the north pole.

There's a special thing that happens in Europe around Christmas time. It's called a Christmas Market, and it's like going to the North Pole. There's holly everywhere, they give you gingerbread, and it's really cold. If that's not the North Pole, I don't know what is. Last weekend (when, maybe where, I got pneumonia), I went to Frankfurt, the location of a substantial Christmas Market, with my friend and co-worker Megan. After arriving and finding the hotel, remarkable with our non-existent German, we wasted no time in heading out to the Christmas Market. Although I would see it during the day, there's something about Christmas lights that just makes everything magical. If not magical, illuminated. It was filled with people drinking warm, mulled wine and eating everything from sausages to some kind of pizza-looking thing with sausage on it. Of course, it wouldn't be Germany if there wasn't dessert. I ate some kind of ball of dough covered in vanilla sauce and cinnamon, and Megan got a waffle covered in nutella. Thank you, German innovation. But, unlike the Spanish, the Germans aren't really into staying up all night (unless there's some kind of techno music involved), so the Christmas market closed down pretty early. Sadly, there were no house remixes of "Silent Night." After resting, we hit the market the next day, ready to buy Christmas presents. Well, I was really feeling like i had the flu (or PNEUMONIA), but I toughed it out, and everyone in my family did receive something from Frankfurt for Christmas. This may have been breaking customs rules. But anyway. During the day, we saw more things made out of wood and/or covered in chocolate than I had ever seen before, at least in one place. Gigantic prezels covered in chocolate, wooden figurines that smoked when you lit up incense, ornaments, popcorn...craziness. More craziness? Germany is colder than Spain, shocking, I know. I wore layers and layers of clothing, and still was hospitalized for a week. That's how cold it is. Maybe they should make that their country's motto. Maybe that's why they eat sauerkraut and sausage all the time...? Passing gas...I'll stop there.

i had pneumonia.

Some of you may have been wondering where I was over this long absence. Unfortunately, I wasn't vacationing in some warm European resort. I was kind of on vacation...with pneumonia. On the plus side, I got to view a different side of Spain, the health care system, that I otherwise would not have been exposed to. On the down side, I was in the hospital for a week. I don't know how I got pneumonia, all I know is that a bad cold and then I went to Frankfurt, and then I got pneumonia. That was the sequence of events that sent me to the doctor, who listen to my lungs and my symptoms, then proceeded to X-ray my lungs, and then told me I had to go to the hospital. Since I didn't have anyone to take care of me in my lovely apartment, checking into the hospital was my only option. Off I went, with a book, for an anticipated 3-4 days at the hospital. The nurses were nice, although they did poke me with needles. Also, I think I gave them a good laugh when I put the thermometer directly in my mouth, where you normally put the thermometer. Except in Spain, you put it under your arm. Who knew? I had few problems, except that I was there for a week, rather than the initial 3-4 expected days. The one problem I did have was with the sheet changing lady, who had control of the scrubs for the sickies. Apparently, there was a limited supply of scrubs, although it was a hospital. After a few days of not having pajamas, she told me that I had to have someone bring me pjs, which my friend Megan thankfully brought me. However, I only had one pair, and after wearing them and sweating off a fever, they were pretty...smelly. Scrubs-Fascist let me know right away...they had no more scrubs. Helpfully, I told her that I could just be naked, no problem. Miraculously, scrubs appeared. Scrubs-Fascist wanted me to know that this was no free ride, though. She told me to wash my dirty pajamas in the bidet, and to hang them up. Luckily, I left that day, so there was no more drama, and I got to go home, and wash my clothes in the washing machine, as you should.