On the Ground in St. Petersburg

St. Petersburg.

Oh, St. Petersburg.

I had built this city up in mind. I did not want it to suck.

I am so happy to report that it didn't suck.

Pulkovo Airport is a pretty dreary airport. It was nice to be in the same line as Asmus. When we traveled to Rome and returned from European destinations, he goes into the European Union citizens line and I head to the "All Passports" line. It is a bit lonely.

I am a bit ahead of myself. I am an immigrant. For all the conservatives out there, I want you to know that I am a legal immigrant. About two months ago, I noticed that my visa was going to expire in the middle of April. We live mostly in Kiel, so it is difficult to get to the foreigners office in Hamburg.

We don't know much about rules for foreigners but just to be on the safe side, we decided to update the visa.

I am a bit ahead of myself.

We were in Kiel on Friday, April 9. Saturday, April 10, we flew to Munich to visit his aunt Renate. We stayed at our favorite hotel chain the Meridien; Le Méridien München is not as great as its Hamburg cousin. We toured the Paulaner brewery (So far, we have visited Guinness, Carlsberg, Becks, Heinecken (I just visited Holsten last Friday without my beloved.).) We took a bus tour of the city.

We returned to Hamburg on Monday night, April 12. Then we packed and shopped Tuesday and Wednesday. Plus, I worked on my Fodor's chapter about Hamburg. So, we had to fix this visa thing the morning of our flight on Thursday, April 15.

The flight was at 11; the foreigners office opens at 8. It sucked. We got up at the crack of dawn and brought the largest suitcase that Samsonite makes to the foreigners office, because we were going the airport right after the office. Sadly, I had to take a photo. No one should be forced to take a picture at 8 in the morning. I did and I will never forgive the Bundesamtes für Migration und Flüchtlinge (Germany's ofice for Migration and Refugees). We were in and out in 15 minutes. Now I am set for a visa until October 14, 2010. The adventure continues.

So we get to the Hamburg airport and we notice that a flight to Norway was canceled. We wondered why but quickly moved on.

We ate the worst meal in the Goethe cafe in the Frankfurt airport. Skip it if you can. There was some liquid crawling across the floor but no one working there said anything to us when we sat down. We were drinking coffee when we noticed people kneeling around us with towels. They were trying to sneakily mop up the floor. Plus, the snacks were pretty crappy.

We got out of the cafe and into the sky. Easy flight. Even thought it was only a few years old, the St. Petersburg airport was gray and dimly-lit and quiet. It looked like some government office. Not a cool office, like the IRS but the one you go to get a permit to build a high fence.

Asmus and I had a free transfer to the hotel and little instructions on how to get it, despite my questions. We got outside arrivals and searched and searched. I was afraid this was going to happen. Before we left, I asked the hotel lady what is the procedure for transfers. What do we do? Where do we go? She said don't worry and not much else. Just arrive and the driver will be there and she hoped we have a fun vacation. Just as I worried, I had no idea who the driver was and when he is supposed to arrive. We don't speak Russian so we can't walk up to random people ask for help. There was a guy with a 8 x 11 pink piece of paper. I think I saw a bunch of Ms, so I thought he may be the guy. Who has more Ms in their names besides Asmus and me? I pointed and yelled my name a few times and confirmed my suspicions. And we were on our way.

There was a bit of highway out of the airport. I saw this huge Kentucky Fried Chicken nearby and I knew everything was going to be OK. The road up to the airport is littered with car dealerships.

When we got to the city, we took one long, broad road (We later learned that it was Moscow Avenue). Like East Berlin, which was designed by Communism, the city seemed to be all massive buildings that covered one or two blocks. They all had the same look. Tall, wide and beige-ish gray. It was a bit intimidating. You are so small, next to these striking buildings.




We did not notice a street sign but were able to recognize a STOP sign and St. Petersburg in cyrillic. There was a department store and a huge Park Inn hotel near the beginning of the street.




Along the way, our driver, who spoke little English, served as a ghetto tour guide. Right before we reached some landmark, he would point and give the name. We saw a statue of Lenin, a university, and a library. It was a bit ridiculous but so damn exciting.

St. Petersburg or Bust

Date Night movie poster

As a child of the 80s, I just did something I never thought I would do -- I visited the former USSR.

I was brought up on Red Dawn, Yakov Smirnoff, and Rocky IV. Since then, I've been to the Berlin Wall. Life is crazy.

Asmus and I were supposed to visit St. Petersburg October 2009. We waited and waited to make arrangements and the price shot up. Instead we went to Copenhagen, which rocks.

For Christmas, Asmus' mother gave us an envelope of money to pay for the trip. Those euros paid for the flight for both of us and the hotel room.

If you read the previous post, you know that I have been busy. I was determined to learn some Tourist Russian. Asmus said he was going to but I knew he wouldn't. I got too busy and didn't either. I learned some of the Cyrillic alphabet.

The Cyrillic alphabet is interesting. Some Arabic letters look like Cyrillic characters and sound like them but then some Arabic letters look like Cyrillic characters and sound different.

a=a
k=k
m=m
o=o
t=t
e=e

b=v
p=r
c=s
h=n
y=u

But then there are all these other characters that look sorta like some things from Hebrew and others that look like things from Greek.You can probably translate the restaurant names below.





The Cold War is over but there seem to be some lingering malice from Russia toward Americans. Russia requires visas for all foreign visitors. Instead of getting a visa for a certain length of time, like 30 days, you get a visa for one specific date to another. I was in charge of visa applications for me and the German. His application was one page. The Russian Federation wanted to know his name, address and favorite color. My application was two pages long. They wanted to know my mother's maiden name, the city where my parents were born, my job, how I am paying for the trip, and the name of my husband. Asmus's application cost 35 euros. Mine cost 100. I didn't let their evilness keep me away.

The oddest thing -- I felt so welcome in St. Petersburg. Unlike in Germany, no one stared at me. In Hamburg and Kiel, people, mostly children, stare at me. There are people of various hues walking the street but I am exotic. About two months ago, I was looking through my pocket for the key to the apartment in Hamburg. An old lady (It is always an old lady here.) asked me if I lived in my apartment. She then asked my name and when I moved to the apartment. I answered her question and then asked her name. Then she walked away. No welcome. No "nice to meet you". There are few Black people in St. Petersburg, so I was ready to be an oddity. Fortunately, Russians are too concerned with their own lives that they do not care about anyone else. That is fine with me.

The other weird thing is that there were foods and restaurants in Russia that are not found in Germany. You may have noticed the Sbarro sign in the image above. I am not a fan of the pathetic attempt at pizza but it is nice to see something familiar. I had pecan pie. Pecan pie!!! A friend, Shurea, mailed me pecans from California, so that I can make a pie (Which I did. Delicious!), because pecanuss is rare in Germany. Plus, pie is not common in Germany. So I was amazed to have pecan pie in the former home of communism. When departing, we passed a T.G.I Friday's. Don't got that in Germany. I love TGIF's Cobb Salad. I had just eaten, so I passed up the chance to have that delicacy until I return to the United States in October. The best part is when I introduced myself people repeated my name the same way that I said it. I tell a German my name and they never come close to saying it the same way. It is the little things that make life worth living.

More about St. Petersburg to come.

What"s Happening

So much has happened since Christmas and Cinco de Mayo.

I finally passed the Integration test in January. Without passing, my visa was in danger, so I had to pass. My options were few. I could take the last three months of the class again. I am done with classrooms, so I decided to take the test again.

I went through two rude government officials and discovered that I could simply take the test again. Then I searched for a place to take the test again and soon.


I got my failure result in early November. This community college would allow me to take the test in early December. I worked on my own with books and CDs for a month. I had the world's worse speaking partner but I did not let that stop me. I had a crappy speaking partner for my first test. She would not shut up. So I said little and made mistakes. I decided that I would keep talking. Bring down my mistake to production ratio. So this guy would say nothing or sentences that made no sense and I kept talking.

My strategy worked. I passed.

I got B1 on all three parts. It would be embarrassing to fail for a second time. Also, to fail after told government workers that I did not need to take three months of classes again. I got my test results early January and then decided to go to school again. Ugh.

I wanted to teach English. In the poor economy, I thought having a certificate would make things a little better. That was one hard month. I was living in Hamburg and Asmus was living in Kiel. Again, I was stuck in a room for hours and hours a day. The day started at 10 and ended at 7.
I was fine but somewhere in the middle I was the worst teacher ever. I even got an official notice that I may not pass.

Plus, we also had the record winter here, meaning there was some piles. Hamburg is not used to the snow. No one shoveled or de-iced shit. I had to stutter-step over ice for three blocks to get to school.

Fortunately, I passed. I am officially certified to teach English.

Then the Job Search began.

I hate the Job Search. Being constantly judged and deemed unworthy really knocks me out. For some reason, I got interviews with some people who said they liked my resume but wished I had more experience. Of course, I was pissed. Getting dressed up, researching companies, and talking to managers for no reason whatsoever sucks. They knew what experience I had before they invited me to talk.

I had a mini breakdown. It is difficult from being a professional living the good life in New York to begging someone to hire you.

Eventually, I got a freelance position at a school two blocks from my apartment in Kiel. In fact, the same school at which I took the Integration Course.



Hallelujah! I was so relieved. I was not useless.

That feeling did not last long. I got "training." At first, I was alone with a poorly-organized teacher. We met five days a week. After the second week, I got a partner. It was better because the teacher could spread the crazy around. Then that partner disappeared. Then I got two more women with me. We met three times a week for two weeks. It was great because I didn't have to talk for half the sessions. However, it sucked because I was never given an end date for these sessions.

In the midst of these sessions, I got the fabulous assignment to write a chapter for Fodor's guidebook about Hamburg. It rocked. I loved it. I learned so much about hotel rooms here in Hamburg.

Everything was great until it came to inputting my changes. I made a fatal planning mistake. I spent a day for me to copy and paste the file. I cannot wait to until the book comes out next year. The current version is nowhere as fun as my take on Hamburg.

Yeah, I said it, Merry Christmas!

I have many complaints about Germany . . . but that is a subject of other posts. I have one thing that I love about Deutschland -- Christmas!!!

  Wednesday night at the main Christmas market in Kiel.

When I grew up, my neighbors and my family friends all celebrated Christmas. I went to Christian school for years and was an every-Sunday-sing-in-the choir churchgoer. So some time around the middle of December, as a child, my farewell became, Have a Merry Christmas!. In return, I got, "You, too."

In high school my world got bigger. I was never sure who celebrated Christmas, Hanukkah, Ramadan or nothing. So I started saying Merry Christmas only to the people I knew for sure celebrated that holiday. When I moved to New York, I adopted, "Happy Holidays" and sent it out to everyone. It was just easier. Oh, it was the ugly stepsister to "Merry Christmas" but it had to be used, instead. I even sent out Happy Holidays or Season's Greetings cards. Oh, they were elegant, with a sophisticated snowflake design or winter landscape. But they were not beautiful or heartwarming. No family gathered around a tree. No tree. No baby Jesus. No manager. No star. No chubby-faced toddlers running down stairs to see what Santa Claus brought them. No Santa Claus. No reindeer. No nothing.

Germany has all the Christmas accessories and it is the only holiday that people care about.

Very unfortunately, activities during the 1940s got rid of most of its Jewish population. There is little talk of Hanukkah. Plus, Hanukkah's prominence on the American calendar is a relative recent event and the result of its chronological closeness to the present-heavy Christmas holiday.

Also, unfortunately, the Islamic community here is not as vocal as it is in the U.S. The Turkish population has not melded in to mainstream society, so there is almost two communities here. I have not gained entrance to that sphere, so I am not sure what happens during December. I have not heard anyone mention Ramadan here nor have I seen mention of it in print.

So, all I can do is wish everyone, Frohe Weihnachten. Merry Christmas.

Actually, it is Merry Christmases. Christmas celebration starts Christmas Eve and continues covers the evening of December 26.

Of course, this is all very closed-minded of me. I make no excuses. I love Christmas. I am lazy. I like discussing Christmas and all its trappings. I love the music. I love the sentiment. I love the good times that sprout from the holiday. I love it all. I think if I were not raised Baptist, I would still love Christmas. It is just so happy and fun.

For a few weeks a year, that is Germany -- happy and fun. There are Christmas trees, Weihnachtmann (a German variant on Santa Claus), lights and Christmas markets everywhere.

Every German city has several Christmas markets. They are all a little different but share a few common traits -- spiced wine called glühwein, no chairs, würstchen (sausages), kartoffel puffer (kind of like potato fritter), sauteed mushrooms, and people in good spirits. I have been to Christmas markets in Cologne, Frankfurt, Hamburg and Kiel. Each city offered a complex of tents selling candles, scarves, sweaters, Christmas decorations, gloves, candy, puppets and jewelry, but there is some variety. I had some awesome tapas a few weeks ago at Cologne's Christmarket near the Dom. Some markets are better than others. I preferred the market at the Alster Lake to the bigger one at the Hamburg Rathaus (City Hall) and the market at Neumarkt to the one at Cologne's glorious church.

Didgeridoo players at a tent selling food at the main Christmas market in Kiel.

Asmus and I exchanged presents today. The Germans prefer to give gifts on Heiligabend (the Holy Evening, Christmas Eve). Asmus handed me a certificate that said I had received a subscription to America's version of Vanity Fair magazine. I already gave Asmus his gift of an ice cream maker a week ago. We had company and I thought we would make them some homemade ice cream. I got him a secondary gift, so that he would hav something to open on Christmas. Well, I have lost my husband to Civilization IV video game. He has said about three sentences to me since he tore the paper off the box two hours ago. I am proud and a little sad at the same time.

Season's Greetings!

Happy Anniversary!

Up-close view of my anniversary flowers

Yesterday, I marked the day my life changed.

You can bisect your life on a variety of landmarks.

My life changed December 15, 2007. That was the night that I met Asmus.

We do not celebrate Valentine's Day or other artificial but we did mark this occasion.

When I saw that "we" marked occasion, I mean that Asmus marked it. I am pretty sick and I did nothing but come close to tears when he presented me with flowers when he got home from work.

Sometimes I get weary when I think of how close we got close to not meeting and how many times that we could have met. Asmus and I met at the wedding of Isabel and Matthias. I have known them for 11 years but I never heard of Asmus until 2007. I did not plan to go to their wedding. About two weeks before the ceremony, I changed my mind and booked a ticket.

It makes you wonder how many other opportunities you have missed on your life or how close you came to not getting something positive.

The last two years have been an adventure. I love adventure.

France is supposed to be the home of romance. However, my German boy is always surprising me. He got me this beautiful coffee table book on Germany when I finished Integrations Course and the bouquet came yesterday for the two-year anniversary of our meeting as a couple. He thought he had done red roses too often. He thought the orange roses looked too ugly. The purple daisies beat out white roses, which Asmus thought were too boring.

Pie Sucess!

Necessity really is the mother of invention.

Germany does not have a pie culture. There is no pie pan, no recipes for crust and no pie filling in a can. So I had to make my own pie from SCRATCH. I have made pies but I did not create the entire thing with my two hands. I did two weeks ago.

I got a copy of Patti Labelle's sweet potato pie recipe and matched it with the Food Network's recipe for a sweet crust.

The pie got a little roughed up because Asmus wrestled it out of the pie plate.

He didn't know it is supposed to sit in the vessel.

It was a bit ugly but the pie tasted delicious. I introduced Asmus to the pie on Thanksgiving. You cannot have Thanksgiving without sweet potato pie.

The only thing I change is its firmness. I only had medium eggs and the recipe called for large eggs. Perhaps that correction will make things better.

Despite that, I am damn proud.

I told the in-laws about the pie and they said they were interested. I have a sweet potato pie recipe from the North Carolina Sweet Potato Pie Commission that uses fructose instead of table sugar.

In my search for recipes, I learned that North Carolina produces the majority of sweet potatoes eaten in the United States. Louisiana also grows a large percentage. Louisiana is crazy proud of their spud.

I am attempting another pie Friday. I have two German friends coming to visit. I am going to blow their minds!

I found pecans the other day. Do not under-estimate the work that went into that search. I looked in stores in Hamburg and Kiel. I found them in one store. I feel a pecan pie coming on.

My First Crust

Isn't it beautiful?

The beauty does not lie in its exterior but in the optimism, pride, energy and research that went into it. Plus, it tastes good and has a moist and delicate texture. From the missing corner, you can see that I tasted it. I am telling the truth.

I began my journey into baking with a drive for pecan pie. Those damn things only show up in the fall. I need them year round. I hit Food Network's website and found a suitable recipe. I do not come from a baking from scratch background, so I automatically went for the frozen pie crust. They come in an aluminum pan that you throw away when the sad time comes, when there is no pie. What could be better? Nothing.

I have lived with McDonad's pies for too long. (They are still fried in Germany. That is the one food that tastes better here than in the U.S.) Germany does not have a tradition of American-style baking. Cakes are thin layers of cake with an inch of light cream between the layers. There is no pie. That meant: there is no frozen pie crusts.

I was scared but I knew I could handle it.

I hit up my old friend, FoodNetwork.com and looked for a suitable crust. I chose the sweet pie crust (If you are going to go, go hard.). Then the research started.

What is the correct flour?

What is the German word for vegetable shortening?

A long time ago, Asmus said everything is complicated in Germany. I have learned that he is correct. There is no all-purposed flour or pastry flour. Flour have no words. It has numbers. Did I need a 405, a 550 or 1050? I hit up my favorite German-English-speakers website and searched the forum. Either I needed a 405 or a 550. I widened my search and settled on a 550.

I begged Asmus to ask his mother what the German word for that is (There is no big old tub of Crisco here.). He hates asking anyone questions but he also hates my nagging, so I nagged hard. Margot kept recommending butter. So I hit the market in the hope that all would become clear. It didn't. Plus, I forgot whether I needed lard or vegetable fat. So Asmus translated some tub of fat in the refrigerator aisle and I both fat from plants and fat from pigs.

I smuggled one American measuring cup to Germany. I needed it to measure the fat and the flour and the water. I decided to measure out 16 tablespoons for the shortening to save the cup for the water. That was a mistake. I forgot twice how to many spoonfuls were in the mix. Before I added the water, the mixture was supposed to look like coarse crumbs. I had a sticky mess. It looked wrong but I continued. I never made a crust, maybe it is supposed be disgusting before it all comes together.

I was right -- I made it wrong.

I measured out the shortening and set aside in another dish and started all over again after a beer.

Success!

Tomorrow, I going to make my first ALL homemade sweet potato pie.

Wish me luck.

Not so fast

That is me cowering before a representative of

Germany's Federal Bureau for Migrants and Refugees

It seems that I was to hasty and announcing myself done with the Integration Course. I made that announcement after completing my last class and last test.
I got my results two days ago.
Gulp.
I must achieve a B1 level on the test in order to have successfully completed it (Tip: the lower the number and lower the letter, the worse you did. C2 is the highest and A1 is the lowest.). I earned an A2 on speaking; B1 on the hearing and reading section; B1 on the writing section; and 20 out of 25 correct on the cultural portion (I needed to get 13 correct to pass.). With those results, I thought I passed. Nope, I earned A2 on the entire test. The government is kind enough to give you your specific results on the test. I got 68 points on the speaking; 75 is needed to get B1.
One can get A2 in either listening/reading or writing and B1 in the other sections and earn B1 for the entire test. If you get A2 in speaking, you do not pass, regardless of the grades in other sections.
I have not complained about much with this damn course. However, this is ridiculous. They should give the speaking portion and its results before give the rest of the test. This way, one does not waste your time and energy studying for a test that you have already failed.
I spent a day dealing with rude government officials. I understand bogged-down workers but these people were mean and deflating. I was speaking in English because it is efficient and I was chastised. I wanted to simply take the examination and skip the option of taking the last 300 hours of the course again (That is three months of sitting through the same material that I just sat through! For seven points!) and then take the test. I was pointedly told this was a dumb idea because I "obviously" needed help.

I am done listening to them. I have been practicing speaking since I got the results of my test. I will pass this damn test.

Fertig!

My weapons for the last year. I forgot to include my Life Saver -- my Oxford English-German Dictionary.

Done!

Today, everything has changed.

I am done.

I am done with Germany's Integration Course.

This six-month course has taken over a year of my life.

I started at the beginning of October 2008 and finished today.

At the end of December 2008, my first language school took a holiday break and I went to London for a bit. I returned to Hamburg in February. I tried to get in to a class at the same class and that was not possible until March 2. The Friday night before Asmus got a contract to work at a bank in Kiel, Germany. I nagged about 10 language schools in Kiel in search for a place in the three module of the course. There was just about no room at the inn. InLingua had a spot in its third module that began in mid-June 2009.

It was tough going for a long time. I bought a Berlitz book to help me with my German while I was living in London. I didn't use it much but then it saved my life this summer. My school in Hamburg, Colon, was full of new immigrants. We all suffered through German pronunciation and grammar together. We complained and whined as one. And when we were done, we had a beer. I complained about them but I missed them this summer.

My class in Kiel was full of German residents. They spoke the language at the speed of sound. In response, the teachers did the same. I came home angry and frustrated. I sat there from 8 am until 12:15 and had no idea what was going on. A few times that I tried to speak, a few people in class laughed at me. The teacher said nothing. Once I was too excited construct a true sentence in German and simply said, "Kein respekt! Kein respekt!" There was silence for a few seconds but no apology. After that, the laughter stopped.

I hoped my learning experience would look like this. It didn't.

Soon, I took a peek at my Berlitz book to see if it could help me. I was happy to notice that it was the same as the book we were using. The big difference was that the directions and instructions were in English. I started to work before hand. I gathered a vocabulary list and created flash cards. My German got much better. By August, I had the respect of the class. Some turned to me when they were not certain about something. Olga, the silent Russian emigrant who sat next to me, would simply copy my work. For a while, I was forced to sit across the room from her and she would come over to steal answers from me. I had several philosophical discussions about this with Asmus. I think Olga should learn on her own and I did not want to contribute to her cheating herself. Asmus didn't think there was no harm to me, so I didn't need to care. I was too cowardly to shoo her away.

I did become racist. I now hate Turkish people. (OK, not really.) About half of the class hailed from Turkey. They were the ones laughing at me. I was impressed by their unity and disgusted by it, too. They would only talk to each other. If the teacher would ask a Turkish classmate a question and he did not know the question, a few of his countrymen would give him the answer in Turkish. There was this crazy clique. And they were annoying. When we got our practice tests back, they asked everyone in the classroom their scores. Didn't tell theirs but asked for others. I almost peed on myself when Selma told the teacher that she got an answer wrong that Ebru got correct. The result: Ebru lost a point.

Now, I have nothing to complain about; no chapters to read; no place to go at the crack of dawn. (Because of Hamburg' s latitude, the sun rises about 7:15 now.)

I wanted to feel sad about the end of my time in class. I feel nothing. I will miss Thomas, the one teacher who slowed his speech down and explained things when I was obviously confused. I will miss the interesting and capable office manager Anja. Because of the nature of our relationships, Anja and I and Thomas and I could not have been friends. I hoped to gather some friends in the integration course. But now I just have happiness that the course is over.

Here is a view of a room at the school, where I learned about German language and culture.

On the Road

Behind the tree, sits the Kalk Mountain.

Another nice thing Germany does for its people -- cheap travel.

German rail offers lots of cheap ticket options. There is a ticket option that allows unlimited travel in one of Germany's 16 states for a group of 5 people for about 30 euros. It is a surreal experience buying a train ticket. It is like a trip to New York in the early '90s. I remember that I used to visit my friend Kara who was living in the West Village. I was walking down the street and some guy started walking to close to me. He was not going to bump into me but glide by. As he did this, I heard a faint voice murmur, "Smoker. Smoker. Smoker" He was letting me know that he would sell me some pot. When you walk up to a kiosk in Kiel, some 20-something inches up to you and asks if you are going to Hamburg. They want to split the cost of the ticket with you. You don't even have to sit with them; just be in the same car. But, I don't like getting hooked up with strangers, so I used to say, "I'm sorry but I only speak English." That never worked. People taking the train from Kiel to Hamburg seem to all speak German and English. I was forced to reject them.

Asmus and I used the Schleswig-Holstein ticket to go from Kiel and Hamburg and vice versa. A few months ago, we decided to use the ticket for one-day getaways.

First stop, Bad Segeberg.

Segeberg required a run from a late train to Luebeck but we made it. The town sits on a see but it is home to a mountain, Kalk Mountain. (Kalk means Chalk but the mountain actually contains gypsum. Wacky Germans!) We came for the cave on a Sunday. We took an almost horizontal trek from the train station to the mountain. We got there just in time for a tour. I love a tour!

We walked down some steps and into a refrigerator. The cave was cold and dark. Unfortunately, the cold was the most interesting thing about it. There were no stalagtictes, no stalagmites, no ancient artifacts, no bats. The tour guide pointed out a few rock formations that look like characters from Snow White and other gruesome German fairy tales.

It was a bit scary. Right next to the cave, there is a amphitheater, which has been doing old-fashioned cowboy and Indian shows. As we are walking down the steps to the cave, the ground shook from the cap guns. Plus, once the door to the cave shut, it was a frightening.

The cool part of the visit was a snack stop after the cave. We got ice cream at a restaurant outside the theater. We ate sundaes as rain poured onto awnings that shielded us. It was a good day.