Hotels and houses

I found to my dismay upon arriving in the hotel last night that it smelled of cigarette smoke, but I have a feeling that there may not be very many non-smoking rooms in this hotel (City Hotel). A lot of people smoke here, more than I am used to seeing in the Puget Sound area, and so far as I can see, there are not any no-smoking areas in any of the restaurants.

However, I seem to be doing all right nevertheless, and sleeping here is fine, especially after we kept the windows open over night.

We had an appointment with our relocation person (I’ll call her AnnaMK for now, to differentiate her from Anna of Kalitsu’s Compendium blog, who lives not far from Geilenkirchen), whose expression I think would be normally efficient, cheerful, and determined, but because of changes in process from Boeing relocation headquarters, was now efficient, grim, and determined. I think part of that was because we woke up late, still cross-eyed from fatigue and lack of sleep, and didn’t get to her office until almost 10 am.

AnnaMK is a Dutchwoman, and a has a sterling reputation of being very down to business, very efficient, and very helpful to all the expatriates. She also has a good reputation amongst the business people here in the Heinsberg (county) area as a Boeing representative, and justifiably proud of that reputation. However, the change in procedures demanded by headquarters has put a serious dent in Boeing’s reputation (not hers, of course), because it has delayed payment of vital things such as rents and utilities. And not being on time is a serious, serious thing for Germans. I don’t think headquarters quite understands that there are cultural differences in how countries other than the U.S. work on a local basis, which I find astonishing, considering that Boeing works internationally.

We were quickly bustled out to the NATO base, where the hubby will be working, so as to get passes. It seems I’ll have use of the base library, which is a lovely thing. I don’t know what other reason I might have to go to the base, other than to drive John there occasionally. For some reason, I’m not that enchanted with having my own car, although I am fine with driving (more or less). I think i would prefer to ride a bike or a moped.

More bustling proceeded, and our bleary minds vaguely comprehended that AnnaMK would return around 3 pm so that we could see about finding a house to rent.

John and I scored some food at the German equivalent of a sub shop across the street from the hotel. I have to confess I don’t remember what either of us ate, other than John’s was open-faced, and mine was wrapped in foil. Jet lag no doubt did something to my memory.

What I do remember is that it seems to be a favorite of the base personnel, as there were more than a few plaques of thanks from the local base, and we saw some young (so young!) American airmen who sat down with an Italian airman at the table next to us. They were all wearing fatigues. The Americans were trying to explain the Superbowl to the Italian, who had a bewildered look on his face.

We came back to the hotel, and did stuff I don’t remember, because it was a blur. But whatever we did, we were preoccupied enough that we forgot the time, and John suddenly stood up abruptly and said, “oh, shit, we’re late!” So we once again bustled out of the hotel, where AnnaMK and Toni, the real estate agent, were waiting. After many apologies on our part, we were on our way. Toni is a slim man in--I’m guessing--in his late 30’s, dark hair with dark...hmm...artistic eyes, is the best way I can describe him. As we went from house to house, he seemed to look over how the house was made in an assessing manner; not in the way one might value a house monetarily, but as someone who was assessing how it was made. I’ve seen that manner before, in the way my mother, an expert tailor, assesses clothes.

I wish I had brought our camera, because I would have remembered each house better. However, three stood out in my memory. One was a house that was palatial in size and look; we went through a gated yard, and behind the very large 4-story red brick house was a 3-car garage. That garage made me think of stables, but the kind of stables I’ve heard were built for noblemen’s horses--brick, sturdy, and well-kept. We went in through a door facing a generous yard, and I could not help noticing the marble entryway and staircase. It was spiral, going up and down one side of the building, with the stairwell clearly inside a sort of tower.

This house was very old, Toni explained, and the owner was turning it into three apartments, one smaller downstairs, and two upstairs with two floors each. It was very pretty, I thought, however the feature that stood out the most was the amazing finished attic. It was painted a pretty pale pastel yellow, with parts painted in white, and so full of light. You could see down to the street through the very large windows.

John turned to me and grinned. “It’s an artist’s room,” he said.

It really was. Anyone creating art in such a space could not help but be happy and abundantly creative, i thought. Even though the day was gray and cloudy, the room still seemed so full of light.

The house was in a location with shops close by, and the people provincial in nature--that is, the kind who might wave to you and smile as you went by. But, it was quite a ways away from work, and John thought he’d want to calculate how far a bike ride it’d be. Plus itt was on the upper floor, and let’s just say after walking around a lot through airports and other houses, my hips were killing me, and I didn’t think i’d like having to climb three stories just to get to the first floor of the apartment house.

We went to see a few more; a few rather dark and small even for us, and one very dreadful house that not only smelled strongly of oil, not only had strange acoustics (John’s sensitive to that), not only was painted in mid 1970’s decor, but had an atrocious bathroom of rust orange and olive green fixtures. I don’t consider John to be very psychic or superstitious, but he could not get out of that house fast enough. “Something bad happened in there,” he said. “I don’t care how close it is to work, we’re not renting it.”

He later said it was the kind of place Ghost Hunters on the SyFi channel should look into. He had a half smile as he said it, but it was only a half smile, as if trying to make a joke about his feelings about the place.

The one that we thought might be acceptable was much closer in to John’s job, but it was...well all white. White paint, white tile, white bathrooms. It felt cold to me, and when we went downstairs to the laundry room, there was a rather strong smell of oil. German houses are fueled either by oil or gas, and I have been told that there is something in the Canadian government’s contract with their military personnel relocation that the have to have natural gas powered houses. I don’t know what that’s all about, but as a result, it’s rare for a U.S. person to get a natural gas powered house or apartment.

We went back home, and once again fell into bed before getting up again to go to a lovely Italian restaurant, called Cappricio (I think...I don’t want to go outside in the rain at the moment to look). It was late, and there was one other table filled, and we had doubts as to whether they would let us eat there or not. But it seemed the clearly Italian owner was amenable to a few more guests, and served us up a lovely dinner. I don’t remember what John ate (fatigue and jet lag again), but I had a lovely lasagna. It was different than what I am used to in a lasagna; instead of the marinara sauce I’m used to in the U.S. Italian restaurant, it had a creamy tomato one instead, what I would call a carbonara sauce. It was elegantly prepared with a nice presentation, and piping hot from the oven. We had some rose wine along with it, and crusty hot Italian bread, which I believe they bake there in the restaurant.

I tried to voice my appreciation in both broken German and Italian. and the owner smiled and told me the proper words in Italian...which I promptly forgot. Jet lag brain again.

The food and wine did us in at last, and John and I dragged ourselves upstairs, changed our clothes, and went to bed, once again like stunned zombies.