So, Chris and I went to Croatia a couple of weeks ago. Up until I moved to Budapest, I always thought of Croatia as this war-torn dead zone in Eastern Europe. I was so ignorant, I didn’t even know that Croatia was located on the coast of the Adriatic Sea. So, when Hungarians started to tell us that their favorite vacation spots were in Croatia, I thought, “Whoa, I know that Hungarians are a somber lot, but really? Do they just huddle in the fetal position in bombed out buildings, letting the rain mix with their tears?”

I have since been duly corrected. Croatia is what travel books like to call a ‘hidden gem’. It’s this crazy mix of Greece, Italy, and Eastern Block-ness and it is beautiful. After our busy trip back to the U.S. in late June, Chris and I needed a “real” vacation, so we borrowed a friend’s car and in seven hours found ourselves in paradise.

First stop was Split, where we then hopped on a car ferry to the island of Vis, where even the hardest of souls cannot help but be melted by the warm waters and friendly people. Dang, I sound like a travel bureau commercial. Croatia should hire me for their marketing schemes. Except for my complete lack of experience or talent in marketing I would be perfect.

The beaches and the food were incredible. Especially the beaches. And the food. Most of the beaches were either white stone or slab stone shorelines, which took a little getting used to. The first day we went out we looked like total amateurs. All around us were beautiful bronzed people sprawled out luxuriously on top of these big white pebbles and here we come–white as ghosts, mumbling, “Ouch. Oh this hurts my feet. Can you carry me? Oh, my large pregnant belly is getting in the way. Oh, ooh, ouch. Quick, get to the water! Aahh! There are sea urchins in here! I’ve been attacked!”

But after that first day, with a little sun and a little walking practice , we looked like we belonged and we pretty much didn’t move for seven days.

The island of Vis has two towns on eastern and western ends: Vis Town and Komiza. We stayed in a lovely little apartment on Komiza, which is the quieter, more secluded of the two towns. If I had been thinking at all I would have taken photos of the apartment. But every time I stepped into it I immediately fell into a deep trance and slept for twelve hours.

Komiza reminded us of our trip to Sardinia, Italy, when we were on our honeymoon four years ago. The small, winding streets were full of people milling about till the wee hours of the morning. And tons of children. Chris and I were reminded more than once of how this was going to be our last trip for a very long time without the responsibility of babies to take care of. Which gave us an excuse to sleep in until 10 AM every morning.

One of the highlights of the trip was when Chris’ brother David and his new wife Heather met us on the island on day four. For some crazy reason, they wanted to hang out with Oldest Brother and his very pregnant wife on part of their honeymoon. (By the way, don’t even think of asking me to post a photo of myself in my bathing suit. It ain’t gonna happen. Especially now that Chris has taken to calling me “Biggens”.)

Anyway, David and Heather. Newlyweds. Young, spry things spending their honeymoon with two people who were feeling decidedly un-spry. But they were great fun to be with and we gladly invited them to join us in continuing our previous three days of doing nothing.

As we sat on the ferry, watching Vis disappear beyond the horizon, we marveled at how seven days of sitting around on a beach like a bunch of sloths could make one so very tired. I have never been so relaxed in my life. The only thing left to do to make our trip complete was to have our car break down 20 kilometers from Budapest after a long, hot car ride with four sweaty people crammed into it.

I suppose it was a fitting way for Reality to punch us in the face and get us moving again.

First, a few notes for those mothers and grandmothers out there: We did not stay long, I was only offered water the whole time, I had earplugs, and the baby’s ears were not fully developed at the time of this crazy experience (I checked beforehand). So, I think we all came out of this no worse for the wear. However, I cannot guarantee that our child hasn’t gotten a taste for an insanely loud bass that makes you feel like your throat has traveled down into your stomach. We will just have to see once the kid hits puberty.

Finally, a warning: turn the volume on your computer WAY down. I am not kidding.

Once we left beautiful Switzerland, we drove back to Munich on New Year's Eve. Once we got settled into our hotel, we headed out to one of the most famous brewhouses in Munich. However, it seemed that everyone else in Munich had come up with the same dinner plans for the evening and we had to wait in line for 1.5 hours just to get in. Considering that impatience runs in my family, we were all pretty upbeat, despite the frigid temperatures and the frostbite on our toes.

The line would stay at a standstill for 30 minutes, until some powers-that-be would move the rope and 30 people would run towards the doors like they were running with the bulls. As our turn approached, we got in our ready position, although none of us knew why we had to be so "ready". Little did we know what we were in for.

As we smashed through the doors our ears were flooded with the sound of what seemed like thousands of drunk people singing their favorite drinking songs. There was no host/hostess at the front so we just followed the running crowd towards the back of the restaurant, which was at least a quarter-mile back. We slowly began to realize that this place was every man for himself, that is, we were going to have to shove our way into a table. The blood slowly ran from my mother's face. Luckily, stubbornness and determination also run in my family, so we split up in pairs in search of a table. I am pleased to report that I was the conqueress (is that a word?).

And here is what I found: the college-aged Italian section. Contrary to the look on this guy's face, I have never seen such a happy group. They came up from Florence for the day just to come to this restaurant. Our guide to this world of young Italian men was a guy named Fabio. I am not kidding. He basically explained to us why Italians--specifically those from Florence--were the best creatures on earth. Based on his significant inebriation , I believe he thought he was right.

We ate our food throughout thunderous renditions of "Sweet Home Alabama", the Italian national anthem, and many many others. However, the food and the drinks were amazing and I haven't had that much fun in a long time.

We left the restaurant at about 11:45, heading towards one of the many public squares in Munich. Instead of the highly calculated, lawsuit-proof fireworks displays we have in the U.S., Germany prefers to let its citizens take their lives into their own hands. The general populace takes over the streets on New Year's Eve and sets them on fire. Everyone, from little kids to old men, come out with their displays. Those with smaller affairs stay on the side streets, basically throwing firecrackers at passersby. I'm pretty sure there are a lot of lost eyes on this night.

Those crazy dudes (and they are all over the world) who buy the "Arsenal Packs" head towards the public squares to show off their stuff. After we made it through the streets, we gathered with, again, what seemed like thousands of people at the square. The fireworks in this picture? All just amateurs blowing stuff up. It was the best display I have ever seen.

This video will explain everything. Check out the dudes with the champange bottles near the end of the video. Classic.

I think think picture illustrates perfectly why I like Germany. You are allowed to have a little fun but then it's all cleaned up into neat little piles by the next morning.