Go Blue. An unhaunted house and many squirrels

 

After our failed attempt to catch up with Rebecca for dinner, we decided to give brunch a try. I found this cute little spot called Stray Hen Coffee, which had an "interesting" (read: borderline irritating) system in place. No reservations. Instead, you wait in line to place your order at the counter, then pick your drinks up yourself and hope to snag a table. The best part? When I went to pay, they hit me with a screen full of tip options — 18%, 20%, or more. I almost asked if the tip was for me, given all the self-service involved! I mean, I did place the order and fetch the drinks pretty well. Honestly, I think I deserved at least a 20% tip for that performance.

After brunch, Scott and I wandered around downtown and the University of Michigan campus, enjoying the fall weather and watching squirrels furiously burying their food for the winter. It was like they were hosting their own tiny, frantic treasure hunt. We also swung by our old neighborhood for a quick nostalgia-filled stroll.

On the way back, we made a stop at the Dexter Cider Mill. I’m telling you, nothing says fall like a dozen fresh cider donuts, crisp apples, and a gallon of apple cider. We left the place fully loaded with goodies and continued on our way home, where Marcie and the girls had prepared an amazing seafood dinner. Ever tried sheephead fish? Or was it sheeplegs? Either way, alongside crabcakes and shrimp, it was delicious.

That night, it was time for the weekend's main event: my very first haunted house. Now, haunted houses are a pretty big deal in the States, and Jackson is home to one of the most notorious. Scott, Rubie, Grace, and I were all geared up to face the thrills. Marcie was genuinely surprised I even dared to go, but I wasn’t too worried just yet. While waiting in line, we overheard people saying that some visitors couldn’t handle it and had to take the emergency exit. There was even a Trump supporter in front of us warning about tight spaces, but after checking out some of the “wider” guests in line, I decided I’ll be just fine.

The haunted house was a four-story abandoned building decked out in classic horror. Each room was like a scene straight out of a nightmare, with spooky setups, loud thunderous sounds, and actors jumping out at every turn. While I definitely got startled a few times, it was more of an entertaining thrill ride than an actual "haunting." In the end, I survived my first haunted house unscathed and un-haunted.

Go Blue. A Journey through Outlets, Ann Arbor, and the Elusive Donuts

 

Our day started bright and early, the kind of early that only a dedicated shopper could appreciate. We were determined to be at the outlet center the moment it opened its doors. A few minutes after 10am, I found myself stepping into the first store, filled with high hopes for unbeatable deals. Unfortunately, this shop didn’t quite live up to the dream — no good deals, and the sales racks were more miss than hit. While I was still busy trying on clothes, Scott, ever the conversationalist, chatted up the sales assistant and learned all about her life as a nanny and a nursing student. And guess what - we even knew the house, she was babysitting last night.

With not much to show for our first stop, we got back in the car and drove to Howell, where the usual spectacle of Halloween displays awaited us. Imagine a whole front yard turned into various movie set replicas — just pure Halloween fun! It didn’t disappoint, except for one of the ten displays that left us scratching our heads, unable to figure it out.

Onward to the second mall, where we grabbed a quick burger lunch and did a bit more shopping. The day’s biggest disappointment came when I walked into the Swarovski store. Let me tell you, it looked more like a cheap market stall in Asia than the crystal-laden wonderland I was expecting.

Next, we headed for Ann Arbor. We arrived at the hotel, did a quick change, and rushed downtown for a dinner with Rebecca. Or so we thought. A slight miscommunication turned our dinner plans into "dinner without Rebecca." It wasn’t all bad, though — I enjoyed the thinnest slice of salmon I’ve ever encountered. Thin but tasty!

After that, we were on a mission to satisfy our sweet tooth. Peace, Love, and Little Donuts was calling our names, but by the time we arrived — 8:43pm to be exact — the doors were locked and the lights were out, despite the closing time being 9pm. There they were, piles of tiny donuts sitting in the display, taunting us through the glass. Foiled again! But fate hadn’t entirely turned its back on us; a quick walk down to Bakehouse 46, where cupcakes awaited, saved the evening. At 8:52pm, the lights were still welcoming, and I scored a vanilla latte cupcake for free — victory at last!

Getting more skilled - the still wifi-less Istanbul airport

My flight from Istanbul to Detroit was at 14:20, but considering how the hotel was practically halfway to Greece (or at least felt like it), I wasn’t surprised that the shuttle was scheduled for 10am. We were off at a prompt 10:25, and what was supposed to be a brisk 40-minute drive turned into a scenic hour-plus tour of Istanbul traffic and yesterday's desert views. Classic.

I breezed through security and found myself back in the infamous Wi-Fi desert that is Istanbul Airport. But wait, there is Turkish Airlines Wi-Fi, bless their souls! Using the data from my boarding pass, I tapped into the sweet, sweet internet. It felt like a true triumph, akin to discovering water in the desert. Oh, speaking of water, I also located actual water fountains in the overpriced, duty-free maze of the airport. Score!

Fast forward to boarding: I had an entire row to myself. Things were looking up. That is, until a fellow passenger decided she didn’t vibe with her assigned seat and claimed the window seat in my row. Apparently, "assigned seating" was just a suggestion. She proceeded to take over the middle seat, send food back because it "came without a lid" (spoiler: her next meal’s dessert had no lid either), and liberally decorated the floor with crumbs, leftover, wrappings, which she took zero responsibility for. Oh, and she rocked two headsets for maximum movie immersion. Impressive.

After landing, immigration was a breeze (praise be!) and after over three weeks apart, I was reunited with Scott. One hour later, we were home. Glad to be back!

Disconnect - the wifi-less Istanbul airport

 The flight from Tallinn to Istanbul was smooth and, to be honest, pretty uneventful — that is, until Scott decided I should go undercover as some kind of social detective.

I had the good fortune to be seated next to a colleague of him, which I noticed by spotting a logo on the guy’s backpack. Naturally, Scott spent the rest of the flight pestering me for this guy’s name ... because obviously, I’m the kind of person who introduces myself to strangers with "Hi, what’s your name and what’s your deepest fear?" I resisted for most of the flight, but finally caved and managed to extract his name, team, and even a small piece of his soul. Mission accomplished, Scott.

Arriving at the new Istanbul airport? Let’s just say the excitement continued... with a grand total of one hour of free Wi-Fi. That's right. You’ve got 60 minutes to be entertained, informed, and thoroughly engaged before the digital lights go out and you're left alone with your thoughts for the rest of your layover.

Speaking of which, I had a long, long layover. Did I mention, it was long? Like 22 hours. Turkish Airlines was kind enough to put me up in a hotel for the night. The drive there took an exciting 1 hour and 25 minutes — through mostly barren landscapes, which made it feel like a scenic desert tour minus the camels. Finally, when we hit the Istanbul suburbs, traffic came to a screeching halt. But hey, at least I had time to admire the views of... well, more traffic.

On the bright side, the hotel provided both dinner and breakfast, so I stuffed myself and then just went to bed.

In the Carpathian Garden. Beach Day

We learned from our past missteps and set an alarm this morning. By 7:30am, we were up and by quarter to nine, we were on our way to the car rental place. Arriving there, we were greeted by the local version of Lasnamäe, minus any actual car rentals. Calling the office didn’t help; they just confirmed that their only rental spot was at the airport and that picking up a car in Lasnamäe required booking at least a week in advance so they could find a team to bring a car over. So, off we went to the Grand Hotel's Avis office instead. The young man there looked at us and announced that his three available cars were already reserved for four different clients. However, after a few quick calls, he managed to conjure up a brand-new Dacia for us. Fifteen minutes later, we were in the car, and off to Constanța we went.

Our first stop was McDonald's because, in our rush to get out of the city, we skipped coffee. I was going on about how I’d order coffee, a pie and fries. Scott gave me a skeptical look and said, “You do know McDonald's serves breakfast in the morning, not fries and burgers, right?” I assumed there were no such limitations here and that a client could get fries whenever they fancied. When placing our order, I got my coffee, pie, fries, and yes, even a burger.

The 225-kilometer freeway to Constanța was a bug slalom; after the first half-hour, they hit our windshield like a dense rain, reducing visibility to 35%. We stopped at a gas station to wash the windshield.

Imagining Constanța, we pictured a seaside resort town with beautiful blue water and a charming old town. Turns out, the city's heyday was back in the 70s and 80s, and for every nice, renovated building, there were two that were crumbling or abandoned. The city center was bustling with cafes and noise though. The farther from downtown, the larger and more ostentatious the houses became.

I spotted a doughnut stand and decided I wanted five doughnuts. The young man behind the counter asked what I’d like on them. I asked what the options were, and he pointed to a list in Romanian over his head. Recognizing only chocolate and powdered sugar, I opted for the powdered sugar.

We visited Starbucks and a small Italian shop where Scott ate a ham focaccia, then we strolled to the casino. The seaside promenade was nicely done up, but the casino was still in scaffolding. They had thought of the tourists, though, who'd undoubtedly want a photo in front of the casino — there were photographers everywhere with canvases of the casino where they'd snap your picture.

Deciding it was time to head back to the capital, we took the 2 hour drive, parked the car back at Avis and walked to our hotel.

From April to October, Bucharest runs a pilot project every weekend where the main street is closed to cars and opened to pedestrians, street musicians, and food stalls. Unaware of this project, arriving at the hotel, our first thought was, "Is there a protest going on?" as the street was so packed with people.

Later, when we went out to eat, the streets were even more crowded. Every cafe, restaurant, and food stall had a line stretching around the block. We enjoyed some excellent tartare, gazpacho (almost as good as mine), and tomato salad with burrata. When paying the bill, the waitress asked if we wanted to leave a tip by card or in cash.

In the Carpathian Garden. The City of Queues

 

By the time one of us (and let's be clear, not me) managed to roll out of bed, it was pushing 9am. We wandered to a nearby café and ate some sandwiches, cured salmon, and poached eggs, joined by four dogs who weren’t exactly the best of friends with each other.

Since the hotel had decided a hard log was a suitable substitute for a pillow, we ventured to the reception to request something softer and less tree-like. Turns out, the hotel's pillow inventory was exclusively limited to these wooden impostors, but a supremely helpful young man handed me the address of a department store where tourists can purchase a pillow worthy of dreams. He shared a tale of his own pillow struggles, confessing he's been traveling with his own pillow for six years, which has seen more hotel beds than a bedbug inspector. Grateful for the insider info, we headed back to our room, pillow-less.

By 11am, it was crystal clear that our planned excursion to the Black Sea was off the books for today. Instead, we headed to Ceaușescu’s residence. No walk-ins allowed, and since the next tour was more than half an hour away, we skipped the wait. We strolled through the nearby park and, dear loyal reader, snapped some photos foryou of a children's slide that, I kid you not, seemed designed to train future bobsledders from toddlerhood.

Learning from yesterday’s missteps, by 1 PM we were back at the market. The queue at the mici stall was impressively long—it reminded me of old times when floral fabric arrived at the textile shop, and half the town would line up, hoping the supply wouldn’t run out before their turn. After a 20-minute wait, we secured the mici. Scott also grabbed a bottle of beer from his favorite vendor from yesterday, and polished off all four sausages in record time. Speaking of the vendor, when Scott asked her if she spoke English while buying beer the previous day, she gave him a long look from head to toe and declared she spoke Romanian, English, French, and a bit of Spanish. They immediately hit it off and chatted away.

In the evening, we returned for more fresh pasta and planned to watch the illuminated fountains, but ended up just crashing at the hotel instead.