Happy Turkey Day!

I hope all of you reading this had a wonderful Thanksgiving! It was very weird not being at home this year, and throughout the evening (time zones, remember!) I pictured exactly what my family was up to. I knew my usual job of setting the table was being handled by my nieces, and that hopefully they had remembered to choose a napkin folding style that was both unique and flattering to the table arrangement. I knew that my Stanley was carving away at the turkey, and that my mother was taking dangerous risk of losing a finger as she pinched bits of meat from the china serving platter. I knew that when it came time to say Grace before eating, my Stanley would be thankful for those sitting at the table, mention those who were not, and also give a shout-out to the troops overseas who were spending another Thanksgiving away from those that they love. And I knew that after the great feast and consumption of the bird plus various side dishes, they would all settle down in the living room and watch the telly before chowing down on warm pumkin or pecan pie with a dollop of Cool Whip. It was at this point in the festivities that I decided to ring.

I spent my evening with a friend, dining at a Nepalese restaurant and attending a Kung Fu class which was conducted entirely in German. I think I will make more progress in my language acquistion through this weekly experience than through my German course itself! You tend to pick up vocabulary quickly when it involves kicks, punches, and knees to the groin. Trust me. When I finally did arrive home, I rang up my family and happily chatted with everyone until 12:30am...and realized how much I was looking forward to coming home for the holidays in four weeks! And not just because I conspired with my niece to swipe a piece of the pie and sneak it into the freezer for my arrival in December. It was just so nice to actually hear everyone's voices.

My actual Thanksgiving dinner took place last night with some of the Americans from my school. The turkey was much smaller, there was also couscous at the table, instead of pumpkin pie there was carrot cake, and we watched boxing after the meal instead of football...but the sentiments were the same. Everyone there was thankful to share an evening with friends and family. Good food, good conversation, and the warmth of people sharing their experiences of living in a different place and culture. I was thankful to be a part of it.

And in one month, when I walk into my parents' home in Indiana...I will be thankful to be there among my family again. And for the frozen pie awaiting me in the freezer.

I hope you remembered, Kerry. Otherwise...no German beauty products for you!

Woher kommen Sie? -Ich komme aus den U.S.A.

Since I finally feel completely settled and at home here in Germany, I felt it was time to undertake actions to achieve the primary goal that I moved to this country. German. Deutsch. Sprechen. Ich möchte Deutsch lernen. I want to learn German.

When I first got here, I surfed around on the Internet to see the prices and programs that various Spracheschules were offering. The private ones offered bi-weekly courses at about €275. These courses were about 8 weeks long and 90 minutes per session. But just as I was about to sign myself up for one of these classes, I heard about the Volkshochschule. This means the "Adult Education Center." This is a Berlin-wide organization that offers courses in many, many things! Sort of like the Chicago Park District. They have yoga, cooking, martial arts, basket weaving...and German as a Foreign Language. They also have Italian, Turkish, and Danish as well as a myriad of other choices. Not surprisingly, Deutsch is their most popular option. The Volkshochschule is significantly cheaper: €109 for 10 weeks, two classes a week, FOUR hours per class! Now, this is a deal, sure - but my class goes from 5:30 - 9:30 pm on Monday and Wednesday nights! I get home about 10:15 on those nights, and boy am I knackered. (Knackered=Tired. I've been hanging out with New Zealanders and English people too much, I think.)

My first class was last Monday, which was cold and rainy. I opted for the Volkshochschule close to my work, so I took the bus to the S-Bahn station where I usually catch the train, but walked down a side street for about 15 minutes and came upon a large white house with a purple Volkshochschule sign in front. It being my first day, I was nervous about finding the place and was quite early, as the school hadn't even opened yet. Since it was raining, and I had no place to sit, I went to the nearest bus shelter and found a dry spot to wait until the school opened its doors. Suddenly, two women appeared at my bus shelter clutching purple Volkshochschule course books in their hands. It turns out they were both to be in my class, and had met on the bus. One of them was Italian, and spoke very little English, and the other was from the United States. As she continued speaking, I realized that I had met this woman at my job fair in Iowa last year. She had secured a job at another international school in Berlin, and after having spent about 20 minutes with her in Iowa! Small town.

The other woman, Francesca, was thrilled to learn of my increasingly rusty Italian skills, and began babbling rapidly at me in her native language as soon as I said "Di dove sei?" We ended up sitting next to each other and speaking an odd mixture of Italian and English. There was a huge mix of nationalities in the Deutschkurs (German Class). It is an immersion class, so the teacher only speaks German, points a lot, and we throw this ball around to answer questions. Our first question was: "Woher kommen Sie?" Where are you from? We would throw the ball around the circle and say this, and then respond with our homeland. The teacher, Oliver, would then write the country on the board. There are students from New Zealand (Neuseeland), the US (Amerika), Ecuador (Ekuador), France (Frankreich), Turkey (Türkei), Poland (Polen), Italy (Italien), Bosnia (Bosnien), Croatia (Kroatien), and England (Großbrittanien). Oh my. Everyone in my class was really nice, and about half speak English even though we are not supposed to in class. One English guy does not seem to understand this rule, and has singled me out to answer his questions. He figured out that I have done some German study on my own and understand what the teacher is saying for the most part. So after Oliver says something like: "Hören Sie bitte, und buchstabieren Sie." This British guy turns to me and says: "What did he say?" He continually asks me until I give in, and whisper that we are supposed to listen and then spell out what he is saying, which earns me a dirty look from Oliver. Oooops.

Francesca and I have become great pals, however, and are now going to tandem in English and Italian on Mondays before class. She has already invited me to head back to Roma with her in the winter to meet her cugini - cousins. My Italian is coming back quickly, but hopefully not at the expense of the German. I can do both, right? I miss Italian - the bella lingua. I love German for its strength and power, but seriously - I wonder sometimes if they just pulled Scrabble letters out of a hat to make some of their words. Schmuck means lustrous and beautiful, by the way. Pronounced: "Schmook." And my favorite word is: Strumpfhose...stockings. It literally means: Sock Pants. Hee. I love German. They even have a word for the corner of your mouth. But I forget it...something-winkel. :)

Our most recent lesson in the Deutschkurs was "Was sind Sie von Bereuf?" Or: "What is your occupation?" I, of course, responded with: "Ich bin Lehrerin," which was taught to me last year by the very kind Diana Gangl, an ESL teacher at my old school who had lived in Austria for a good chunk of her life. My new German friend told me later that I should have responded with: "Ich bin Supermodel." Pronounced "Zoopermodell." Maybe next time.

And yes, you read that right...my new German friend. New friends are good. Sehr gut.

Especially if they can help you with your homework.

Tschüßie!

Mama, I'm Coming Home...

And if you didn't immediately recognize that as an Ozzy Osbourne song, shame on you. Despite his interest in bat consumption, he did have a few good tunes back in the day. But that is not the point of the title this week. Yes, I am coming home...for the holidays.

This evening, while talking (on Skype) to my mother and realizing how much she and my Stanley really wanted me home for Christmas (it is good to be loved) I searched yet again for a ticket that was somewhat affordable and wouldn't have 26 hour travel times. My friends at Air France and Delta came through. My flight times rock (I get in to Detroit at 1:20pm on the 23rd, just in time for a nap in the car and head out on the 29th). It is but a short sojourn, but one that will be packed with love and festivities. And mashed potatoes. And Tofurky! Kidding! I learned my lesson on that one last year.

Now that I have this ticket, I have a strange lightness to my step, and a smile that is hard to wipe from my face. Thank you, Mom, for helping me reach this decision. I didn't know how much I wanted to be back home again in Indiana until I confirmed my vegetarian/non-dairy flight meals. Mmmmm...steamed tofu, soy cheese, and rice crackers. Delish. Can't wait.

I had earlier made the decision not to come home as I was worried that I would be even more homesick when I returned. And the tickets are bloody expensive! But I am very strong in my resolve to remain in Europe (I really do love it here - so, so much!) and sure about my life here in Berlin at this point, and I am fully invested in my happiness here. So I think going home will be a wonderful visit with my families, and I will return to Germany with happy thoughts instead of homesick ones. And some instant oatmeal.

Wal-mart better stock up on their microwave popcorn as well.

'Cause, mama, I'm coming home.

Toilet Bars, Russian Discos, and Coffee Tables

Hello there! Boy it is a dreary Sunday here in Berlin. The time has changed, so it gets dark around 4pm already! Plus, it has been raining and cloudy for a few days now, so it is hard to keep the happy going sometimes. However, I am experiencing a renaissance here in Berlin - I am loving this city. I feel energized when I walk down to the S-Bahn in the mornings to take the train to work. I come alive strolling to Die Arkaden shopping center in an attempt to locate one color of turtleneck which I do not already own from H & M. I arrive home to my apartment with a renewed awareness that I live in BERLIN, as I look out across the vast city and the Fernsehrturm tower. I drink beer out of hosipital urinals. I dance at the Russian Disco. I buy a coffee table at IKEA. Ich bin ein Berliner.

I suppose the last few sentences require a bit more explanation. Bars and drinking establishments run aplenty here in Berlin. The pickle is, that many of these places are neighborhood Kneipe bars, which are brightly lit and do not allow the odd outsider in for a drink without giving said outsider a befuddled stare. It is not that strangers are not allowed into the Kniepe, but they just tend to be a group of locals and therefore, not too much fun. The remainder of the bars tend to be large clubs, theme bars, and restaurants. On Friday, my friend Danielle and I went to an Irish Pub called "Oscar Wilde." It was nice, because we did not have to order in German - the waitstaff were true Irish folk. Even though I love the German language, sometimes it is nice to be able to say "Thank you." Two weeks before, Danielle, another co-worker, Nathan, and I went to a theme bar called "Das Klo." Which means: The Toilet. Yes, we have a bar themed after toilets here in this grand city of culture and diversity. The premise is this: you drink your beer (two beers, actually) out of a large plastic hospital urinal. Apparently the ones designed for men work much better for this purpose, as you can see in the photo. If you order food, which we did not, it is appetizingly served to you in a bedpan. Mmmmm...

Following our experience at Das Klo, we headed to Kaffee Burger, which is in the former East Berlin. Since the East was under the control of the Russians, this is actually a Russian Disco. On this particular night they were not playing Russian disco music, but odd songs with English words that everyone seemed to know the lyrics to, but which I did not recognize. But after a couple of pilsners, I thought I knew the words and sang along quite merrily as Nathan, Kerrigan, another co-worker, and I bounced around in the teeny-tiny dance floor. Last night I returned to Kaffee Burger, and it was Russian disco night, and I was not disappointed. Though I did feel like I was a bit player in a production of "Fiddler on the Roof." This club does not actually close at a specific time, and I now realize how handy the 2am closing time can be. Unaware of the passing hours, both nights I returned well past 6am. Eeeek! Good times.

My mother's visit was a wonderful one, and we saw many, many, many things. On the last day she was here, I dragged her to IKEA in search of a coffee table. While my apartment is tiny, she convinced me that I could fit a coffee table in the living area, and that it wouldn't be so bulky feeling if I purchased a glass one. We found this perfect brushed steel glass half-hexagon that looks fantastic! You should be able to see the coffee table, my new sparkly star-lights, the Christmas Cactus plant (that my mom swears even I can manage to keep alive), and the chair in the corner in which I write all these blogs. I also got cool drying racks because...I have a washing machine now! It is tiny. Teeny tiny. It looks like it may only fit a couple of socks, but it actually does hold quite a bit. Makes a ruckus during the spin cycle, and I hope it isn't disturbing to those below me. These are good, thick, industrial German floors, so I imagine the noise isn't too bad. Dried clothes are not as warm and cuddly as those that come out of a dryer, but my battles with the maintenance man over my laundry abilities have come to an end.

My final news of the week is that I have received a notice from DeutschePost that a package is waiting for me at their pick-up facility. This is a package I sent to myself back in April that has somehow been waylayed for a spell. I have no clue what is in it...I think I am still missing a pair of brown shoes. Other than that, I imagine that it will be a nice surprise to see what is in this package that I actually never realized was missing.

Maybe I shipped myself something exciting and wonderful! Or it could just be socks and pajamas. Socks and pajamas sound quite nice right about now. On Sunday nights, I swear I can still hear the tick, tick, ticking of the clock from "60 Minutes." Like I said, it was a long night at the Russian Disco. If you would like an idea of what I was dancing to, click here.

And yes, it is possible to dance enthusiastically to that sort of music. Sorry - no photos of that! Enthusiastic dancing, large beers, and a club with no closing time ensures a decidedly good look at the end of the evening.

As evidenced by this hottie I hung out with on the train ride home.

I need another nap. Love my bed. Love my new coffee table. Love my apartment. Love the scene. Love instant coffee and Kaffee Burger. Love Muesli. Love my new washing machine. Love my squashy bed. Love Germany.

Love Berlin.