you'll jump across and act like you're makin out with that pee-ing statue. Obed (her pastor) will never know. I swear I won't tell him and Jesus will forgive you."

Constantly antogonizing poor Ma is what I live for.

"Ya right, you take pictures of everything and use them for your benefit."

For an older broad she catches on quick.

I DO take pictures of everything.

She's right though. I'd have saved it as leverage for later...

"Be nice, or I'll send this picture of you to the ladies group, Missy."

That's just the way I roll.

So, the front of the place is actually in pretty good shape.



Supposedly the last prince of Heidelburg got pissed at his lady and jumped out the window...

... and all that was left was his footprint where he hit the ground so hard...

yah, yah, yah... a little Heidelburg bullshit there.

Heard that from no less than 6 German types trying to amuse us.

Didn't work.

After we finished wandering the castle grounds, we hoofed it through the downtown area.

All I can say is God Bless Starbucks Heidelburg.

It was cold, it was dark and I needed java.

I know, I know...

I make fun of all things Starbucks.

But when you're that far away from home with all the strange sights and smells of a foriegn place...

let me tell ya... you're thankful for Starbucks.

Also thankful that Markus went in and ordered....

Diva don't brechen zi duetch.

Round Two - O'Hare Airport

Disclaimer: Yes, kids, I know smoking is bad and I should quit. If it makes any difference, I am a polite smoker and I do not subject anyone who does not smoke to my toxic fumes. Ever.

Saturday, October 6th. 5:30pm. Chicago.

Smoking in Chicago's O'Hare Airport was proving to be quite the challenge.

There are no longer smoking rooms in any airport, a fact I was unaware of.

It was 85 degrees and smoggy as hell outside where they bannish all nicotine addicts to wither away for their sins.

We had just walked off the plane for our long ass lay-over when I decided it was time to find the smoking area.

I'm not the type of toker that needs a ciggie every 5-10 minutes.

Hell, I go 8-5 M-F without one.

Mom decides to take one for the team and walk with me to find a smoking area.

She hasn't smoked since it was fashionable in the 60s and she totally hates that I do... I hear it all the time... "Think of alllll the money you'd have..."

Blah blah blah.

After 30 minutes of searching, I just happened upon a friendly airport employee.

We'll call him Papagorgio.

Papagorgio said to me "We don't have smoking rooms anymore. I would encourage you to slip into a stall in the ladies room and smoke. It should be okay."

He smiled and winked. Ughhh....

"Um... yah. Let me tell ya something, buddy. It is clearly marked all over this God forsaken place that anyone busted puffing a satan stick in the bathroom will be promptly and stiffly fined. Not to mention that they would most likely imprison me in the bowels of the airport in some make-shift jail until I confess every sin I've committed since my birth into this cruel world. Now why would you tell me to do that??"



"I was just trying to help, Miss. You can always go outside." He said, rolling his eyes and walking away.

Yah. I think Papagorgio gets kickbacks.

I can just see him watching me slip into the bathroom... eyes crazed with anticipation.

It would go down something like this:

"This is Papagorgio. There's a crazy white chick with pink Nike shoes and a Mickey Mouse sweatshirt about to enter stall three to light up. Move in!"

Needless to say, I decided to go outside for a smoke. This happened only once.

In order to have this simple pleasure, I had to stand outside, 15 feet from any human activity. This is pretty much in the path of the fumes from the never ending parade of buses and trams. Eh, mixed with the heat and the smog, I decided to deal with it. It wasn't so bad.

What prompted me to hold off my intake of required nicotine level until landing in Duetchland the next day was the hassle of going through security over and over and over and over. Once was enough.

I refused to go through having to remove my shoes, waiting in line to pass them and my purse through the x-ray machine.

Have you ever thought about the funk on the floor in the security area of the airport with all those folks walkin barefoot?? I have.

Then after all that putting my shoes back on and walking a mile back to the gate.

Seriously, I'll pass.

Anybody got industrial strength Nicorette?

What ever happened to designated smoking areas in the dang airport?

You know the glass cubicle of death. Even though they were ventilated it resemebled the great city of Los Angeles with a smog bank looming over?

As if hunting for a smoking area wasn’t fun enough to occupy our 4-hour layover at O’Hare International Airport, mom decided that she needed airport food.

Now, it wasn’t that she was hungry. No, this wasn’t the case.

“It’s almost like tradition.” She says beaming that smile of hers.

“Yogurt is somehow a tradition? Do tell.” I ask. I like tradition.

“Not really yogurt, but eating in the airport.” she explains.

“Oh hell, now I’ve heard it all. That’s like me running right to Manchu Wok for Lo-mein everytime I hit the ground. It ain’t tradition, Mama. It’s called eating out of bordom and that's how folks get fat. Pure and simple.” I lecture.

“Well, whatever you want to call it, Missy. I want a frozen yogurt and we’re gonna walk until we find one.” She commands. “Did you see anyplace to get one?”

“I saw a fat guy up by the security check thing, but I think it was ice cream, not yogurt.” I tell her.

“I want fat-free-frozen vanilla yogurt…” she starting to sound all dreamy.

Not ice cream. Not chocolate. Not full of fat…. No.

With that I pick up my 50 pound carry-on bag at Gate K-5 and we start walking.

We see a sign for frozen yogurt and head that way.

I have to say this should have been an extremely simple and painless task as right there in the “K” terminal are TWO, not just one, but TWO TCBY’s!!!

Easy right?

Well, not so much.

The little dude at the first TCBY didn’t have any vanilla,

SO, he pointed us to the other food court way the hell down the way at gate K-15.

We get there, and sure enough, TCBY. Score!

We walk up smiling, only to see that the lady has the frozen yogurt machine torn down for cleaning.

The sparkle immediately left my eyes. I'm disenchanted.

So, we walk and ended up in the “L” terminal.

Only one TCBY and no vanilla. Shit!

Back out of “L” and wander over to “G”.

Now this sucks. My bag is too damn heavy for this.

After walking 2.5 miles to get there, we learn that it’s a commuter terminal and they have no TCBY at all.

Friggin figures.

Defeated and depressed, we turn around with our heads hung low.

The pep in our step was lost long ago as but we shuffled along.

All of a sudden, my mom happened to see a hidden food court area that we had somehow walked right past at least 3 times.

And in the very back end of that little hidden jewel sat a TCBY.

We walk up, skeptical that anything will come of the visit.

“Vanilla?” Mom asks the girl with that desperate tone in her voice.

Friends, the heavens opened up and I swear a chorus of angels sang Hallelujah in unison.

“Sure. What size?” The girl says with an angelic smile on her face.

So, an hour and a half and 10 miles later, Ma had her yogurt.

Next stop. Pforzheim Germany.

Round One - McGee Tyson Airport

Day One - Round One

It was Saturday, October 6th in the year of our Lord, 2007. A beautiful and mild day for flying I thought to myself as I peered out the glass door at Tony and the boy loading my colassal pieces of luggage into the bed of the pick-em-up truck.

I tried and tried to whittle down the amount of crap I had packed up. Deleting various pairs of shoes and casual clothes by the handful. My Mother swore that she was going to get all of her stuff packed into one reasonably size suitcase the night before when she was packing.
I thought to myself, I'll be damned if she gets all her shit shoved into one "reasonably sized" bag and I can't. But I couldn't and I was at the point of accepting my defeat when we left the house to go pick her up.

As we pulled down the drive way, my uncle was helping her roll her reasonably sized bag out of the garage, followed by yet another bag nearly the same size as her reasonably sized bag. Hmmmm. Defeat? Me thinks not. Get 'em hoisted and let's go. The sunny skies are waiting on us.

We took off for McGee Tyson airport here in beautiful Alcoa, Tennessee. Tony helped up get the bags out of the bed of the truck and almost dropped a nut trying to get her suitcase out.

"A little heavy there, huh?" I asked him, whilst cackling at her.

"Just a little." He said. Shaking his head that I can be so snide and yet so loving at the same time.

We gave each other some seriously tight hugs and sweet kisses and I went on in to check in our stuff.

"Name and identification, please." The robotic sounding lady at the American Airlines counter blurted out.

"Well, ok. Gotta dig it out." I said as I start shuffling through my carry-on bag looking for my passport.

"Ah. There it is!" I say proudly, as my digging expedition proved I hadn't forgotten my passport. I lay it on the counter in front of her.

"Very good. Will you be checking any thing through today?" as she peers over the counter at the obviously over stuffed luggage at my feet.

"Mmmm, yah. These two." I rolled my eyes as I lifted them onto the scale.

"Ok, they are checked all the way through to Frankfurt. Have a nice trip."

Sweet! Phase one of the objective was complete. Mom's turn.

"Name and identification, please." Robot lady says to her.

Mom handed her passport over and started lugging her bag up onto the scale.

"Oh my." Says robot lady. "It appears we have a problem. This first bag is nearly 17 pounds over the limit. You can try to redistribute it, or you can pay the $50.00 over weight fee." (Have photographic proof of overpacking. Sorry mom, you knew I'd use it).

In typical JLamb fashion my mother overpacked for real. And Tony said my bag was way heavier than hers, hmph. I wasn't the one sitting in front of the check in counter redistributing 67 pounds of crap to meet the weight limit. Hahahaha.


"Gonna fit it all into one bag are we?" I say to her as I cackle a little more at her packing defeat.

She shoots me the most evil of all evil looks and says, "I can fix it."

She unzips the offending suitcase and proceeds to pull out a fat bag of hair products, a Bible, several books.

"Sweet Jesus, Mom." I ask in amazement. "How the hell did you get all that in there to begin with?"

"Can you please put some of these in your carry-on and I'll put the rest of it in my other bag?"

"Yah, yah, yah." I babble as I shove her books and other random small items into my bag. I decided rather than start her off pissed, I'd shut up and pick another battle later.

There's nothing better than messing with my Mom. I don't do it to be mean to her. I just find it to be the most entertaining activity around these days.

"Let's see if that does it." She says as she pushes the suitcase back up on the scale.

"Just made it." Robot lady said, actually cracking a smile. "Have a nice trip, Mrs. Lamb." She said as she handed mom's boarding pass over the counter.

Mom couldn't say anything, she just smiled back as we walked toward the secure area.

"Damn, mom." I said with sincere realization. "I really think I should go chain smoke for a few minutes since it's gonna really suck once I cross that security line."

She showed her compassion and said, "Ok. Let's go outside."

She sat there in the waiting area while I chain smoked a couple of cigarrettes and got enough of a ciggie buzz to border on a headache.

"Let's go, Mama." I said as I walked back up to her.

With that, we were off toward security check point.

"Oh shit!" I whined.

"What now?" She asked me.

"They're gonna take my lighter. I just bought that lighter."

"You can buy a new one when we get there." She said.

"Fine." I took the lighter out and pitched it in the lighter collector jail they had set up.

So, we made it through security and we were on our way. Quite an eventful afternoon and we hadn't even left Knoxville yet.

So, This is Art

Many of you may not know, but the week after I got hitched, I bailed and went to Germany for 10 days. Fun, fun, fun don'cha know.

Anyway, I was in Hannover for a couple of days and managed (between the raindrops) to get out and do the tourist schlep. Grabbed a cab and took in Herrenhausen Gardens. Quite the impressive place actually. One could get lost up in there.

Figured I'd share with you what the German folk consider to be art, as they had an art exhibition in full gear within the garden gates whilst I was there. Enjoy.


Ok, so these are babydolls cocooned in Saran Wrap and hung in trees.
*scratches head* I still don't quite get it, but ok. Kinda creepy in a Blair Witch kinda way.



And this is an exhibit called (surprisingly) "Split Pea Soup & Beer"

In case you're wondering, the lil sign says no drinky the beer or do not touch or something to that effect.


This here is the Creme de la Creme. A Penis made out of a sticky bush. Nice. The exhibit was entitled "Sex".

Imagine that. I certainly could have done with a lil nookie after looking at a seven foot tall prickly penis.

And the grande finale photo is not actually part of the art exhibit, it was just one of the few flowers left that hadn't frozen it's stamen off yet.


It was cold and miserable that day, but the oversized penis... dayum, it really did make the whole thing worth it.

A Wrap It Up Post - The Little Things

One week to the day after I was wed to my prince, I was on a plane to Germany for a business trip that would keep me away for 10 days. I can't say I've ever been happier to be home than I am now.

I realized there are so many little bitty things I manage to take for granted every single day. You better believe the following is a tribute to those things.

Ice. I never really realized just how damn much ice meant to me until I didn't have it in my drink, for 10 days. No friggin ice. Luke warm yacky soda with no ice to chomp on. Damn.

Soda. Well, the German people have soda. But they don't have a friggin clue what Diet Coke is, no. They call that shit Coke Light. It's super sweet and it tastes like real Coke. And without ice it is simply undrinkable to my spoiled American palate. And Diet Dew? They don't have Dew at all, let alone Diet Dew Light. Damn.

The Dollar Being A Dollar. The US dollar is nothing more than a flipping piece of paper at the time of this writing. I'm here to tell ya, by the time I paid the currency exchange fees and the exchange rate being as it was... my damn dollar was worth less than 47 cents, my friends. It was extremely apparent to me just how bad it was when I came home to do my expense report and found that for 10 days, with exchange rate, I had spent more than $400 on food and drinks alone. Damn. Wait! Rachael Ray would be totally impressed, that would be $40 a day. Go me!

Courtesy on the road. Well, not that we have the most courteous drivers in the US, especially in the states that start with "I", but even those numbnuts are courteous compared to the asshats on the autobahn. Hello dickhead, get out of my tail pipe and learn to use a signal other than the bird!

My man. Now this es muy imporante. I never in my life thought, with all the traveling Diva does, that I would be homesick for my man. I thought, I'm gone all the time. It'll be no big deal. WRONG! After more than a year of seeing his face and hearing his voice every single day... I realized how much I need those things and how much that he means to me. Oh God, I'm getting all mushy again.

But seriously, doing without Diet Dew with ice on the autobahn was enough to make me want to walk to the coast, buy a boat and start paddlin my ass back home.