What's in a name?

I recently celebrated the passing of one year under my new pseudonym (also known as my first wedding anniversary).  I certainly didn’t imagine a year ago that I would be standing in a town that, save for one extra letter, bore my new name.

Choosing to acquire a new moniker was a multifaceted decision. First, I felt that it was important to stay one step ahead of the people who breathe on the other end of my phone line. My passport was full anyway, and I needed another one. I was already googleable. The Science Citation Index pulled up no results for my first initial, middle initial, and last name. My former name had an unfortunate resemblance in pronunciation to a Swedish word that means "yucky." And, having never had a middle name, I liked the sound of a three-name combination (think Hillary Rodham Clinton).  Despite the annoying need to remind English speakers of the pronunciation of my new name, it has so far been a smooth transition.

And so, in the middle of July, after four weeks in as many countries, I found myself in the seaside village in Germany that was virtually named after me. It was the culmination of a whirlwind trip around Europe, that began in Romania, continued through Sweden and northern Denmark, and finally crossed the Baltic to Germany. Along the way were celebrated a wedding, a confirmation, and two birthdays. 

The trip began in late June with a trip over the Atlantic, and, despite two airlines, three planes, and two airports, Mer-man and I managed to arrive in Bucharest with all luggage in tow. We had certainly picked an interesting week to visit, as the country was experiencing a major railway strike as well as planning a currency changeover in the next week.

After attending a beautiful and fun wedding, and touring Bucharest, we struck out on our own for Transylvania, where we visited the towns of Sighisoara (birthplace of Vlad Tepes, allegedly Dracula) and Brasov.  We learned that the train strike was only active from 11 am to 5 pm, and managed to book tickets accordingly (although, on the way back, this involved locating a mysterious travel agency by following directions given entirely in Romanian.  Thankfully, there are enough similarities between Romanian and other Romance languages that I managed some degree of limited communication by saying random French words and pointing.) We sampled Romanian food and wine, walked through old medieval streets, and took advantage of one of the few places we would visit this summer that our dollars would actually be worth anything.  

Although we found the exchange rate relatively favorable, it was clear that in the eyes of Romanians, we were not carrying hard currency.  Euro was the denomination of choice – so much so that even the taxis that tried to rip us off wanted euro, not dollars, and looked at us in disbelief when told we had only dollars or Romanian lei. European Union flags graced the facades of every government building, and even the Bucharest “cow parade” got into the act, trumpeting the hoped-for 2007 accession. The European Union “fast lane” was already in place at immigration. Although there was much optimism about what EU membership might mean for Romania, it was clear that there is much to be done before accession becomes a reality.

After leaving Romania (luckily, just before all credit cards, ATMs and banks would stop working for three days due to the money changeover!), we headed to Sweden, where we spent several days resting, touring, and eating. I spent some time running alongside friendly cows near Mer-man's hometown in Skåne, and followed in Kurt Wallander’s footsteps in Ystad. After a few days, we drove across the bridge to Denmark, and on to Skagen, where we spent a week among sand dunes and late-night sunsets. We spent a lot of quality time in our rental car – as in that area of Denmark, driving right up onto the beach and “tailgating” is the custom. A lesson to future sand-drivers is not to park too close to the water – we did, and we got stuck. Thankfully, we were helped out by a Danish family who knew what to do (even the 6-year-olds helped push!). I even got a chance to hone my shaky yet improving skills driving a stick shift [Reminder to self: 4^th gear is not appropriate for roundabouts…] Stopping over on the drive back, we visited Odense, birthplace of Hans Christian Andersen, and spent the night in an actual castle. We traveled nearly 1500 km. (With the weak dollar coupled with normally high gas prices, 11 DKK per liter equals over $7 per gallon; thus, I now have little sympathy for Americans’ whining about high gas prices.)

Back in Sweden just long enough for a load of laundry, we turned quickly around and took a ferry to Rügen, in Germany.  We visited the second UNESCO World Heritage Site of our trip, the historic centre of Stralsund (the first was Sighisoara), walked by the sea, took lots of pictures in our namesake town, and tried to blend in with thousands of German tourists. On the way back, trunk loaded with our permitted quantities of duty-free booze, we shared a ferry with trucks loaded with the products of modern-day commerce – as well as some more interesting cargo: “eels on wheels”. 

Alas, the eels did not accompany us back across the Atlantic, as we flew back to Boston laden with Swedish delicacies, Danish steak knives, Romanian brandy, and a poster from my namesake town.