Ich bin ein Berliner. (I am a jelly doughnut.) -JFK

I am so married.

2008-03-31T13:31:00.003+02:00

Wedding #2, the sequel, the church one...whatever you want to call it, happened over our Easter break in the beautiful state of Indiana. Perhaps you find sarcasm towards the Hoosier state in that sentence, but this time, there truly was none intended.

You see, this time I saw the state in which I was born and bred (fellow Hoosiers include: Diane Chambers from Cheers, James Dean, and the guy who draws Garfield) through different eyes. European eyes. Not mine though, my inlaws'. Seven of them traveled all the way from Barcelona to be a part of our Catholic wedding in the States, and I admit, I was at a bit of a loss as to what to do with these sophisticated Europeans in my humble state of corn and soy. But apparently we have buffalo by our house (and after visiting, you can have a buffalo burger, which seemed a bit weird). And Amish people! Okay, I knew about the Amish - who seemed much more quaint while visiting with the inlaws, instead of being just a consistent source of well-made furniture and Shoo-Fly Pie.

This wedding was the churchy one, held in beautiful St. Patrick's Catholic Church in Fort Wayne, Indiana. This place was always my favorite among the Fort's churches, with its intricate altar and beautiful stained glass windows. I was so excited that my mother managed to book this locale for our wedding, as I had always dreamed of getting married in an old church that wasn't constructed of weird geometric shapes as so many modern churches seem to be these days. The priest that came with the church, Fr. Chau, was a lovely Vietnamese guy, with a bit (read: more than a bit) of an accent. Add that to the fact that the old church was rather echoey like the Mammoth Caves in Kentucky, and you had a recipe for the old folk like my Aunt Virginia having not a clue as to what Fr. Chau was saying during the one and a half hour mass. Except for when he gave a sweet welcoming to Jordi's family and thanked them for coming all the way from BOSNIA.

Not Barcelona. BOSNIA. That, of course, echoed loud and clear.

It was a very long mass. And being that this was a very traditional church, we spent those 90 minutes on a kneeler at the front. Turns out the netting on my dress that made it all lovely and slightly poofy, also gave my knees quite a rubbing. Jordi had a different dilemma with the kneeler, as it revealed that his dress shoes, while seemingly identical from the top, actually had different soles. One brown, one black. Which of course is only noticeable if you happen to be kneeling down in front of a large group of people. For 90 minutes.

We just explained that this was the fashion of choice for former members of the Yugoslav Republic...

All in all, it was a truly lovely and meaningful ceremony, even though our DJ insisted on playing light jazz (blech) during the dinner hour. Somehow he managed to get the groove going later and people on the dance floor. He even heeded my requests eliminating the Hokey Pokey and Chicken Dance from the playlist.

My whole family (minus just a couple) managed to make it for the day, traveling from states far and wide. It really meant so much to us that so many people came to celebrate with us. It was a great reunion of sorts, with aunts and uncles who hadn't seen each other in years, and my increasingly gigantic cousins; it was finally explained to Jordi why I always refer to myself as "short." Of course my family is all located within the US borders.

But I like to think they still would have still made it for our wedding, no matter where they were located in the world.

I mean, Jordi's family came all the way from Bosnia, you know.

Honeymoon and Moving on...

2008-02-28T14:38:00.002+01:00

Since it's been about a month since I last wrote, there is lots to say! First off, married life is much like life was like when we were just "roommates." We're still getting along swimmingly, writing dopey notes to each other on the chalkboard...and I mean dopey and a sweet and uber-cute way, and he still makes me tea in the mornings. We've got another wedding coming down the line in two weeks, back in the USA with my family and friends. This version will be the full Catholic mass, and I will be forever indebted to my mother (and her support group consisting of family and her friends) for doing the lion's share of the work with this one because we are so far from home...

We've gone on a couple of major excursions during the month of February, the first of which included a job fair, and the second of which was much less stressful: our honeymoon!

First to the job fair...
We headed to London to interview as a teaching couple, and had all sorts of thoughts about where we might end up for the next few years of our life. Brazil, Japan, Vietnam, Spain, and even Bangladesh, were places we were looking as potential new homelands. Upon arriving at the fair, which hosted 120 schools and around 500 teacher candidates, we dove into the melee and tried to wrangle interviews with various schools that had listed positions for each of us. We needed to find a combination that required both a PE teacher and a primary teacher (I am desperate to head back to the Grade 1 classroom!). Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your perspective), many of the schools we thought would have vacancies, did not! So...we almost went with jobs in Munich. Yes, another 2-3 years in Germany. There were positives to this option: we know the language, the culture, and we'd be next to the Alps this time, much different than our current rainy and gray Berlin. But the negatives were there as well: we know the language, the culture, and fear having to put up with German Shelf Toilets for another 2-3 years... Happily, we also had interviews at other schools, including Budapest, Moscow, and Tokyo. Following our interview with the school in Tokyo, we were sold...they had the exact positions we were hoping for, it is a small school, and...we really like sushi. A lot. So we canceled the rest of our interviews, accepted a position with the Japanese school...and Tokyo, here we come! In 6 months. So now we are living one foot (or two, if you count both of our feet) in Berlin, and one in Tokyo, though we plan to spend a good long time visiting with both of our families this summer. Though there is a direct flight from Detroit to Tokyo available, something tells me my mother won't hit Asia 4 times in one year like she did during my time here in Europe...

As for the honeymoon, we went to Hurghada, Egypt...the Bahamas of Europe. We stayed in an all-inclusive resort, the Royal Azur, and truly enjoyed our time there. We'd read a lot on Trip Advisor before going, and were a bit nervous about all the "drunk Russians" purported to be running rampant through this hotel, but instead found them to be irritating only by their heavy smoking and need to converse LOUDLY on their mobiles while sunning in their Speedos by the pool.

Though Jordi had been to Egypt before, I had not, and was excited to learn that there was an opportunity to see the pyramids in Cairo, even though we were a bit far away from the capital city. It took a little persuading (though I understood his hesitation after making the trip) to get on a bus at 1am to drive to Cairo for 8 hours, crossing the Sahara in the dead of night. But he agreed. We piled on the bus that night at 1am, picked about 30 people at various hotels which took 2 HOURS...finally at 2:45am we were told we were going to join the "convoy" which would be crossing the Sahara in a giant snake line of tour busses, arriving in Cairo at 9:30am. We pulled into a parking lot, where about 50 busses were waiting. Situated around the perimeter of the lot were Egyptian soldiers armed with big scary guns, facing out towards the desert, shielded behind metal. Made me wonder a bit what the hell was out there in the desert that we needed to be protected from?!?

After a sleepless night sandwiched between two overly chatty French girls, and a gigantic Dutch couple, we arrived in beautiful Cairo. This is literally the saddest city I have ever seen. People plodding the dusty, dirty streets. Dogs digging through garbage. Laundry hanging out the window of various falling down tenement structures, "airing" out. In the distance: the pyramids of Giza.

Upon arrival at the pyramids, my image of the mystic giants was shattered. They were not alone in the windswept desert, they were situated on the edge of dirty Cairo. The pyramids were populated with vendors selling camel rides, vagrants trying to snag euro coins with sad faces, and lots of litter. Lots. We took the obligatory pictures, and got back on the bus to head to the Sphinx, then the Egyptian Museum (which was also dirty, and disorganized, but had really cool stuff from King Tut's tomb). After a day of touring Cairo, I was happy to have seen the magnificence of monuments built thousands of years ago, but a bit weary from the depressing conditions of a very sad city. I was actually thrilled to clamber back aboard the bus to head to our enclave of a resort, a haven in the vast expanse of desert. Most folk (even the chatty Frenchies) passed out on the ride home. The driver literally barreled through the desert this time, nailing every single pothole in his path. We actually arrived in Hurghada proper at 9:30pm, but didn't get back to our own hotel until a full 2 hours later due to the many, many drop-offs at other hotels.

The next few days were filled with relaxing reading, windsurfing (which was not relaxing), a very funny glass-bottom boat ride - the boat was splintered with neglect, and water was seeping in!, and basically, just enjoyed each other's company...and the free ice cream poolside! Plus, we talked lots about our future...Tokyo, family, etc...

A great honeymoon it was...not because of the relaxing atmosphere, cross-desert adventures, or the yummy wood-fired pizzas available at lunch time.

It was perfect because during the week, we grew as a couple. Not just in our pant sizes, due to the all-inclusive environment...

Though I do wonder if my wedding dress might be a bit more snug this time around.

That rice really stings!

2008-01-15T12:13:00.000+01:00

Yay!

2008-01-14T08:47:00.000+01:00

We're married!

Yay!

Its been a long time...

2008-01-11T09:09:00.000+01:00

I honestly didn't realize it had been over two months! I've been a bit preoccupied. A lot preoccupied. This wedding business can really take over your life...

But in these two months I've learned several things:
1. That having your wedding hair done by someone you can't communicate with can result in tragic Flashdance hair.
2. Nervous energy really does burn calories!
3. Catalan is no easy language to learn...and even harder to pronounce...but the use of x in many of the words is sort of cool.
4. There are sooooo many details to think of...and I am glad we did it all in four months, instead of the two-year plan.
5. I totally get the honeymoon thing now...

So the day is finally near, everything is ordered, all the names are written, and all that remains is my need to memorize my vows...and learn how to pronounce them! Mixing up the vowel sounds in a few of these words could require some serious damage control after the fact...

Salud!

Two Weddings for the price of None

2007-11-05T08:11:00.000+01:00

No, I have not been trapped in the frozen tundra of Sweden (though I would like to still be there very much - it is lovely, cozy, and those Kanelbulles are just to die for). I have been trapped in the mire that is planning two weddings at once, while living in neither place.

Our Spanish wedding is on, thanks to our passing muster at the Spanish Embassy last week. After finally getting the ten million official papers together, translated, stamped, and stapled, we had to go in for an official interview. We were actually separated (a la "Green Card") and asked questions to make sure we were reeeeally in love, and not just trying to get citizenship in each other's countries. It was kind of fun, but a bit weird, since we both felt like we were under inspection, even though we were totally telling the truth! Really, all the lady had to do is just look at our dopey faces to know we are completely besotted with each other. Well, my dopey face anyway.

The American wedding is underworks as well, and we are currently trying to figure out a way to have a Catholic ceremony, which is difficult for reasons that I won't detail. It seems the Catholics love their paperwork just as much as the Spanish Government.

But the best news is that I have a pretty dress. Super pretty. It actually looks a bit like when you wrap a bedsheet around you when you are little and pretend to get married. I used to do that with my Mickey Mouse doll. Anyway, it has no beads, ruffles, lace, shine, or anything...as simple as simple can be...

Unlike the rest of this whole wedding planning process!

Hej från Sverige!

2007-10-13T19:38:00.000+02:00

Yep, I am freezing my toes off up North in the land that gave us H&M, ABBA, and IKEA. In a few days, we are catching a 16-hour night ferry to Helsinki, Finland to spend a couple of days there before grabbing the ferry back to Stockholm and heading back to Berlin. Which seems downright toasty compared to this Arctic place.

But I have someone here to keep me warm. The someone I plan to marry in just three short months.

He gave me a beautiful ring yesterday, by the way. Two silver bands crossed and soldered together.

Sometimes it amazes me that I have found someone who knows me so well.

Except for today, he learned about my unfortunate finger and toe situation passed down from my mama, where they freeze in the tiniest drops in temperature. But the trooper that he is, he gave my feet a rubdown right in the Central Station.

That's love, I have to say. Especially since I was wearing yesterday's socks.

An Amazing Austrian Aniversari

2007-10-01T16:53:00.000+02:00

Aniversari means Birthday in Catalan...but more importantly it starts with the letter A, which is vital for that whole alliteration thing I like to do sometimes.

Last Friday was my birthday, and for a month my fiance (that sounds so weird) had been telling me that he had a major surprise up his sleeve. So Friday night, after drinks with a few friends, and a day filled with candy and handmade cards and a yummy yogurt cake I came home to find several American items like Fluff, Jif Peanut Butter, Jet-Puffed Marshmallows, and Arm and Hammer Baking Soda arranged and gift-wrapped on our bed. And the mysterious package he had been checking the mailbox for had finally arrived and was filled with TOOTSIE ROLLS, which are the most bestest candy on Earth. He couldn't find them in Europe, and so had a friend living in Chicago ship them over for me. He is super awesome...but you will find him even more so after you hear what he did for me as my "non-material" gift.

It was Amazing. It was in Austria. It was my most Awesome Aniversari...

For a clue, go here...you may just figure it out. I'll have to tell you the details at a later date. Right now, I need to go buy some groceries.

I really love my life. And the love of my life.

And I am not talking about the Tootsie Rolls. :)

How do people plan a wedding...

2007-09-20T12:18:00.001+02:00

...for longer than three months? I have to say, I am glad we are making it snappy. Having the light at the end of the tunnel before the New Year makes things much more palatable. So many things to choose, file, sign, and think about.

I think I am a bit of a lazy bride.

Of course, the fact that I am getting married in a country where I can only function at a toddler-level with the language makes it different, I suppose. I am getting out of doing a lot of the leg work. :) All I have been responsible for so far is to pick a pretty dress...which I have accomplished quite outstandingly, if I do say so myself.

That, and I stated quite emphatically that I want strawberry jam layered with white cake and sugary frosting.

Having jam is important on my wedding day. So is my pretty dress. Almost as important as getting all the papers translated and in on time so we can actually get married, I guess.

Sometimes I have to question my priorities.

The Fourteenth

2007-09-14T13:19:00.000+02:00

This is a copy of the email we sent out this afternoon to the entire staff of the school at which we both work:

Dear Colleagues and Friends,

Three months ago today, just before the end of last school year, two really good friends sat down together at their favorite sushi restaurant in Kreuzberg and, after a glass or two of Chardonnay, finally got up enough nerve to say how they really felt about each other.

Yesterday, (this time, without any Chardonnay) they called their families to tell them that they’d decided to get married.

It’s like you always hear people say…when you know, you just know.

And…we know.

Have a lovely Friday afternoon and weekend…

J & J

P.S. – In case you were wondering, no baby is on the way…

Not yet. :)

And now, you know too...

I love...

2007-08-27T16:11:00.000+02:00

...my class. (There are just twelve of them and they are so sweet and obedient and lovely...really. I know it is the first day, but sometimes you just know. It is going to be a good year.)

...carpooling to school. (I don't miss hauling my bike up and down the S-Bahn stairs every day. Though I do miss riding into school in the mornings...sort of.)

...sushi. (It is just yummy.)

...my life. (I get to live in Europe, I have a job that I love, and now, someone really amazingly fantastic to share it with. And he makes me coffee in the morning. Yay!)

My New Roommate

2007-08-26T18:45:00.000+02:00

He doesn't like it when I call him that. He thinks of himself as more than a roommate. Which, of course, he is. Much more.

I had a friend once who told me that when she moved in with her fiance, that it was like having a giant slumber party that never stopped. And actually, it is sort of like that. First of all, it is super fun. SUPER FUN! And I am not just talking about the fact that I now have someone to share the laundry and dusting duties with. The weird thing is...that somehow, everyday chores like doing the wash and picking up stray hair from the floor (and believe me, there is a lot of that going on in our flat...apparently cucumber is the solution, but I have yet to put it to the test) has become more...fun. Seriously. And suddenly I am much more aware of keeping a nice home and picking up after myself...

And I bake bread.

The kind my mom used to make for breakfast...with pumpkin, or blackberries, or even mango chunks. The mango bread was a little hairy looking but still tasted pretty good. It wasn't hairy because of me, of course...the mango was a bit pulpy.

Today I made vanilla-blueberry-walnut bread. We were both very excited about this. In what is becoming a more frequent practice of being goofily romantic and sappy, I put a blueberry heart in the center of the loaf.

We think this is why the bread rose a bit too much at this center point, and actually looked a bit like it had grown a tumor. But we were still gazing dreamily at each other as we cut a slice of our bread and prepared to take a bite.

We bit.

We looked at each other.

Somewhat undreamily, however...I had forgotten to add the sugar.

The bread tasted like straight flour with a few blueberries thrown in for color. To his credit, he said: 'Mmmmmm...' as he smiled at me. I know the bread tasted gross. But I appreciated the effort.

We decided to dump obscene amounts of honey on the bread to solve the sweetness issue.

Honey makes everything taste yummy...

Just like love.

Hee.

Did you know that lemons grow on trees?

2007-08-13T21:18:00.000+02:00

Okay, I knew that too. You´re not smarter than me. But...two days ago I had my first cooking lesson from my boyfriend´s (who returns tomorrow, yippee!) mama and sister. Well, the sister was more of a helper too, and I think she was telling me that she doesn´t cook a lot either, but I could have totally misinterpreted the whole thing...I´m still operating at a toddler-level of speaking here, but I am trying not to be too hard on myself being that I have been speaking Catalan for a grand total of five days now. They get what I am trying to say, mostly. I think. Anyway, back to the cooking lesson...

The first thing we started to make was this yummy Catalan cake that I don´t know the name of. When I asked, both Mama and Sister pulled at their skin while saying the name, but somehow I don´t think this dessert is called Skin-cake. That would be gross. Mama handed me a fork and a few eggs, and I imitated the sister by separating the whites from the yolks and then starting to whip the whites with the fork. The sister kept telling me that her mother was very traditional and didn´t like to use machines to cook, and I found myself wondering why you really would need a machine to mix up egg whites...until I realized that Mama intended us to whip those whites into stiff and shiny peaks, something I had not ever achieved without the use of electricity and my friends Black and Decker. But I whipped those whites, and whipped those whites, and whipped those whites, and right when my arm was about to fall off, I realized that they were starting to actually froth up! So I kept going...Mama took over for a bit, but then she let me cross the finish line myself, and I proudly showed her my egg whites like I´d just gotten an A on a finger painting.

Once the cake-that-will-not-be-named was completed and popped into the oven, we started to make the most famous (and most likely to inspire serious stomach cramps in those unfortunate enough to be lactose-intolerant, like myself) Crema Catala. Mama needed a lemon, and sent the sister and me to fetch it. From a tree. In the backyard. So unfamiliar and bizarre to my midwestern horticultural upbringing. On the way back to the house, we passed a few plants that looked familiar to me, but I couldn´t believe that they actually grew bananas in their backyard too. So I asked. The reply from the sister: ¨Si, plantans.¨ She said this in a non-chalant way as if growing tropical produce in your own backyard was totally commonplace...I so would have preferred bananas growing in our garden instead of rutabega. Lucky people.

We made the Crema Catala, and then I learned to make Catalan Rice, which is similar to Paella, but is way better in my opinion because it is saucier and is also without sausage and chicken. Just lots of shrimps and baby lobsters complete with heads and tails, mussels, and hunks of octopus. It was seriously one of the the best meals I have ever eaten. And to think I grew up with meatloaf and Mac n´Cheese. I mean, I like those things...well, liked them...but my national cuisine really pales in comparison to how they eat here in Catalunya.

And Mama insists that I come over every day for either lunch or dinner. I don´t eat much during the rest of the day...because she piles food on my plate like I just finished a triathlon or something.

I think this means she must like me, at least I hope so.

I don´t think she´s trying to fatten me up so her son won´t recognize me when he returns tomorrow...and then I won´t haul him back to Berlin with me in a week.

Though I´d understand it if she did. He´s a pretty good guy to have around.

Tonight, I had my last dinner solo with the parents. We ate about 7 different things that were all equally tasty, and then watched Mr. Bean after dinner. Mr. Bean seems to transcend all language barriers, and Mama, Papa, and I laughed and laughed as Mr. Bean protected his cupcake from a wasp and undertook his own dental surgery.

In a way, I feel fortunate to have had these days with the parents, getting to know them on my own without a translator present. We´ve had some laughs, most of which I have not totally understood, and I think they really know how much I care about their son. This is the explanation I can think of as to why they are willing to put up with a near-stranger visiting daily with dictionary in hand, speaking their language like one of the Rugrats. I feel sort of bonded to them now, maybe more than I would have been had the past week not happened.

Mama and Papa totally rock.

And they like Mr. Bean.

And they like me, too, I think. :) They smiled when I peeled my peach tonight.

Hola! Jo soc felic!

2007-08-10T15:38:00.001+02:00

That means: ´Hello! I am happy!,´ in the new language I am attempting to learn, Catalan. I know, I know, I forgot to put a accenty thing over the o in soc and a curlycue on the bottom of my c in felic, but I am unfamiliar with this keyboard. And I am trying to move quickly, as I am using my parella´s parents´computer!

Right now I am hanging out in Barcelona for a few days while said ´parella´ is off in Menorca. Why am I at the house of my boyfriend´s parents when he is not? Well...because the weather in Paris sucked, he asked if I wanted to just come a week earlier to his house and hang out in the sun instead of being in gray and rainy Paris. And after thinking about three seconds, I agreed that this was a good plan. Plus, I´m not really in the house of the parents...I am in his apartment downstairs, which is quite lovely and used to belong to his grandparents. In the mornings I can go for a run, take a lovely cold shower, and sit outside in the warm sun practicing my Catalan...which is no easy language to learn, let me tell you! But helping me along in this quest are his lovely parents, who sit and patiently listen to my garbled toddler speak, and kindly help and correct when needed. And trust me, it is needed a lot. Despite the fact that we have no common language, the parents and I are getting along swimmingly...at least I think we are...they did give me a rather odd look as I ate the skin on my peach instead of peeling it today at lunch.

Molt fibres!, I said proudly.

They smiled kindly. Then they went back to peeling their peaches elegantly while I continued to munch down on my own fuzzy peach.

They must really love their son a lot to put up with the likes of me, I suppose. But I imagine that I am a major source of entertainment during our conversations. Lord knows what I have said or told them.

I tried to tell them that my mother also eats the fuzzy skin of the peach, and also the skin of potatoes. They regarded me with quizzical looks.

I probably indicated that my mother is some sort of backwoods hillbilly...but at least I didn´t try to tell them all about her bizarre reading headlamp that makes her look like a scary bug.

Somehow I think something would have gotten lost in the translation.

Rick and Lee and Mom and Me

2007-08-07T08:56:00.001+02:00

No, I have not dropped off the face of the Earth in some heady romantic cloud and completely forgotten that perhaps three of you are anxiously waiting the next installment of my oh-so-bizarre life...

I have been on a road trip.

With my mother.

For 10 days. (I'm being dramatic here, Mom.)

But we were not alone. Joining us were two vital components to a successful mother-daughter venture. Rick and Lee.

No, Mom and I did not pick up two men on the side of the road who were displaying washboard abs and cowboy hats à la Brad Pitt in Thelma and Louise. The Rick I speak of is more commonly known as Rick Steves, the travel guru who makes Europe accessible for those on a tight schedule who want to pack in as much as possible in their few days on the continent. My mother clutched to this book like it was the last box of Shredded Wheat available post-apocalypse. But I have to admit, Rick had some good pointers...not the least of which included hints on finding Internet in nearly every po-dunk French hamlet we passed through. I think this was my mother's least favorite part of the book.

Lee was the name of the voice prompter we finally settled on for our GPS system. These things are AMAZING, and vital if you and your mother (or other travel companion) don't want to end up in a stranglehold over the map, insulting each others' navigational skills as you do 130 down the French highway.

We settled on the voice of Lee, an Australian bloke with possibly the worst French accent and straight-up phonetic pronunciation EVER, after trying out several of the other personalities along the way. We began with Karen, the American woman, but after she rather bitchily told me she was "Recalculatiiiing" after I made a wrong turn, I requested a switch to Daniel, the refined English chap. But when I made a few errors and heard Daniel telling me in a somewhat snippy and slightly bored voice that he was "Re-cahl-cu-lah-ting," we moved on to Lee. Though Lee also often had to readjust his directions based on my inability to pay attention, when he recalculated the map, he told me he was doing so with almost a slight chuckle. I had a little crush on him, I think.

Occasionally, I did have my moments of irritation with Lee, as he often insisted on sending us completely ass-backwards ways through these one lane French country roads. While these always afforded us a beautiful view of French life in the rural areas, Lee's love for the "shortcut" also almost sent us hurtling head first into a few giant green tractors.

When I told people I was taking a road trip with my mom around France, I received mixed reactions. Some people said: "Wow, how cool! You guys will have an amazing experience together!" Others said: "That sounds great, but I don't think I could do that with my mother." And still more said: "You're nuts. I hope you take some Valium along..."

I wasn't really sure what to expect...my mom and I have a really good relationship, in my opinion. On the phone, we can talk and talk and talk...sitting by the lake, we can talk and talk and talk...in the car, we can talk and talk and talk...but of course, we are mother and daughter...so we did have a couple of bumpy patches along the way. But nothing too serious. I think since we know we only get to see each other a few times a year now that I live overseas, we both make a great effort not to irritate each other.

But irritation between mother and daughter is only natural...especially if the mother insists on wearing a "reading headlamp" to bed that makes her look like a gigantic praying mantis.

Of course, I know I have my idiosyncrasies that irritate her as well. But being my mother she refused to tell me what they were...

She didn't want to hurt my feelings, she said.

She is a good mom like that.

'Cause I'm pretty sure my obsession with reading every menu we passed by before selecting a restaurant bugged the hell out of her.

That or the fact that I belched out loud in the car a couple of times.

She REALLY hates that.

(We had many adventures in the past two weeks, the most exciting of which occurred just moments after Mom and I arrived in my dodgy neighborhood and stopped to get some cash out of the ATM. Though Mom was being very careful and leaning in towards the machine, a man came out of nowhere and grabbed the 300€ out of her hand. I was a bit pissed at this less than kind intro to Paris for my mommy, so I ran like a bat out of Hell wearing my flip-flops and caught up with the perp as my mother was screaming "STOP, THIEF!!!" I yelled at him in a bizarre mixture of French and English, to which he replied: "Aw, man..." and HANDED ME BACK THE MONEY. I counted it, and he'd taken 20€ but I wasn't going to argue with the guy. He was sort of scary and big. At least I thought so. Maybe it was dumb to go after him, and it is definitely not something I would do in the States...but it was 300€, and this guy was starting off my mom's special holiday with me in a less than perfect manner. And my mom deserves the best, trust me. Love you, Mom.)

The Happiest Place on Earth...

2007-07-19T21:31:00.000+02:00

Okay, yes. I went to EuroDisney last weekend. And yes, it was pretty happy. But also sort of teeny compared to the behemoth that is the Magic Kingdom in Orlando, Florida. But I still liked it. It is so cleeeeean! And there are princesses walking around. I always wanted to be Cinderella...she had pretty shoes. (Though on a side note, today one of the people in my French class told us that in the original version of Cinderella her slippers were made out of squirrels, and that when they translated the story they got the word wrong and wrote glass. Squirrel shoes? Ick.)

But the Happiest Place I am talking about is not Disneyland Paris, but the Barcelona Girona Airport tomorrow.

I will be landing there for my first visit to Spain...actually, Catalunya. I've been informed that although the region of Catalunya is technically part of Spain, the people in this area (whose capital is Barcelona), maintain a strong cultural sensibility, have their own government and police force, and speak their own language, which actually resembles French more than Spanish, it seems.

I'm flying to Barcelona to rendez-vous with one of my best friends from school (the P.E. teacher who has been in many of my photos), who left Berlin for good in June to go back to his hometown. He was actually in Barcelona for one day, called me the next and asked my thoughts on him returning to Berlin in the fall...and on him coming to Paris the following weekend...and the rest, as they say folks...is history. It was terribly romantic, if I do say so myself. And something I really didn't see coming. I'm pretty dumb about this stuff, actually. Clueless.

Unfortunately, we have this whole summer apart which is a bit brutal, even for an independent gal like myself. Even though we had developed a great friendship over the school year, now that things have "changed" I admit, I really, really, really miss him.

What has happened to me? I'm turning into a sappy romantic! Blech.

But I have kissed a lot of frogs in this life...it's about time I found my prince.

Yay!

Bastille Day, Disneyland, and The Cheesiest...

2007-07-16T21:26:00.001+02:00

It was a very full weekend. I am too tired to write about it right now. I literally spent 16 hours at Disneyland yesterday. And it was just as awesome as I thought it would be!

My week should settle down after tomorrow, and I will have a chance to upload my photos and give you a full visual experience. Because you can't write a post about Eurodisney without some eye candy...

Right now I have to write out the directions for a recipe from my native country. We are working on using the imperative form, and this our assignment. I will be giving the directions on how to make Kraft Mac 'n Cheese.

I can't think of anything more American than that!

Or yummy.

I can read!!!

2007-07-12T19:27:00.000+02:00

I've taught the little guys for while now, and by far, my most favorite thing to witness is when they finally make the jump from stringing individual sounds together to make words, into reading full sentences fluently and with understanding.

Basically when they stop sounding like creepy little robots.

More than once, I've seen a six-year-old look up from a book and say: "I can read!"

I like that.

Yesterday, in an attempt to further my dismal French skills, I bought a couple of Magic Treehouse books at a French bookstore. These books are favorites of my English-reading students, as they are adventurous, interesting, and appear to be quite funny. I often catch the kids chuckling as they read along. (They're about a brother and sister who go up in this treehouse which magically transports them to different places in time. Which would actually be pretty cool.)

This evening I sat down with the first book: "La Cabane Magique: La vallée des dinosaures." It's not bad...and I've learned loads of new words we haven't covered in my French course. I would prefer to take the book to a park and enjoy it outdoors in the beauty that is Paris, however it has pretty much not stopped raining since I got here three weeks ago...and to build my fluency - I read out loud. That may earn me some bizarre looks from the Parisians enjoying a picnic lunch in the gardens.

Yes, I read my Magic Treehouse books aloud like I am back in the reading circle of Mrs. Klump's second grade class. Except since I am alone in the apartment, there is no one exchanging smirks as I mangle the words.

Sorry Poonsock (kid in my CCD class), that I laughed at you when you had to read out loud about John the Baptist hiding out in that cave. Trying to read aloud in a foreign language is no easy task, man. My apologies, wherever you are.

To improve our pronunciation in class we sang this song yesterday. I never thought I would say this...but pronouncing German is lots easier...

But of course, it sounds like this...

Maybe I should try this language instead?

Si. Per el amor meu, jo intentaré!

Happy Anniversary to me...

2007-07-05T19:05:00.000+02:00

One year ago today, I left the United States to start a new life in Germany. I have learned a lot, lived a lot, and per usual, fallen down a few times along the way. But I've always managed to get back up, throw on a band-aid or two, and keep on truckin'.

(For those of you who think this is a pretty metaphor for encountering difficulties, and going on...I'm sorry to say you are mistaken. I actually do trip over things rather frequently and currently sport a skinned knee, ankle, and elbow. And I do this mostly while sober. Though sometimes not.)

The point is...I am still convinced I made the right decision. Sure, in speaking with my family for two hours last night I had pangs of guilt that I wasn't there to see how my nieces and nephew have grown, and I really wanted to figure out some way my mother could send a nice ear of lightly buttered and salted Indiana sweet corn my way, but I am happy here.

And I did manage to score some corn for dinner.

Somehow, though, it just wasn't quite the same...

La vie à Paris...

2007-07-03T17:37:00.000+02:00

Okay. It is different here. A lot different. I like it. But Parisians are nothing like the Berliners I am accustomed to. Except for the fact that they apparently also prefer to go the more natural route as far as body odor. But for this post I will focus on the positive!

1. The Paris Metro rocks! Yeah, it is hot and sort of stinky, and you are likely to encounter a fair share of public urination, but...you only have to wait three minutes max for a train. And it is super-cheap! It only cost me 53 Euro for my monthly pass...and I even got a nifty photo ID along with it. Of course, the photo is from a frizzy hair day, but what can you do?

2. People really do walk down the street gnawing on baguettes. The bread is seriously way better than anywhere else. I am not sure what they put in the stuff, but I like it. I chew on my baguette just like everyone else...except I opt for the whole-grain version. Empty calories? Merci, non! I needs my fiber.

3. It is expensive. Really expensive. Really, really, really expensive. I spend literally four times as much at the grocery here than in Berlin. The positive? They have about 8 billion different kinds of plain yogurt to choose from. I eat a lot of yogurt. This is exciting for me. My favorite is this one that comes in cute little plastic bowls. I feel very French as I eat it with my petite cuillière. (My little spoon.)

4. The Frenchies do not wait for the green man to light up before crossing the street. They practically thumb their noses at oncoming cars. Since I am used to the Germanic way of doing things, which requires one to stand statue-like at the traffic light until the red man blinks off and the green man appears, the French people think I am a safety dork. Which is pretty much true...

5. I can see the Eiffel Tower from my flat. Seriously. It sparkles at night and is super-pretty. I know that doesn't have anything to do with the eccentricities of life here in Paris, but I just wanted to make you all jealous.

Vive la France!

You have to kiss a lot of frogs...

2007-06-28T10:21:00.000+02:00

...before you find a prince.

P.S. I'm in Paris now. Yippee!

I love my Gene Pool...

2007-06-27T09:56:00.000+02:00

Check out this article printed by the News Sentinel of Fort Wayne, Indiana. How much does my Grandpa rock?

Still playing

John Griffith, 96, plays tennis, golf every week

By Blake Sebring

One morning about two months ago, Wildwood Racquet Club co-owner Will Cleveland was walking toward the front desk when he happened to look over his shoulder toward the courts. At that split second, an opponent smashed a tennis ball with a big forehand shot at 96-year-old John Griffith. Yes, he’s 96 and still plays tennis every week.

“I actually saw him try to dive for the ball like Boris Becker,” Cleveland said, laughing. “He stretched out with his racket to hit a backhand volley and he literally lunged and almost dove for it. It’s something I wouldn’t do at age 52.”

Griffith does a lot of things at age 96 that many people half his age wouldn’t do. He plays tennis once or twice a week during the colder months and golfs once a week during the warmer ones. His favorite sport is water volleyball, which he turned to after giving up regular volleyball.

Besides never starting to drink or smoke, Griffith said it helps to marry the right person. He certainly did that, staying married to Marjorie for 65 years before she passed away in 2004 at age 88. They have three daughters and four sons, 21 grandchildren and seven great-grandchildren.

“There’s not been too much sadness, sickness or injury,” he said. “Nothing especially fancy, either, but it’s been enjoyable to me anyway.”

Griffith started playing tennis as a youngster in 1921 when he and his sister could walk across the street and play at Lakeside Park.

He never took any professional instruction, but they could play whenever they liked on the clay courts.

After graduating from Central Catholic High School and the University of Detroit, Griffith played tennis sporadically, but it wasn’t until 1968 in Homeland, Ill., that he joined a league. He’s been playing regularly ever since.

“That’s about 40 years,” he said. “That’s long enough, but I should have been a lot better than I am. I don’t really play tennis now, but I try and enjoy it.”

He plays doubles in the Wildwood senior leagues on Wednesdays and sometimes joins the group for Friday workouts.

Griffith has a wickedly dry sense of humor, such as when he’s talking about his teammates.

“The company, some of them aren’t so hot,” he said with a chuckle. “They’re a nice bunch of guys, and I enjoy them. They put up with me, which I appreciate.”

Actually, he’s beloved by his teammates, except when he hits his wicked forehand drop shot which almost always lands two feet over the net before dying almost immediately. “It drives all the guys nuts because nobody can get it back,” Wildwood pro Scott Dredge said. “One of the most remarkable things about him is how well he moves. He gets around extremely well for being 96.

“When he first came out to drill, I did a double-take. I had always heard about him, but I never assumed he would come out to drill. The first thing he told me was, ‘I need to get more exercise.’ He’s pretty remarkable.”

For Griffith’s 95th birthday, Wildwood gave him a lifetime membership. They also threw him a party for his 96th birthday.

“He still insists on paying for court time and his lessons,” Cleveland said. “I don’t know how pleased he was that we gave him a membership. He’s a self-made guy who pays his own way, and he’s the one guy who doesn’t see all the fuss, which is kind of cool.”

Griffith was an electrical engineer during his work career, though he was also the co-owner of the Griffith’s Wawasee Marina for nearly 20 years. He plans to play as long as possible. “I wish I had done more formal exercises when I was younger, but I think playing sports has helped me get along this far,” he said. “I’ve been pretty lucky, and I’ve never had any troubles with my knees or shoulders. I’ve always said it was one-third genes, one-third lifestyle and one-third luck. From here on in is gravy.”

Holiday with Mum

2007-06-13T22:06:00.002+02:00

My mom and I are heading into the French countryside this summer. It will be a truly amazing experience, I think. Wipe that look off your face, please. My mom and I get along swimmingly. As long as she doesn't tell me what to do. Or how to drive.

Actually she doesn't so much tell me how to drive, as make little sucking-in noises when I approach a stop sign at what she considers to be too rapid of a pace. At least she no longer says: "Nose...nose...nose up there. Nose. Nose. Noooooose." This was how she communicated to me as I was traipsing around on my learner's permit back in 1990, and would come to a four-way stop. Of course, in the midwest, a super-flat plains state, visibility was pretty good. And there was rarely another car sitting at one of these Indiana intersections. I did only earn a C+ in Driver's Ed, so I suppose you have to give her credit for even volunteering to get in the car with me.

But I am twice as old now as I was then, and consider myself to be a far more capable driver these days. Germany has given me a license after all, and they are hardasses with the whole motor vehicle business. Mom is getting herself an International license of some sort, but claims this is only in case of emergency. You betcha.

So we are traveling to the regions of Burgundy, Aquitaine, Brittany, and Normandy and hopefully staying at the following fabulous places: Chateau de Rosieres, Vineyard Chambre d'Hotes, La Prevenchere, and a Presbytery which should be awesome.

She also wants to take some sort of a scooter tour around Paris. She says I can drive the scooter.

We will be wearing helmets.

I did only get a C+ after all.

I've been tagged...

2007-06-10T13:53:00.001+02:00

Martina from American im Odenwald sent me my first tag..

1. I have to post these rules before I give you the facts.
2. Each player starts with eight random facts/habits about themselves.
3. People who are tagged need to write their own blog about their eight things and post these rules.
4. At the end of your blog, you need to choose eight people to get tagged and list their names.
5. Don’t forget to leave them a comment telling them they’re tagged, and to read your blog.

The Facts:

1. I organize my closet in color order. Specifically rainbow color order. And long sleeve to short sleeve. I think this stems from the fact that I am perpetually terrified that I will revert to my teenage closet organization system of throwing all of my stuff on the floor in piles and wading through them as I searched for a cute, albeit wrinkled, top to wear to school.

2. I am terrified of birds. Completely. Feathery f*ckers freak me out. Hate them. Maybe the only thing on the planet I will admit to hating besides guns, war, and U.S. environmental policy.

3. A couple of days ago, a really cool thing happened to me. I was in an Italian restaurant, and was speaking to the waiter in German about why an Italian restaurant only had Chardonnay, a French white and not Pinot Grigio, an Italian white. (On a side note, lately I have been consuming a lot of white wine. There is something so lovely about sitting outside in the warm sun with a crisp glass of weißwein.) The waiter asked me if I had been to Italy, and I replied with "Si," instead of "Ja," which prompted him to start speaking in Italian. The cool thing was that my brain switched as well, and I didn't even realize he was speaking a new language for a few seconds. And I was understanding. Of course, my spoken Italian is complete crap now, but apparently remnants remain of la bella lingua. Which leads us to number 4...

4. I am completely obsessed with languages, and want to learn as many as possible. Obsessed.

5. Two weeks from today, I will be waking up in Paris for the first time. Okay, not the first, since I did go there last summer, but it will be the first morning of my two-month summer stay! I think I will have to go grab a café sans lait and take a stroll down the Seine. Oui.

6. I like it when my toes are painted with a pretty pink polish. My favorite is Ballet Slippers by Essie. A bit girly, but definitely true.

7. I have a serious lip balm addiction. When I left Chicago, I counted 93 different flavors of lip balm in my collection. I had everything from Peeps flavor, to candy corn, to pumpkin pie. LaBello Milk and Honey is my favorite these days, but I'm sure it will be on the outs soon enough. I am thinking there will be a new French balm eager to claim the throne.

8. Lately, I have been thinking I would like to take a year off and travel the world. Maybe work in an aid camp in Africa or Asia. Not sure if this is a reaction to some deeper need to make the world a better place or just an insatiable curiosity and a wandering foot. Maybe both. We'll see...

I am tagging:

B. from Eurotrippen
G.G. from Gaijin Girl Strikes Again
Jess from Pandora's Box
Maria from Country Hopping
Bob from Tangled Up
Lulu from Cherry Blossom Adventures
Jen from Heisse Scheisse
Joanna from Not Settling for Less

My Weekend Crime Spree

2007-06-07T18:06:00.000+02:00

This past weekend, after arriving home from a week at camp with my third graders, I decided the perfect way to relax was to go...camping. (Photos of this illustrious event can be found here.)

Of course, this time I would be roughing it with three of my school pals in a borrowed tent. With a borrowed sleeping bag. All of the gear to which I was previously accustomed in my former life as a "girl who camps" was left behind in Chicago. So I knew that this evening, heading back to nature would be a bit less comfy than what I was used to.

We didn't really have a plan. Just an atlas of Germany. And this idea to head up to the Baltic Sea. We had some snacks left over from the camping trip with the kids, so I snagged some of those, packed them in the car, and we were on our way.

As we headed out of Berlin, we chose to stop at the store to grab some drinks, more food, and marshmallows. Unfortunately, the only thing resembling marshmallows that we could find were these multicolored "marshmallow-like" candies they have here. We figured they would suffice. And there will be more to this story later...

My friends seemed to be all right with eating a purely non-nutritional diet while we were away for the night, but having had the winefest disaster in my past, I knew that if drinking was to be had, I needed real food. So I bought some salmon and some veggies. During this little shopping trip, I also swiped some knife/fork/napkin packets from the salad area. Are you noticing a trend? I am cheap.

We started off towards the Baltic Sea, chatting and singing Beatles songs for the three hour trip. Upon arrival, we located a campground, used our rudimentary German to secure a spot, and learned that cooking over an open fire was not an option. It was necessary to have a grill. Of course. So before setting up our camp, we headed back into nearest town to buy a cheapass grill for 15 euro. And some lighter fluid. And charcoal thingys. And starter. Seriously, we were quite unprepared.

When we arrived back at the camp, we chose a spot near the beach, and then decided we would head out of the campground and actually set up our grill/fire out on the beach, despite the gray skies and wind. And the large sign that probably said "NO FIRES," except that it was in German and therefore we pretended to not understand it. 'Cause the Polizei would totally buy that excuse. But alas, it was too windy for firestarting on the beach, despite our best illegal efforts, so we were forced back to our tent where we still had a hell of a time getting the fire going. I'm pretty sure that much lighter fluid is not necessary, and that I have also somehow chemically damaged my lungs, but the salmon ended up cooking, and we had a tasty meal. The marshmallow roasting did not go quite as well, as the candies burned a shiny black that we were pretty sure had carcinogenic properties. We then played guitars for a spell, then headed into the tent for some card playing/beverage drinking as it was growing colder and windier by the minute.

The tent was toastier, and we managed to play several games, the worst of which required players to make up horrific rules. Having to eat an M&M before every drink of beer was possibly the most revolting experience I have had in a long time. We finally snuggled into our sleeping bags, and slept through until the sun rose...at 3:55 a-effing m!!! Going north apparently affected this somehow. It sucked.

So we all hauled our tired and hungover bodies out of bed, when one of the girls had a brilliant idea that would later go very, very wrong.

"Hey!," she said. "Let's go to Poland for breakfast!"

"I don't have my Passport with me," I said.

"You don't need it," she said. "You can find a back way or just give them your license or something."

"Um," I said. "I don't think that is exactly how it works. We're not German, and could get stuck there!"

"Come on," another said. "It will be fine!"

So we packed up, and started trying to find a route to Poland. It was very confusing. We got lost. A lot. At one point, my friend pulled over and said:

"Entschuldigung! Wo ist Poland?" (Excuse me! Where is Poland?)

"Gerade aus," the bewildered man said. (Straight ahead.)

"See!" my friend said. "We're going the right way."

"Um..." I said, as I looked at the map. "It says that straight ahead is the Autobahn. And the International Check-Point."

"That's okay!"

"Um..."

But as I prepared to say something else to try to dissuage my buddies from trying cross an International Border into Eastern Europe, we saw a peculiar site to the left of the car. Distinct red and white pillars directly opposite of black, gold, and red ones! The border! We turned on the next road heading left, which resembled more of a covered wagon path than a road. After a few near head-on collisions with oncoming traffic, we managed to make it to a pedestrian footway and crossed into Poland in the middle of a field. It was pretty cool. I was happy.

"Well, shall we find breakfast then?" I asked.

"Yes," one of my friends said. "Let's take the car into Poland!"

Lord.

So we went to the International Check-point at the Polish border, and managed to seriously piss off the Border Guards who couldn't quite figure out why an Australian and a girl from Indiana were trying to cross the border with their driver's licenses. I had my German license and registration with me, and my other friend is Spanish, so we were all right. But for the others we were required to pull over and sit for 45 minutes while they decided their fate. We were quite worried fines were going to be on the table, but in the end the policeman came back and said:

"Frauen must carry their papers!" They nodded.

A good lesson was learned. Crossing borders without your passport is kind of dumb.

We ended up eating breakfast at McDonald's. Of course, by then it was 4pm.

My Spanish friend was so tired that he actually let me drive his car on the Autobahn. It wasn't as exciting as I had hoped. Sort of like driving up to Glenview on the Edens.

Of course, I do need the driving practice for my summer road trip through France with my mum! I think we will have a swell time. Especially since she is insisting on getting a car with GPS.

And we'll both remember to bring our Passports.

Knüppelkuchen

2007-06-01T18:57:00.001+02:00

So camp wasn't all that bad. In fact, it was sort of fantastic. I actually totally loved it. Really!

The kids were quite good despite being dragged on a 9km hike around the lake. We attempted to make S'mores with mini-marshmallows and had mini-mal success. Many scraped knees and bruised egos were mended. I got to be "mommy" for a week.

And...I learned that RECTAL suppositories are the preferred method for administering pain/fever reducing medication to German children.

I chose to pass on doing the honors to the poor child on the receiving end of this treatment.

My favorite part of camp was when all the children would pile onto the bunks in my room and I'd read to them before sending them off to their own beds for some much needed sleep.

And Knüppelkuchen? Well...it is sort of the German version of roasting marshmallows, except it is bread dough wrapped on a stick. You hold it over the fire, spinning it so it toasts evenly, and then enjoy.

I tried to make one. But I am sort of impatient, got bored, and left my stick propped up against a log so it would effectively self-toast. Except I forgot about it for too long, and the thing burned to an unappetizing dark brown/black color.

Everyone agreed that my Knüppelkuchen looked like a turd.

But of course, a couple of the children still asked if they could eat it anyway.

Sometimes I wonder about this place I call home with it's shelf/viewing platform toilets, medicinal administration preferences, and now this bizarre campfire "treat."

A trifecta, really.

Ew.

Camping! With My Class! All Week!

2007-05-28T17:11:00.000+02:00

Yes. It is true. I am going to a camp with my 8 and 9-year-olds for the week. A camp that is four hours away from Berlin. On a bus.

Dear me.

Buckaroo and Muffinhead are coming to Deutschland!

2007-05-28T09:34:00.000+02:00

Also known as: my baby sisters. Who now, at 17 and almost 21 years old, are not so much babies anymore. In fact, both of them are taller than I at this point.

It will be quite a Thanksgiving celebration!

Yippee!

I will never complain about Germans again...

2007-05-24T17:34:00.000+02:00

This morning, I lost my favorite running shirt. It was the green and white one I got when I ran the Fleet Feet Women's 10k back in Chicago. I really love this shirt, as it is the perfect breathability, sleeveless, and also has a big orange flower on the front. The shirt rocks.

In anticipation of my Thursday Track and Field practice (I have been the assistant coach for about a month or so now, which basically means I rake the sand during long jump and have gotten really good at hitting the stopwatch button), I washed said shirt last night and, this being Germany, I don't have a dryer...so it was still wet this morning. I hung it from my bike basket as I rode into work. This seemed like a brilliant plan.

But when I got to work, my shirt had disappeared. I was very sad. And then I remembered.

I live in Germany. The land where you can lose something and 99.9 percent of the time, whoever finds it will somehow get it back to you. Remember my handschuhe reunion?

I was heartened by this prospect, and fretted no longer. As I rode off towards Track practice after school, I reversed my route which infuriated many people, as I was on the wrong side of the bike path. But I needed to see if my hunch was right. I was certain that my shirt would be waiting for me.

And sure enough, about halfway there, I came to a cement post upon which was my shirt, laid out for the finding. I shrieked in happiness, earning stares from the elderly couple sitting at the stoplight.

"Ist mein! Ist mein! Ich liebe Deutschland!" I shouted.

They smiled.

I grinned.

You know some punkass would have stolen my shirt in the States.

The Germans are good Volk.

My Apartment=Helsinki

2007-05-12T19:51:00.000+02:00

I am having a party tonight. Not just any party. A Eurovision Party!

What is Eurovision, you ask? (I am guessing most of the people asking that question are not European, and likely members of my family or fellow North Amerikaners like myself.) The answer: I don't know. (Okay, I know a little. I wikipediaed it. Love Wikipedia. Think it would be a good name for a first-born. Wikipedia O'Neill. Yup.)

Wikipedia describes Eurovision as such: "The Song Contest is known for being a bastion of formulaic, camp, and often comically poor pop music. However, the prevalence of such songs and the show's "tongue in cheek" approach to competition has only served to develop it an international cult following. In addition to mainstream pop music, Eurovision has featured a vast, diverse array of songs, including such musical genres as Arab, Balkan, Celtic, Dance, Folk, German, Israeli, Greek, Latin, Nordic, Pop-rap, Rock, and Turkish. Occasionally, nationally famous recording artists use the show to successfully increase their international recognition (such as ABBA [Sweden 1974] and Celine Dion [Switzerland 1988])."

Dear me. I am pretty sure it will be awesome.

My friend Carmen is super into Eurovision, despite the fact that she is an Aussie by birth. She is hard core into this annual contest between various European countries (which somehow, according to the Eurovision rules incorporates Israel as part of the European continent). Anyway, Carmen does not have a TV. I do. Therefore, I am host. Yippee!

This year, the contest takes place in Helsinki, Finland, as Finland was the winner of Eurovision 2006. Therefore, in a few hours, Carmen and Katie (a fellow Hoosier!) will be coming over to turn my apartment into a blue and white Nordic wonderland. For my part, I bought way too much food from different European countries. We will be munching on Belgian Waffle Crisps, Turkish Pretzel Sticks, English Cheddar, Deutsche Butterkäse (German Butter Cheese), little Italian Cookies, Portuguese Wine, Spanish Olives, Greek Feta Cheese, Swiss Cheese (or as they call it in Switzerland: cheese), French Herbed Cheese, and fruit which I will pretend was grown in Europe but I think mostly came from Brazil. (Too much cheese? Doch. Silly question.) Of course, this would be even more fun if all of those Western European countries were actually finalists in the Eurovision 2007 contest which airs at 9pm Central European Time tonight. Instead, lots of Eastern European countries have made it to the last night of competition and are vying for the same sort of glory and fame enjoyed by previous winners like last year's winners: Lordi. Oh my.

England, France, Germany, and Spain always get to be in the finals because I guess they give a lot of money to Eurovision or something. Germany's song is loosely translated as "Women Rule the World." I would vote for this one based on the name, but you are not allowed to vote for your own country. 'Cause that would be sort of unfair for poor Moldova.

Here are the final 24:

1	Bosnia & Herzegovina	Maria ŠESTIĆ	Rijeka Bez Imena
2	Spain	D'NASH	I Love You Mi Vida
3	Belarus	Koldun	Work Your Magic
4	Ireland	DERVISH	They Can't Stop The Spring
5	Finland	Hanna PAKARINEN	Leave Me Alone
6	FYR Macedonia	Karolina	Mojot Svet
7	Slovenia	Alenka GOTAR	Cvet Z Juga
8	Hungary	Magdi RÚZSA	Unsubstantial Blues
9	Lithuania	4FUN	Love Or Leave
10	Greece	Sarbel	Yassou Maria
11	Georgia	Sopho	Visionary Dream
12	Sweden	THE ARK	The Worrying Kind
13	France	LES FATALS PICARDS	L'amour À La Française
14	Latvia	BONAPARTI.LV	Questa Notte
15	Russia	SEREBRO	Song #1
16	Germany	Roger CICERO	Frauen Regier'n Die Welt
17	Serbia	Marija ŠERIFOVIĆ	Molitva
18	Ukraine	Verka SERDUCHKA	Dancing Lasha Tumbai
19	United Kingdom	SCOOCH	Flying The Flag (For You)
20	Romania	TODOMONDO	Liubi, Liubi, I Love You
21	Bulgaria	Elitsa TODOROVA & Stoyan YANKOULOV	Water
22	Turkey	Kenan DOĞULU	Shake It Up, Shekerim
23	Armenia	Hayko	Anytime You Need
24	Moldova	Natalia BARBU	Fight

I like that the UK band is called "Scooch." And I can't wait to hear what on Earth a song called "Luibi, Luibi, I Love You" might sound like. I like that Hungary's song is called "Unsubstantial Blues." Having Goulash as your national food is enough of a reason to substantiate my blues. Gah.

Seriously. This night will rock.

'Cause we're going to live it up Finnish-style, man. Yeah.

Did I mention I have two kinds of Herring?

The Baumblüten Festival or How J. got v. drunk drinking Wine out of a Plastic Jug.

2007-05-11T12:33:00.001+02:00

I think the pictures speak for themselves. I was the only one who brought a camera (it seems I have learned nothing from my beer-soaked camera disaster on New Year's Eve) but somehow ended up in many of the photos. Proof that I was not paying very close attention to my friends' sticky fingers when it comes to my electronic equipment.

I was also not paying attention to the amount of wine I was consuming throughout the day. The stuff tasted like Capri Sun for God's sake. They might as well served it in juice boxes.

You can see the progression of my downfall right here. The last shot is when I decided I should join my friends on the potato sack slide. I recollected this event around 11am the next morning. Thank goodness my school friends were kind enough to capture the momentous occasion on film. Actually, on SmartMediaCard. That really doesn't have the same ring to it.

But at least I could delete the worst shots.

These are the good ones, folks. C'mon. My mom reads this!

At least she claims she does.

The Color of the Sky...

2007-05-10T19:04:00.000+02:00

...as far as I can see, is coal grey.
Lift my head from the pillow and then, fall again.
I get a shiver in my bones just thinking, about the weather.
A quiver in my voice as if I might cry.

What a cold and rainy day. Where on Earth has the sun hid away?

I do love that Natalie Merchant song. But seriously. The weather here has been crap. I mean, I know we need rain for the plants and stuff, but 6 days straight?

It makes my hair look weird.

Clubbing

2007-05-06T13:25:00.000+02:00

After a failed attempt to go do some Karaoke, I went clubbing with a couple of girls from work. First we went to this great place that played cheesy 80s music upstairs, and cheesy hip-hop music downstairs. It smelled like feet. I am thinking ventilation would have helped.

Then we went to this place called "Felix." It is some sort of hot new club where there is a dress code, everyone thinks they are übercool if they get past the velvet rope, and you have to pay 10€ just to get through the door. Of course, it is always interesting to see the insides of these places that you read about in the tabloids and such. But I can't understand how anyone can have that fabulous of a time grinding away with a bunch of rich (and mostly unattractive, sorry!) dudes and nearly anorexic 20-year-olds. Of course, I did enjoy looking at their cute outfits. Except for the lady in the leather zebra-print "dress."

I suppose this just confirms that I am a pub girl not a club kid. I'd much prefer to sit at a massive oak bar, chatting to a guy in a long-sleeved t-shirt than attempting to squirm away from the shiny-shirted gentleman getting down in my general direction.

I felt slightly uncool (and old) as I told my twenty-something friends that I was heading out, while they basked in the glow of the strobe light. I had to make it an early night, and I was getting really tired. Of course, at this point it was 4am. Which does qualify as an early night in Berlin, the clubbing capital of Europe. Next weekend, I am definitely going to go the pub route! Either I am too old or I just don't have the personality for clubbing these days...

I just woke up...it is 1:30pm. I've missed Sunday morning. Bummer.

And my hair smells like feet.

Cow-Making on German TV

2007-05-02T19:19:00.001+02:00

Lately I have been trying to watch television more, as I feel it is a good learning experience. Just like I did back in Chicago, I plop on the couch after a long day with the kids and watch The Simpsons. Homer says "Nein," instead of "D'oh." And the voices are super-weird. But that is not the disturbing issue which has prompted me to write my third post in three days. It was the show that came on after The Simpsons this evening.

It started out innocently enough. This show called Galileo (I have no idea why it is called this, but it appears to be some sort of random newsmagazine sort of thing, and the host is way too tan) was doing a top ten countdown of the most popular food services in Germany. This in and of itself was a bit strange. The cafeteria at IKEA was number 7, Lufthansa's airline food service was number 3, and McDonald's ranked second to...the generic Großekafeteria. I'm sure I spelled that wrong, but whatever. It is the big cafeteria that apparently exists in office buildings, and I hear that workers get a free lunch. Looked a bit like Ponderosa to me, so I am glad I don't benefit from this service at my job. Gross.

Once the top ten was over, the host asked nicely enough: "What makes Argentinian steak the best in the world?" And then there was a wide panning shot of an Argentinian farm with a bunch of happy looking cows roaming around, unaware that they had the tastiest beef on the planet positioned on their backsides. Lucky them. Then it happened...

The next shot was of a bull having sex with a fake cow. Then a close-up of the bull's babymaker. Then an extreme close-up of the "stuff." Then a microscopic view of the little swimmers. They then went into a very detailed explanation of how Artentinian cows are artificially inseminated. It was beyond bizarre...mostly because I couldn't understand 95% of what was being said, as of course, it was in German. Somehow that made the expression on the face of the guy doing the inseminating much creepier.

Did I mention it is now just 7:30pm? I'm sorry, but around this time of night I would much prefer to be watching the local evening news than fake cow sex.

Who am I kidding? Fake cow sex totally beats the news.

I guess moving to Europe has not had the classy effect on me that I had hoped it would.

Hee. It was bovine porn. Hee. Hee.

My Summer en Paris

2007-05-01T20:54:00.000+02:00

It is all set, folks. I have a flat, a flight, and a confirmation number for an intensive French course that lasts all of July.

I am leaving the day after school gets out (the cheap flight lands at night, so I will be meandering my way to my new apartment in the dark!) and I come back three days before school starts up again. An entire summer in Paris!

Thank God I have many cute skirts and flats so I will fit in with the Parisians. I will also make sure I am always carrying a crusty baguette under one arm as well.

I wonder if the baguette will last all summer. I don't care for white bread. Too light and fluffy and full of empty calories. I like the dark kind with all of the seeds and fiber. Good, heavy, chewy bread that really sets you up for the whole day. Vollkorn Brot, I believe it is called.

Any wild guesses where it hails from?

Griechenland und der Türkei - Photos!

2007-04-30T00:07:00.000+02:00

So I have finally organized and uploaded my photos. I have separated them into six different sets, which you can view at your leisure. I got a little photo happy with all of the beautiful sights and colors, so I hope you enjoy! I put the links to the left with the city names - when you link, you can watch as a slideshow (but my photos seem to be a little large) or you can just view the thumbnails and click on the ones you think are pretty. I hope you click lots if you choose this option.

Athens - The capital of Greece, and my first stop on the trip. After hiking up to the Parthenon, and feeling that feeling you get when you are at the site of something which you have heard of and seen in photos since you were small, I met Mom and Stan for a lively outdoor dinner. The next morning before boarding the ship, my friend and I walked in search of a market, and ended up in the most horrific corridor of meat I have ever seen. Dead skinned lambs and other critters for what seemed like miles. We tried to escape quickly, but this effort was futile as it was the Friday before Easter, and all the Greeks were out purchasing their Sunday dinner. Even if I wasn't a vegetarian, I don't think I would have tolerated this easily. The smell was horrific, and the crowd was worse. Steer clear of this. Blech. Afterwards, I enjoyed a strong coffee and a round sesame thing to calm my nerves. And stomach. There are also some shots in this collection featuring the weird smoking lounge in the Zurich airport. Bizarre, those Swiss. But you gotta give them kudos for the good cheese.

Istanbul - So amazing. From the Blue Mosque, to the mass amounts of tulips, to the bargain basement deals (after some haggling) on fake Pumas, to the Turkish coffee (with nice grit at the bottom) and Turkish Delight, this was my favorite spot on the trip. I easily took 250 photos here, but these are the best of the best. Simply stunning. Our boat was parked on the Asian side of Istanbul (the only city split on two continents) so we had to cross a bridge to get to the European and more frequently visited portion of the city. Which of course prompted me to say: "My, I am getting so tired of Asia. Let's head to Europe." My friend Danielle said it was funnier the first time I said it than the third. But still not all that funny in the first place. Later on the cruise, we visited Kusadasi, Turkey, which is on the Asian hunk of the country. So now I can technically say I have been to Asia. However, I don't think it will really count until I hit the Eastern Edge. To me, Asia has always been Japan, Korea, and those other countries way the hell far away. And China, too. I know, not very PC of me, but I will need to eat some rice and noodles, plus some super fresh sushi before I will consider myself a traveler of the Asian continent. But it was still really cool to have hit two continents on one trip. Especially since the Asian side of Turkey still had the rockin' gritty coffee and Turkish Delight.

Patmos - The island famous for St. John the Baptist's exile. Pretty tame, but had an amazing visit to the cave where he received the Revelations. Hard not to be a bit in awe of that. Especially while there was a Greek Orthodox priest chanting inside as we walked through.

Rhodes - My favorite of the Greek islands. Great shopping, treats, and a beautiful blue sea scape to boot. I bought two beautiful amber and silver rings, and had them resized on the spot by a little Greek guy on a side alley for three Euro.

Santorini - The last stop on the cruise, and I was a bit islanded out. But my shutter kept snapping, as this place was simply too gorgeous not to shoot. It was also, incidentally, the place where the Sea Diamond cruise ship went down just a week before. You can see the cordoned off area in one of the photos.

Delphi - An unplanned side excursion with my folks after we returned to Athens. I wanted to spend my last day with them so joined on to this tour they had already planned. So worthwhile. No oracles were had, but as always, I felt that sense of amazement at being in a place so very, very, very, very old.

So as for my trip to Greece and Turkey - two very enthusiastic thumbs up...bring your camera...and a big memory card! And don't expect to lose any weight, no matter how much you walk.

Seriously, that Turkish Delight stuff is a real diet killer. With all of that, plus the feta and olive plates I would easily polish off in one sitting, my skirts were slightly tighter after a week and a half. But man, did I have a good time and that is what counts in the end, as far as I am concerned.

That and getting some really killer photos.

The Comfort Zone

2007-04-26T22:42:00.000+02:00

Tonight I sang by myself in front of people. Students, parents, and colleagues.

This was a big deal for me. I get massively nervous when I have to speak in front of others about things I know well. Add a melody, and I am way out of my league.

But my experience this evening was one of the most worthwhile I have ever had in my 32 years on this planet. I stood up, belted out my solos, and left the stage with a sense of accomplishment that I don't think a lot of people get to have at this point in their life.

Moving to Germany was a challenge. Learning a new language was and is a challenge. Putting myself out there was a challenge. But I did it.

Okay, I had a nip of drink before I had to go out there into the spotlight.

Which might explain why I nicked my left shin on the stair during one of the songs and now sport a rather gruesome looking gash.

And I get to do it all over again tomorrow.

Yippee!

The Top Ten ways I am becoming more German...

2007-04-25T20:33:00.000+02:00

10. I now own a fake "coin" that I can use when I need to "buy" a grocery cart to use in the "supermarket." This way, I don't call attention to my lack of preparedness as I wobble about with a load of frozen cauliflower under one arm and a bag of apples, beetroot (a new culinary delight that I will sorely miss when I leave this place), and a six-pack of water in the other. I also always carry my own cloth grocery bag. It is green and yellow. And also, too small. It fits like, a grapefruit and a box of milk.

9. I drink my milk out of a box.

8. I take my vitamins in fizzy form. Pink Raspberry for my daily essentials, White Grapefruit for my Calcium, Orange-Pineapple for my Iron, and Cassis (whatever the hell that is) for my Magnesium. Yummy, and it knocks out 4 of those eight glasses of water you're supposed to drink every day.

7. I wait for the Red Ampelmann to turn into Green Ampelmann before crossing the street. Even if there is not a soul in sight.

6. I ate Thunfisch and corn on pizza. On purpose.

5. I find the bicycle to be far preferable than any other mode of transportation. Sometimes (like today) I just ride home and don't pay attention to the streets, just glancing at the giant Berlin City Maps posted at every bus stop. There's a big circle on every one to show the folk where they are, and I know as long as the big yellow circle gradually moves towards the center as I progress from stop to stop, I am headed in the right direction. (I work near the red circle; I live where the big black dot is.)

4. Be damned anyone who dares walk on my red brick bike path. I'd sooner run you over, dinging my bell merrily as you eat my dust.

3. I am always dusty. Berlin has a sand-based soil, thus, my shoes, bike tires, and consequently carpet, have a fine layer of grit at all times.

2. When I got home tonight, the only thing I wanted for dinner was a Beck's Beer. And some Spargel. They have this white asparagus here that they freak over when it is springtime. I laughed at them (the Germans) when I heard about the Spargel-Partys. But Spargel is freaking good. Even when I am the chef.

And...

1. I totally understand Celsius and the Metric System. Read: I do a really good job of faking it. Like last week when I told my students that my friend's new baby weighed 3900 kilograms. Apparently, I still need some work in this area. Whatever. Inches, gallons, and Fahrenheit ROCK!

My patriotism lies solely with the Americans' need to cling to an archaic system of measurement that has no logic whatsoever. Forget the Iraq War, Bush, and the U.S. Environmental Policy (or lack thereof).

You guys switch to Metric and I am done. I mean it.

Life just isn't the same slugging milk out of a box.

There's no Business like Show Business...

2007-04-22T16:57:00.000+02:00

For those of you who don't know me personally, I am currently employed as a grade three teacher at an international school which serves children ranging from 3 years-old to 19. Most of the year, I happily snark and babble at my eight and nine year-olds, and pretty much forget that there are other students on campus at all. That all changed this weekend.

Back in August, when the school year was just beginning, I went "camping" with a group of the teachers from my new school here, drank a wee bit too much wine, and during the campfire song portion of the evening, belted out "Danny Boy," much to the amusement of my new co-workers. The odd fact was, I really wasn't that bad. Which has now come back to literally bite me in the ass...

Each Spring, the school puts on a production titled: "Musical Mania!" And when the music teacher and his wife were recruiting teachers to participate, chaperone, and perform with the 6th through 12th graders, they came knocking on my door, citing my performance back in August as proof that I was meant to be a part of this production. I was too embarrassed to admit that the only reason I had guts enough to sing in front of all of my new co-workers was 'cause I was drunk, so I nodded and forgot about it until...

I received the script. I had two solos. As in solo singing. As in singing alone. As in the SINGLE GREATEST FEAR OF MY ENTIRE LIFE REALIZED. But it was too late. The parts were assigned. The rehearsal weekend was approaching, and despite my plea to just be part of the chorus, the music teacher said: "You'll be fine. Don't worry. You have a great voice!"

I would trust his words more if I hadn't heard him say the exact same thing to the little tone-deaf American boy in my class during the Holiday Program rehearsal in December. The kid sounds like a chicken being led to slaughter. Seriously.

Rehearsal weekend took place in an old East German youth camp to the west of Berlin. It was pretty institutional, and I really felt like I was back in the old college dormitories. Except, of course, they had those whacked East German toilets going on. The kids were really fun, friendly, and much less intimidating than I thought they would be. And they didn't even laugh at my dance skillz. At least, if they did, they were polite enough to cover it up.

All weekend we learned dance moves, sang songs from "Les Mis," "Rent," "Wicked," "The Wiz," "Pippin," "Annie," etc. I performed my two solos, though there was so much adrenaline coursing through my system at the time I thought I might revisit the Müsli I had for breakfast. With three other teachers, I am also performing a reprise of "Ease on Down the Road," from "The Wiz." Since we are the second performance of this song in the show, we are dressing as the nursing home version of the characters. Being the Scarecrow, I am carrying a cane and sing half of my solo facing the wrong way (I've lost my mind, you see). The Cowardly Lion has a urine bag, Dorothy is depending on her walker, and the Tin Man is dragging an Iron Lung along. We find it to be quite entertaining, at least!

At the conclusion of the weekend this afternoon, we performed a few songs for the parents who had come to pick their children up. During the performance of "Show Business," I was knocked flat on my ass by one of the other teachers. Of course this was in the outdoor amphitheater, where the "stage" is made of concrete. Having had so much life experience at landing on my backside, I feel I rolled out of the fall pretty gracefully. Though my butt must not have had as much padding as I thought, or I am getting a bit less tolerant of pain with age. 'Cause right now, my ass kind of hurts.

But...I must go on with the show. Dress rehearsals are Monday and Tuesday after school, and the performances Thursday and Friday nights!

Unfortunately, I think it might be against school rules for me to be completely pissed (read: drunk) up on stage...I don't think I will try to find out. Wouldn't want to risk a job at a place this freakin' fun!

I love me some Extreme Activity!

2007-04-18T18:59:00.000+02:00

Okay, I have pretty much found the besten way to learn new vocab words in German. There is this nutter of a show called "Extreme Activity" in which German folk compete in teams to play what looks like a bizzare mixture of "Password," "Pictionary," and "Charades." And sometimes there are goats, bucking broncos, trapeezes, and fire-throwing to keep things interesting. The chubby Hawaiian Shirt clad host rounds it all out to make it a top-notch program.

It rocks. Check it out (but be patient, sometimes you have to hit the pause button on the little player until the red bar has crawled across the screen - you don't have to watch the whole thing, of course - just take a taste!):

The 30-Second Promo!
The Bucking Bronco
Charades with Pop Star Boys
Charades with Pop Star Girls
The Dude from Germany's Next Top Model in Giant Shoes?

Now, I must leave you as it is time for my favorite Telenovela - "Verliebt in Berlin." That means "In Love in Berlin." It takes place in Berlin, which is pretty cool for me, yeah? You Amerikaners might recognize it as "Ugly Betty." But the German one came first, people. Okay, it was second. Some version from Colombia was first.

But our Ugly Betty (Lisa) poses naked in the off-season. Take that, America Ferrera!

You and your Emmy got nothin' on our Betty!

Deutsch? Irish? Australian? English? Greek?!?

2007-04-15T13:08:00.000+02:00

Hi y'all! I'm less than 24 hours back from my excellent tour of Greece and Turkey. I saw so many beautiful sights, took far too many photos, and found a great pair of fake Pumas at the Grand Bazaar of Istanbul for 15 Euro. I will detail my adventures along with photos in later posts. This one, however, will address the strange issue I've been coming across the past few months.

Apparently, I have lost my Americanism.

I'd heard a few years back that Americans were easily spotted as they toured the sights of Europe and other parts of the globe. I had a friend who could call out various nationalities of people as we approached them on a walk, and it amazed me how he was always right. We'd be strolling through a Roman park, and he would lean over and casually whisper: "Spanish." And sure enough, the sharply dressed family of four would pass us moments later, laughing as they spoke in the Catalan language. "French," he would say later as we ate in a small restaurant. "You can tell by the shape of their mouths. It is all pulled to the center because their language requires them to purse their lips for the French vowel sounds." I would surreptitiously head to the washroom, and hear snatches of their conversation, trying to decipher words I had not studied since my sophomore year of French class. "German," he'd chuckle, as a group of three strode by purposefully our table and we'd hear the harsh guttural tones that are so familiar to me these days. He'd identify them not only by common stereotypes (which I do believe now, exist for a reason), but by the shapes of their features, the fashion of their clothes, and the way in which each individual group carried their bodies as they walked.

"American," he'd firmly state on a post-dinner park stroll, indicating a family clad in t-shirts, ball caps, and shorts, walking toward us with their eyes roaming the area, and their personal space uncompromised. "Easy to spot. They carry themselves with a lot of confidence. Even easier to hear," he remarked, as the group's exuberant voices reached us several seconds before they moved to allow us both to pass at the same time. "Good at giving way, though," he mentioned, while continuing our walk.

"Do I look American?" I'd asked, not knowing whether I wished to be identified with my country of birth or not at this point. These events happened pre-Iraq War, and the European community was somewhat pro-American at the time, given the semi-recent events of September 11th. He glanced at my face, my posture, my style of dress. "Yes," he stated without hesitation. "Your volume isn't too bad most of the time, but you have a way in which you carry yourself that defines your background as definitively American. Your face has a little of the American look to it, but not as much as a lot of people."

"American look? What do you mean?" I inquired, thinking of how many different ethnic cultures populated the U.S., and how each person looked unique to me. "Don't take this the wrong way," he started. "American faces have started to lose their ethnic features, and everything is starting to blend together. So many European, and other races are mixing more over a long period of time in your country, and you're all starting to get a certain look about you." "A look?" I asked. "A boring, generic look? Is that what you mean?" "Um, sort of," he said. "But also, it is like all of the best features of the races are being taken to create the look, you know what I mean? Americans tend to be a pretty good-looking bunch, I think. Because of this inter-mixing."

I think at this point, my friend was just trying to placate my rising ire at the criticism of the States. But there is some truth in his statements. Cultures and ethnicities are readily identifiable once you start looking, and especially when you live among a large sampling of folk from around the world, as I do these days. When I moved here, I didn't want to stick out as an American, and so adapted my clothing and tried to learn the language to fit in. I still stick out to an extent, I think, but more and more frequently I am immediately addressed in German instead of English, even in the touristic areas. And to my satisfaction, am no longer addressed in English when I attempt to converse in German to shop personnel. This must mean that I am improving a little. But until recently, my experiences living among the Europeans was pretty much limited to life here in Berlin. In the past few months, I have traveled a bit, and encountered something I had not expected.

Everyone thinks I am German. Or Irish. Or Australian. Or English. But it is rare that one thinks I am American.

I don't know how this happened. I first noticed it in Poland, when I was spoken to in German by a couple who had lost their way in the Old Town area. Then in Ireland, the Irish folk refused to believe that I was not of their beautiful green island. And I wasn't even using my fake accent that makes me sound like I am selling a marshmallow-infested breakfast cereal. In Istanbul, I was repeatedly shouted at by shopkeepers in German, and when I spoke English with them they were surprised, then asked if I was Australian, Canadian, or English. (Huh?) Didn't keep me from getting some great deals on pillow covers, though! In Athens, a few people addressed me in Spanish, and once a shopkeeper looked shocked because I didn't understand the question he had asked me. IN GREEK! Now, this man had obviously had too much Ouzo that day, because I know I don't look Greek in the least, despite my unruly mess of black hair.

My point is this: somehow I have shed the qualities that identify me as American. I don't know what I am doing, if I carry myself in a different manner, or how my pronunciation of the English language has changed over the past year. I buy my clothes at H&M, just like the rest of the young (and cheap) European population, and the clothes there are pretty much the same everywhere. I don't get it.

And I'm not sure that I like it.

But I'm also not sure that I don't.

In this day and age, it isn't so bad to blend in a little.

Especially when a Turkish jeweler from Kusadasi wants to tell you all of the problems he has with "The Bush." Or "De Boosh!" as he kept repeating, while I looked at something called a Harem ring. "Keep De Boosh away!," he was saying to another customer as I perused his wares. "Not De Boosh! What do you think of De Boosh?" he said as he turned to me. "Where do you come from?" he asked. "Newfoundland?"

"Yes," I smiled. "Eh?"

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

2007-03-17T06:00:00.000+01:00

Slainté! I'll drink a Guinness for you in Dublin!

Off to the airport for my 24-hour turnaround in the motherland...I'm meeting up with some Irish folk to do some Irish dancing in the streets and watch the Ireland Rugby match at a pub in the afternoon! Then it is back to the airport to make my 6am flight back to Berlin.

Thank goodness that...

My Legs Hurt.

2007-03-11T19:21:00.000+01:00

I survived my first solo trip to Warsaw, Poland. I wrote the entire experience up in my travel journal, but realize that the minutae of my experiences are likely too long for the format of this blog. Maybe someday I will have to sit down and write that book I have always dreamed of.

For you fine folk, again, I will note the highlights:

-I walked. A LOT. You can see the details of my full day of Saturday path-beating here. Thank you Google Maps.

-I stayed in a hostel. My room was listed as a three-bed female-only dorm. One female was Swedish. She snored. Louder than me. I bought earplugs for the second night. But she was gone by then. My other roommate was Chinese, I think. I am pretty sure she never actually left the room the entire weekend. Or for that matter, her bed. She did give me a piece of candy, though, so she was all right. I am thinking she was waiting on some sort of visa or something, because her weird male friend would sometimes come and sit on the end of her bed and they would discuss things in urgent Chinese. Or wherever she was from. I am not trying to be culturally insensitive here, but she spoke no English, so I never figured it out! She literally just lay in her bed, not reading or doing anything. Just staring into space. It was pretty weird.

-I went to the Black Market. There is this place across the river that is the largest outdoor bazaar in Europe called Jarmark Europa. There are over 5,000 people who work there. They range from Chinese to African to Russian, and sell shoes, suits, bags, bras (?), and pretty much anything you can imagine. If you ask nicely, they also have pirated DVDs, weapons, and drugs. As I would walk through, many different men beckoned me towards their stalls with whispers in Russian and various other tongues. It is possible, I suppose, that they were trying to sell me a nice AK-47 that they were hiding under the table. More likely, though, they were complimenting my new handbag, I think. I just kept my eyes straight ahead and my pace quick.

-I ate something called a Zapiekanka. This is known as Polish Pizza...a long piece of french bread with mushrooms, cheese, and...ketchup. It is as gross as it sounds. And I really need to stop tormenting my tummy with the cheese. It is time to let go. Dairy is not my friend.

-I dined alone. I found a darling pierogi place that served a variety of vegetarian dumplings. I enjoyed my solitude, sipping my borscht and reading my book until a group of 15 Brits having a Stag Night piled in, and proceeded to take over the place. They apologized profusely, as Brits are prone to do, and then asked me to join them. I declined. Fifteen British guys on a Bachelor night is not my cup of tea.

-Instead, I went in search of a tea. I found a lovely place on the illuminated square of the Starega Miasto, or Old Town. I enjoyed a coconut-almond blend, and a slice of fruit cake. Should have passed on the cake.

-I enjoyed my own company. There is something to be said for traveling solo. I went where I wanted, when I wanted, and absorbed the new culture around me. It was truly an enlightening and amazing experience.

I can't wait to do it again. So I am.

Next weekend...Dublin.

And it is St. Patrick's Day...

Huh?

2007-03-07T23:00:00.000+01:00

Someone at work today told me I was very "authentic."

What does this mean, do you think?

I am guessing he is referring to my aforementioned "stream-of-consciousness listen-to-me-me-me!!!" style of conversing with others. Or my lack of a filter, as it were.

Maybe he just meant that I need to take a shower.

I hope not.

I hate taking showers.

I hate taking showers not because I don't have the highest regard for maintaining personal hygiene. I hate drying and straightening my hair, which is a bizarre mixture of curly, straight, frizzy, and wavy. And due to a mix-up with the hair color, is now two tones of blackish-purple and brownish-purple. Lately, I have been lazy, and have been wearing it a really messed-up version of what some would call "curly-ish." The back sort of looks like a nest my hamster might have made with a good skein of yarn. This would have been, of course, before he got eaten by my cat. But that is another tale for another time. Back to the hair.

This sudden "style" change prompted two of my male co-workers to question:

J.: What is going on with your hair? It looks...different.

K.: Yeah, your hair is always nice, shiny, and straight. Now it is...um...different.

My reply?

Me: It is authentic.

(Attempted indignant flip of my oddly styled non-glasslike hair follicles. Frizzy hair does not flip very well, it turns out.)

Me: You guys can stop laughing anytime, you know. Seriously. Shut up now.

Flying Solo

2007-03-04T22:46:00.000+01:00

I am going to Poland. Next weekend.

It will be my first real trip on my own, and I am facing it down with a mixture of anxiety and excitement. On one hand, I am really looking forward to doing what I want to do, when I want to do it. I am looking forward to seeing the things I want to see, when I want to see them. For the most part, I enjoy hanging out with myself, and doubt I will be lonely or bored on this short jaunt to our neighbor to the East.

If I do get a bit on the sad side, I can always hit the Polish bars looking for another Johnny Depp lookalike like I found last week in Cologne...

Maybe not.

It is sure to be a weekend of self-discovery, self-awareness, and selfishness.

And dumplings. I hear the Polish make a mean dumpling. Mmmmm...I could never be down when there are dumplings to be eaten.

My first solo adventure awaits! Wish me luck!

Viva Deutschlander Musik!

2007-02-22T21:52:00.000+01:00

I have put some links here to my favorite German songs, plus some video (not mine, please disregard some of the weirdness) that will give you a taste of Karneval and my lieblings Deutscher Songs until I can get my own stuff organized!

Viva Colonia (my favorite!) by Die Höhner

The U-Bahn in Köln during Karneval

I'm sorry, but this guy? He's totally killing my song, man. I'm sure looked much better singing it last week. In the streets. In my Britney hat.

Marmor, Stein, and Eisen Bricht - Drafi Deutscher, aka The German Neil Diamond - I do like this song in its new re-mix version. Unfortunately, I can not find it for you. Sorry.

American Idol in Germany

Die Hände zum Himmel - Again, love this but I am trying to figure out if it has a not-so-nice reference to the short-mustached guy who caused all sorts of problems about 70 years back. The title means "Hands to the Sky." Regardless, they play it a lot...so I am thinking no?

The Germans can Karaoke

Ein Prosit - the Cheers song. Disregard the weird guy. And wait for a second...he takes a while to get warmed up...

Okay, I know Aretha isn't German, but...

Dear God. Looking back at this post, I am thinking: "Can someone fly over here and save me now?" I used to have good taste in music.

Maybe there is something in the water over here...

Köln Karneval Re-Kaplet

2007-02-21T20:12:00.001+01:00

I don't have the time, energy, or desire to write up my entire Köln experience at this very moment. There are piles of laundry requiring my attention, a soft bed which is calling my name, and an alarm clock already set to go off in the morning so I can get my pudgy ass to the gym and begin my Lenten rejuvenation. (Nothing like using the Lord our God as an excuse to get in shape for my trip to Greece and Turkey in 6 short weeks.)

Here are some brief highlights to whet your appetite until I can fully scribe my past three days and post visuals to aid in your understanding of Karneval...also known as "Germans Gone Wild."

My days (and nights) included but were not limited to:

-sharing a glorified twin bed with...(get your mind out of the gutter, please)
-train mix-ups
-candy mongering
-Beck's beer
-a failed search for a pink feather boa
-eyeliner and rhinestones and an obnoxious aqua Britney hat
-snoring
-a 5€ white coat
-pirates
-Kölsch beer
-falafel
-men dressed as o.b. tampons
-men dressed as sperm repeatedly head-butting me in the street and saying I had good egg salad
-a German dance club
-my insisted singing of German songs in German at said club
-more pirates
-more candy mongering
-more Beck's beer
-the use of a pirate scarf in trade for my Britney hat
-more snoring, but this time awakening myself with the deafening noise
-and my complete butchering of the German language for six straight hours...no English, people. Total immersion...that is what I came here for. I must have been making some sort of sense, 'cause people kept talking to me.

Or maybe I just looked super-fine in my pirated pirate hat. But somehow, I doubt that. I didn't make the hat trade until almost 3am and I am fairly sure all my super-fine potential had rubbed off, right along with mass amounts of black eyeliner...

Stay tuned...

Open Mouth, Insert Fuß

2007-02-17T18:55:00.000+01:00

I have a bit of a problem with censorship. I'm not talking about freedom of speech or book burning here, people. You know better. I'm talking about my own ability to say highly inappropriate things at even more inappropriate times. I am a verbal idiot.

Some may find it charming that I have what many refer to as "verbal diarrhea." (Though after reading that phrase, charming does not immediately come to mind.) I often think I need a 7-second delay as my brain communicates to my mouth. But then I wouldn't be nearly as fun. And for all the giant misses my verbal communication suffers, I throw out some real winners on occasion.

For this particular story, it is important to remember that I live in Germany. I spend most of my time yammering away in English, and therefore assume no one can understand what I am saying. Which is likely untrue, but I like to maintain this obliviousness and run my mouth anyway. Therefore, often I will forget that everyone around me can understand if I happen to slip in a German word. Yes, I am a huge self-centered American. Danke.

Scene: The 629 bus from Mexikoplatz to Kleinmachnow, Friday, 7:25am, seated among three other co-workers on our way to work.

Me: I learned a new word in German last night.

Danielle: Really, what?

Me: Well you know how I love that German words are so functional, and I fully appreciate the efficiency of a language that calls stockings "sockpants" and gloves "hand shoes."

Danielle: Yes, you've mentioned it. Often.

Me: Right. Well, last night I learned the word for nipple!

Carmen: Really?

Me: Yes! (I raised my voice for emphasis at this point, as I was very excited to share this new vocabulary.)

BRUSTWARZE!!!!

(Immediately, every single head in the bus swiveled towards me. I was sitting in the front of the bus, but facing backwards. This provided prime viewing for all of the Germans who were wondering why the hell the strange American girl suddenly felt the need to shout out the word NIPPLE!!!! on her morning commute. The bus fell completely silent. All eyes were on me.)

Me: Um...it means breast wart.

Danielle: You're a breast wart.

(Okay, she didn't really say this, but it made me laugh to picture this happening.)

Tomorrow I head to Köln (Cologne) for the German version of Mardi Gras, called Karnivale. I don't think I will be showing my own Brustwarzen like they do in the Big Easy, as it is a bit nippier here in Germany than in New Orleans.

I think it is best if I just keep my shirt on and my breast warts covered.

Even if there is some really fabulous Johnny Depp look-a-like shouting:

"Zeigen Sie uns Ihre Brustwarzen!!!"

I was SO right!

2007-02-14T22:10:00.000+01:00

Remember Ilker, the clueless Turkish guy from my German class? Well, we started a new session this week. Ilker was not there on Monday. This was, of course, because he FAILED the last class. But he strolled in this evening, his H&M bag in hand, and his vertical-striped pants clashing horribly with his horizontally-striped sweater. You all may think it is cruel that I bash on this poor immigrant guy this way, but really, it is awful being in the same class with him. Seriously. Painfully awkward. Sometimes he echoes the teacher as she is speaking. But he only hits every other word. So it is like this horrible fade-in/fade-out noise always going on in the background.

He is like that kid who forgot his Halloween costume in the third grade, and the teacher had to fashion him a costume out of a garbage bag and some streamers.

My new Deutsch Lehrerin clued into him pretty fast...his name was not on the register, and he kept making those odd grunting noises he always made last session when he was confused. Then, my new teacher did what Oliver, my old teacher, could never do during our whole last semester...

She spoke Turkish to him. Ilker left halfway through the class.

I think she freaked him out.

On Valentine's Day...

2007-02-14T09:27:00.000+01:00

...I like to wear black. I wear a shirt printed with a few cheerful red hearts and many more black hearts with jagged splits through the middle. It sounds scary, but is actually a very cute shirt. H&M. 14,90 Euro. This season.

...I like to stomp up the hill to school knowing that my evening plans include four hours of German class during which I will alternate between more grumpiness at momentary confusion and sheer elation at being able to finally produce that damn "ch" sound.

...I like the little heart-shaped magnets, roses, tulips, bath gel (?), and lollipops that my students hand me as they turn in their homework. The looks on their faces, especially the boys, as they give me these things are priceless.

...I don't like that 30 seconds ago I started to cry when two first grade girls that I hardly know (but that always give me hugs) brought me a rose that they bought at the PTO Valentine's Day sale.

.. I don't like this because it seems to imply that I care about Valentine's Day. And I don't. You can show people you care about them year long, but if you don't pony up on V-Day, you're a jerk. And God forbid if you don't have someone 'special' to get pissed at because they blew it off. It is a dumb holiday. The chocolate is okay, but other than that, it's worthless.

Like I said, I wear black.

Bitter is the New Black, you know.

But I am not bitter, though sometimes it may seem this way. For the most part, I am a pretty happy chick, and I live a pretty lucky life. People are nice to me, and I am mostly nice to them. I'm nice to animals, too. I have cute clothes, cute shoes, and cute outerwear. My hair is shiny. I get invited to lots of stuff. My family is pretty fab, even though they are way the hell on the other side of the Atlantic. I am rarely lonely, though I do rather enjoy my own company. And I can kick some serious ass in Trivial Pursuit.

Maybe that fabled Prince Charming will show up at some point. Maybe not.

If he does, he'd better bring his passport. And some extra-dark chocolate. With just the right amount of bitter and a touch of sweet.

...that's the way I like it.

Meine Handschuhe Reunion

2007-02-08T15:12:00.000+01:00

I have a particular talent for losing gloves. In fact, I lose so many gloves that I usually buy two sets when I find a pair I like, knowing it will take me longer to lose two than one...it will still happen, believe me, but I get an extra week or so extension with warm hands. You know what they say about someone with warm hands...big shoes. Or perhaps I am mixing that up with something else.

Yesterday, I found myself in the usual circumstance of having lost yet another Handschuh. (Yes...that would be German for glove. Hand shoe. I love these people.) I was sad. But not surprised. We all knew this was coming. So imagine my surprise when this morning at the bus stop on the way to school, a German man came up to me with my Handschuhe and said, auf Deutsch of course, "You left this on the bus yesterday morning."

He saw me drop my glove when I got off, picked it up, kept it until this morning, and gave it back. I am sure I have been riding the bus with this guy all year, but am a bit self-centered it seems, as I couldn't have picked him out of a crowd of two. And he was even cute! In that German worker sort of way.

In America, I would definitely have marked my glove for lost. No one would have picked it up. It would have been left for dead, and ended up dirty and soaking up all the slushy bits from people's boots all day. Here, I get it back. Score one Cool Point for Germany.

Though I should still probably invest in some pre-school mitten clips...

B-Ball in Berlin

2007-02-07T23:25:00.000+01:00

Tonight I went to a professional basketball game. It was a completely unexpected evening out.

While walking down the long hill to the bus stop from school, I was nearly run over by our PE teacher and a couple of other staff members. This, of course, was my own fault as I had my iPod on at what many would construe as an unsafe level. But that is neither here nor there.

I was offered a ride home, and during the ride, offered the chance to join in on a basketball outing to see Alba Berlin, our very own professional basketball team. They were playing RheinEnergie Köln (Cologne), which had won the league last year. It was to be quite the match-up. And Alba did not disappoint.

Just like my beloved Hoosiers, they stank up the court for the first half of the game. But then, they rallied to come back and almost...just almost...beat Köln in the last few minutes of the game. Exciting stuff, people.

Notable Facts about German Professional Basketball:
1. The ball has weird white stripes on it.
2. Lots of the players are guys from the States that couldn't make the NBA. I wonder how they understand the coach's instructions.
3. The Germans really get behind their team...they yelled DEFENSE...DEFENSE...every SINGLE time the ball came near the opposing team's half of the court. Seriously. Not just when the game was close. Even when Alba was down 16 points. It was die-hard love.
4. The coach from Köln had a weird shaped head.
5. The cheerleaders are really more like strippers. In that they aren't very good dancers but no one is paying attention to that anyway. You know what I mean.

And they even have the Kiss Kam. I love the Kiss Kam.

The Hannover Hangover

2007-02-04T18:18:00.000+01:00

I am horizontal on my couch right now, having just returned from my weekend at the Association of German International Schools conference. There was lots of food. LOTS of food. And wine. LOTS of wine.

I'm not exactly sure how many glasses I consumed last night, but around 10am this morning I turned to my friend Kate and asked: "Was I doing karaoke last night?"

She said: "Yes."

I said: "Um...what song was it?"

She said: "I'm not sure. You were singing in German."

I'm sure that was a treat for everyone. Alcohol is becoming less and less of a friend everytime we hang out.

Except for the amazing effect she has on my singing voice...I have a feeling I was rocking it like the German Beyoncé up there. Definitely. Though the music teacher said my performance reminded him more of Adam Sandler.

He was obviously very drunk. Doch.

PS - Go Bears!

Jelly Doughnut goes to the Gyne...aka the Frauenarztin...

2007-02-01T16:50:00.000+01:00

Frauen=Women

Arztin=Doctor (a female one, hence the -in)

Guess where I got to go this afternoon?

Yep. It was time for that fun-filled annual tradition that all women adore. It's pap smear time, baby! Boys, you might want to stop reading this post right now.

Now, at the ripe age of 32, I've had my fair share of time in the stirrups. Way back in the day, I actually got a little nervous before this annual ritual. At this point, I just throw on the paper robe and get it over with.

Today was a little different.

I'd heard things, you see. I'd heard that my usual nice and flat examining table (complete with stirrup cozies) was not part of the plan. I'd also heard that my traditional donning of a paper gown was not in the picture either. Finally, I'd heard the exam was much more "thorough" if you know what I mean.

I felt like I was 17 again. I was freaked out.

Upon arriving at the reception area, I was asked to fill out the usual form regarding my medical history. Of course...this was in German. And none of the receptionists spoke English. I muddled my way through as best I could, and learned some lovely new vocabulary words in the process. I'm not totally sure, but I think the word for getting your period can loosely be translated into "Raining Blood." But don't quote me on that. These are the people with the no-nonsense approach to language, remember. Strumpfhose=sock pants=stockings. Handschuhe=hand shoes=gloves. Anything is possible. But back to the story...

I then heard: "Frau...Frau..." and was summoned into the examining room. The doctor had her desk and computer right there. Set up next to the examining table! Ew. Not where I'd want my workspace. Plus, table is not quite the word I would use to describe where I was to have my exam.

It was a freaking dentist's chair.

It had big leg braces sticking out of it. And a lever thing to raise and lower it so the doctor could wheel "right in there" on their doctor chair to scope out the situation. I had been apprised of this situation prior to my appointment, but I was still a little startled. It was then explained to me that I was to go into the dressing room, take off the lower half of my clothing and come back out for the first part of the exam. So I did this. I wish I had worn a longer sweater. I felt a little weird walking around in my turtleneck sans pants. I also wish I had thought not to wear my snowflake socks, but that was the least of my concerns at this point. 'Cause I still had to go sit in that weird chair.

I sort of walked up next to it, but it seemed kind of like it was way up there. I looked at the doctor questioningly, and she laughed, saying: "Well, we won't make you jump up there, of course."

Funny.

She lowered the thing, and the rest of the exam proceeded as normal. Honestly, I will say it was a bit more comfortable than the whole stirrup business. Less scooting. You ladies know what I mean by this.

I then was told to go put my pants back on, and take the top half of my clothing off. Again...weird. But whatever. For this upper-half examination, I literally just stood there, she felt me up, and that was it. I guess I never really thought about why our whole American version of this experience takes place in a horizontal position. Seemed to work just fine this way. And the lack of robe was not such a big deal either. I mean, hell, it's not like they don't see it all anyway...the guise of the paper gown just makes you feel more covered. They're still checking out all the same places. I'm also sure many trees are spared due to the lack of privacy afforded here at the German Frauenarztin.

They're really concerned with the environment here in Deutschland.

Don't even get me started on the tampon situation...

Decimal Day

2007-01-31T09:25:00.001+01:00

I was nervous this morning.

The lesson I had dreaded was finally here. Decimals. Blech.

But using the metaphor (analogy?) of a really big chocolate-coconut cake cut into 100 pieces and jumping around in front of the room like I was talking about SpongeBob instead of a totally abstract math concept, they got it. They rocked the Decimal Punkt.

I said: You guys are a lot smarter than I thought! You really get this! Bravo!

Sweet German Girl said: No, you're just a good teacher.

I said: Thank you. I will bring you all a real cake tomorrow.

Sweet German Girl said: You'll buy it at the store, right? Because we all saw the picture of that pizza you made.

I make-a Disaster.

2007-01-28T19:36:00.000+01:00

I tried to use my newfound pizza-making skills. It did not go well.

Please see below.

Thanks Dad.

2007-01-26T18:39:00.000+01:00

Last night, I got third place in a Robbie Burns trivia contest.

For those of you who don't know Robbie Burns, he is the most celebrated poet of Scotland. Though he is probably most well-known for "Auld Lang Syne," he wrote lots of other swell bits of lit as well. Each January, the Scots have a Robert Burns tribute coinciding with his birthday, and my father being an avid bagpiper, would take me to the Robert Burns Dinner sponsored by his pipe band every year. Never thought those experiences would come in handy here in Berlin.

I have lots of things that I would like to thank my dad for, but I think that is better suited to another post when I have more time to write and truly craft something that would really pay tribute to the many things my father gave me when he was alive.

But for now, I think I will pay tribute to him by practicing my newly-strung guitar. It sounds so pretty now.

And then I am off to do Karaoke with some folk.

I suppose I can also attribute my poor singing voice to my father. Genetics works like that. But because of him, I know it is more worthwhile to attempt something that may be a bit daunting than to just let life pass you by. So perhaps tonight, I will abandon my fears of public performance and step up to the microphone.

And that will be thanks to Dad.

And likely...to a couple shots of vodka as well.

Mir ist heiß!

2007-01-25T13:44:00.000+01:00

Right now in my classroom, the intermediate German students are learning how to say: "I am hot."

Unbeknownst to me, it is not: "Ich bin heiß," as I have said numerous times since arriving in Deutschland. (Though I have not said it today, as we had our first snowfall last night.)

Apparently, that means: "Ich bin sexy."

The appropriate way to say it is: "Mir ist heiß."

Whoops.

Thank God my principal's German is in a sorrier state than my own. And I suppose it does explain the recent attentions I have been receiving from the School Hausmeister (Custodian).

My radiator was malfunctioning last week. My room was hot. He only speaks German.

Connect the dots.

Letting Go and Kicking it to the Curb

2007-01-23T18:54:00.000+01:00

I was recently inspired by something I read. That is how most ideas come about, you know.

I often ponder why I came here, having cited a need for change of scenery time and time again. I think this is a valid reason. Changing your location can do wonders for your psyche, can bring new and interesting people into your life, and can give you a fresh perspective on things as you know them. But regardless of the view you might see out of your window, it takes more than a one-way plane ticket to change your patterns and way of thinking.

Upon arrival at a new place, you always wait patiently to collect your luggage at the carousel with all the other passengers.

But for a new start, you need to leave your baggage behind.

I make-a Pizza.

2007-01-21T22:16:00.000+01:00

The beautiful thing about living in a city like Berlin is all the interesting people you get to meet. As I've mentioned before, my German class is full of many nationalities. We've assembled quite the cast of characters. Here is a quick rundown:

"Vikreta the Bosnian" and "Danisa the Croatian": These two ladies are a trip. Vikreta shouts out randomly whenever she thinks someone is stuck on a word. Danisa is consistently annoyed by Vikreta because she babbles at her in Bosnian (which is apparently close to Croatian, but is still not Croatian so Danisa doesn't really understand her). Plus there was that whole warring thing going on between their two countries. Danisa swears at Vikreta in English. Vikreta smiles.

"Hugues the Frenchie": Wild curly black hair, artsy glasses, a totally unpronounceable name, many cigarettes, and few baths. Mildly attractive. It is funny to hear German spoken with a French accent. Twès funny.

"Jade the New Zealander": Cool guy with a cool accent and a cool hat. And apparently, a cool German girlfriend. Of course.

"Loit, Brad, and Sheila, the Americans": Loit is very annoying and always makes dumb jokes. Like jokes about farting. Blech. Brad stammers his way through boring conversations with the teacher. He is a super kiss-ass. And his German sucks. Sheila rocks. She is also a teacher, but at another school. I went to her house and she fed me. I like her lots.

"Justyna the Polish": Does not speak English. Therefore our conversations have been limited to German. Therefore I know her name is Justyna and she comes from Poland. That is all.

"David and Michael, the English": David is sort of creepy and gave me his business card with his mobile number on the back. This, despite the fact that he has a wife and kids back in England. Nein, danke. Michael...has possibly the worst pronunciation of the German language ever...but he can laugh at himself. I like that. Which brings us to...

"Ilker the Turk": Dear God, where do I begin? I am pretty sure Ilker is dyslexic. And not very smart on top of it. He is always really confused. Really confused. Like that kid in first grade who ate paste. It is painful to listen to him try to figure things out. But at times we all retrograde into children and giggle a little. Then he turns red. It is horrible. Ilker did not get passed to the next level. And doesn't understand why. This is because it was explained to him by the German teacher...in German. Which for Ilker may as well be Klingon or something. Tschüß, Ilker.

"Oliver the Deutsch Lehrer": Oliver is okay as a teacher. I think he is maybe gay. He wears the same brown sweater every Monday and Wednesday. My friend Danielle would classify it to be a certain shade of "Cat-Shit Brown." It is not attractive. When we speak German, he screws up his face like he has just taken a particularly harsh shot of tequila. I think when I make the "ch" sound, I can actually see his ears bleed.

Finalmento...

"Francesca the Italian": Mia amica. Francesca quickly learned that I knew a little Italian. So she made it her personal quest to not let me lose the minimal amount of the language I had retained since beginning my German studies. She speaks at me...read: AT me...in Italian all the time. I nod a lot. But she has taught me some good swears. And yesterday, she came to my house and taught me how to make real Italian pizza dough. She laughed at my PAM Olive Oil in a can. Until she realized that was really all I had. Then she stopped laughing. This evening, I hauled the dough (which had to rise overnight) to Sheila's house, and we made a pizza. Francesca showed us how to make sauce, bake it, etc. She used a buttload of olive oil. I could see my reflection in the pizza.

Then she let me make a pizza. All by myself. It didn't suck. She kept saying: "Bella Pizza, Jayseeeekaaa." And then laughing.

I am now officially trained as an Italian pizza chef. You are all invited. I make-a pizza for you. Una bella pizza. In mein Herd. (Italian: A beautiful pizza. German: In my oven.)

German is a kind of ugly language, I think. But I've made some interesting new friends, that's for sure.

Belli amici. Guten Freunden.

Ja.

Overreaction Alert!!

2007-01-19T19:34:00.000+01:00

Storm was total non-event up here in Berlin. Nailed England, Holland, and the Czech Republic. We got lots of rain. And there were a bunch of leaves blowing around in my Underground Station this morning. But that was about it.

Oh, and my lights flickered once.

Hurricane Alert!!!

2007-01-18T15:14:00.000+01:00

Apparently. They're freaking over here. Closed down schools (not mine, of course) and everything. How can there be a hurricane in the middle of the continent? Dunno.

Looks like a regular Indiana summer storm to me. Except for that we're in Winter. And for some reason everyone keeps talking about the trees. 'Cause they'll be toppling over like dominoes.

I'm glad I live on the 16th floor.

I think.

More later...

Queenpin.

2007-01-16T22:22:00.001+01:00

Turns out that bowling in Germany and bowling in the U.S. ain't that much different.

I still suck.

Despite being raised amongst the finest bowling alleys and pool halls the midwestern heartland had to offer, I still did not manage to break 100. Even though I was at 97 with a spare on the line in the final frame, I still choked.

Mein name ist Krimihilda, and I am a poor excuse for a Hoosier.

(Yes, we put ridiculous German names up on our TV scoreboard: Brunhild, Lothar...you get the picture. I don't think the real Germans in the alley thought it was too funny. But how can you tell with those folk sometimes? Said with love, people. Real love.)

I bet my Grandpa could beat up your Grandpa.

2007-01-14T19:52:00.001+01:00

As much as I was dreading going back to work last week, once I saw my students I remembered that I actually like my job quite a lot. They're funny. They're sweet. I'm sure they'll turn on their teachers at some point in their education, but at this age they're still into the love and the hugs and giving me presents. And they think I'm cool. They'll wise up at some point.

Each Friday, we have a class meeting where we discuss conflicts the children have had throughout the week, share thoughts, and do all that classroom as a family feel-good-about-yourself stuff. My mom made me this odd cone-shaped critter called a Tomte Santa which serves as our figurative conch shell during these meetings. If you have the Tomte, people give you respect and listen. They are quite serious about this rule. We also have a time to share interesting news items that the children have heard about. So far we've talked about the overfishing of the oceans (they are worried about losing out on sushi), global warming (they all are planning on purchasing hybrids for sure), and some kid in Alabama that crawled inside one of those stuffed animal machines to get a Sponge-Bob doll and got stuck (they now think people in the States are not very bright).

This week we talked about Hitler.

It must be said that my class is quite the international mix. I have children from the Middle East, the States, Canada, Asia, and of course, Europe. And over half of my class is native German. I was not thrilled with this topic. Here's how it went down:

Me: Does anyone have any news they would like to share?
Kid A: I got a iPod for Christmas.
Me: Yes, that is very exciting. But I meant something that might have a bit more of a discussion to it. Something we could all talk about. Do you know what I mean?
Kid B: I got an iPod too! And an XBox.

(Several hands go up.)

Me: Right. Okay. Put your hand down if you also would like us to know that you got an iPod.

(Half of the hands go down.)

Me: XBox? Know someone that got an iPod? Or an XBox? Okay, then.

(One hand remains up. It is a smart one. I am sure that she will have something Earth shattering to share with us that will provide a good meaty discussion.)

Smart Kid: I got a new Polly Pocket.

(I raise an eyebrow at her.)

Smart Kid: And I heard that President Bush is going to send more people to Iraq. My parents don't like him.

(A general chorus goes around that many of the parents are not pleased with our Prez.)

Kid D: Iraq is not far from where my family is from.
Kid E: They hung the old leader from Iraq last week. His name was Saddam.

(Nods go around the group; they've obviously heard about this.)

Sweet and Innocent Kid: Why?
Kid E: He killed thousands of people.
S & I Kid: Maybe he felt bad about it, and he was sorry. (Frowns.) They didn't have to kill him.
Me: He wasn't a good guy, sweetie. He was pretty bad.
S & I Kid: But maybe...
Me: No. Bad.

(Quickly I bust out the globe and review the original Gulf War and this current disaster we are now embroiled in. I try to do so without prejudicing the children - really! - and they pretty much grasp the concept. We've been working a lot on making connections between similar books and events, so I guess I should have seen the next comment coming.)

Other Smart Kid: Hey, he sounds a lot like that bad German man that was here. His name was Hitler, I think.

The Germans are pretty good about recognizing their disastrous years in the first half of the 20th century. The kids know about the Wall and the Wars. I'm not too sure if they know the depth of the horrors that occured, but I think they have a sense. I wonder if this is why some seem as if they are carrying a heavy burden on their shoulders. Why many of them really do look like they've had a tough time of it. Because this next bit I am about to tell you gave me a clue.

(I glance around the room, and notice that several of my German students are now looking fixedly at the floor.)

Me: Right. He was not so good either.
Other Smart Kid: He killed lots of people too. Like Saddam.
Me: Yes, this is true.
Kid D: In Germany? When?
Me: Umm...well, sort of all over Europe. It was about 60 years or so ago.

(I see that one of my German boys, a real sensitive sort, looks like he has been poleaxed.)

Me: You okay over there?
Sensitive German Boy: Yeah, it's just that my grandpa fought in that War.

(I think this one may have been told the whole story. You gotta learn sometime, I guess. Maybe not at 8 years old, but they seem to throw a lot at these kids pretty early over here. He knows his Grandpa was a Nazi soldier. Perhaps not by choice, I hope. God.)

Me: Oh. Mine too. But I think maybe it was one of your parents' grandpas, as I am guessing our grandpas are probably not the same age.
SGB: That's right. You're a lot older than me. You're 32.

(They point this out a lot. My age. Whatever. They also tell me I'm pretty several times a day, so I can forgive them. Hands go up. The children, German and non-German, state that they also had great-grandpas in the war. We VERY BRIEFLY go over the reasons for WWII. Ever so briefly. They have plenty of time to get the full story later. We discuss that Germany did not fare well at the end of the war, and that is why Berlin got divided. I notice one of my more ill-mannered students deep in thought. He raises his hand. I hesitantly call on him, because you never know what this one's going to say. He turns to face the Sensitive German Boy. I go a bit pale.)

"That means the teacher's Grandpa kicked your Grandpa's ass!"

Seriously...

2007-01-13T11:58:00.000+01:00

...bars really should have a thing called 'closing time' in this town.

Or I could just bring my watch.

Guidance Part I

2007-01-10T22:57:00.001+01:00

Berlin is a big old city full of stuff. Eloquent starting sentence, yes? Maybe not, but it's the truth. This place is huge, and despite the fact I have been here for 6 months, there are many places and things I had not the opportunity to check out during my past four months of living and working in what is now Europe's most popular big city destination. Having a job that requires your physical presence in a specific location five days a week, 8 hours a day significantly cuts back on your tourist time. So when offered the opportunity to take a walking tour of Berlin with a new acquaintance who was beginning a city guiding job next week and needed some practice, I looked forward to seeing some of the historical sights.

But I wore dumb shoes. And weak gloves. Of course. This was a 3.5 hour walking tour all around the city hitting the important monuments, and therefore takes place entirely outside. It was also drizzling 90% of the time. For those of you that know me well, you recognize the difficulties I quickly faced. My hands are always cold; sometimes even in July. My feet are even worse. Once, I frightened an entire lodge full of skiiers because my toes had frozen and I was screaming bloody murder as they began to thaw. I think the temperature that day in Colorado hovered around 15 degrees Fahrenheit. Chilly, yes. But not toe-screaming temperatures for the average Joe. And with the added benefit of the constant drizzle that seems to have become the standard Berlin weather these days? You all know what was of utmost concern. Frizz. I have some seriously unmanageable hair that I only tame into submission with a very hot flat iron and infrequent washing. But I really wanted to learn more about this city I now call home, and decided to subject myself to the arctic temperatures and continuous precipitation and go on a walk. Plus, the would-be tour guide was sort of cute. Sort of. :)

It was a good choice.

I learned a lot about the pain, joy, innovation, devastation, and transformation of Berlin. Even my typically ADD attention span remained focused for about 88% of the time. As for the remaining 12%, I will only say that you just don't understand how hard it is to get my hair back under control after it has taken a turn towards the dark side.

It must be mentioned that part of the reason this experience was so enriching was that the guy leading the tour had an enthusiasm and story-telling ability that kept you in tune with the dramatics of Berlin history. Some people were just born to spin a yarn and can get you to buy into almost anything. The hyper-verbal sort that can make even something boring like Internet e-commerce economics into an interesting topic of conversation.

These are typically the same people who look at the paths that life has laid out for them and turn to head in an unchartered direction.

These people are trouble.

They make you think. They make you reflect. They make you question.

Some people choose to take the safe route; some choose to venture forth and see the world. Some do this with a safety net firmly anchored below them; others take the falls and learn about the strength of their character.

What did I learn on my tour of this place? About war? Genocide? Devastation? Resilience? Yes. I did learn about these things. But I also took away something else from my walk.

Like the phoenix, Berlin has risen from its ashes. This city bears battle and emotional scars to be expected after its turbulent history. But Berlin is back. It is beautiful. It is vibrant. It is a city where endless possiblities stretch in front of you. There is always a new person to chat with right around the corner. There is always some symbol of fortitude, creativity, or endurance on almost every street you traverse. The people, the buildings, the lives that are here are truly representative of what can happen when you feel like you're way over your head in the deep end of the pool and you fight your way back to the top.

I think we can all take a page from this great transformation. We can make choices for ourselves. We can follow our dreams. We can create our own lives in a manner that may not be representative of the norm, but suit our talents and ambitions to a T.

We can walk the path that we forge ourselves instead of taking the road that makes the most sense.

All it takes is a little inspiration.

And smart shoes.

Raising the Bar

2007-01-07T16:28:00.001+01:00

Four million international people in this city, and you can still find yourself seated with 6 native-English speakers in a small enclave below street level in a room not much larger than a typical guest bedroom. It is reminiscent of your grandmother's house with its quaint decor and warmth but also your favorite bar back home. The atmosphere is one of curiosity as through conversation the inhabitants learn the thoughts and perspectives of those seated next to them or across the way. The hours fly as you wax on regarding the difficulties of life in a foreign country, preferred qualities in the opposite sex, political and philosophical viewpoints...interspersed with shots of stinging liquid served in tiny glasses.

This is Hairy Mary's of Prenzlauer Berg. It is a wee place that you may not even see as you walk through one of the trendiest neighborhoods of Berlin. Nestled down below the sidewalk, the first time I went for a drink I passed by twice until I started paying attention to the street numbers. This place is one of those hidden gems that you feel fortunate to find in a city where there is so much isolation due to culture, language, and social customs. Stories are told by the young Scottish and American couple who are pouring their life into making a cozy place for others to share together. For the expatriate far from home, it is a comforting feeling to be somewhere that you can communicate on a different level with people who are living the same dreams as you and experiencing the same rites of passage.

Thought. Drink. Laughter. Smoke.

Four elements come together to create a few hours of quality time spent among seven beings... in a place you might walk past if you weren't keeping your eyes open for the gold coin hidden below the cobblestones.

I love big JETS and I can not lie...

2006-12-30T18:19:00.000+01:00

If you didn't get that late 80s Sir-Mix-A-Lot reference, then I am not going to go into detail for you. Mom. Love you. :)

While traveling across the Atlantic twice this week, for my wonderful trip home to the heartland, I had a lot of time to sit and appreciate how far it is that I have moved away from those I love most and hold dearest in my heart. We seem so easily connected with the Internet, blogs, email, Skype, and mobile texting, that most of the time my loved ones don't seem all that far away. But after rising at 3:30am last Saturday morning, traveling an hour by train and bus to the airport, another two hours by air to Paris, and another nine in the sky towards Detroit Rock City, I realized something.

That is one big freaking ocean.

The flight from east to west seems longer, I think, because there is no false sense of nighttime. In literal time, the voyage takes well over 16 hours from door to door. But it is daylight the entire time. It feels like one really, really, really long day. In the same position. Which for me ranged somewhere between fetal and pretzel for most of the flight, as I was wedged into the back row next to a girl who had difficulty maintaining her head in an upright position as she napped, and kept bobble-heading into my personal space. The flight was pretty nifty, though. We all had our own personal screens that had a connection to the camera mounted at the front of the aircraft. So on take-off, you could look at the screen and watch as the painted lines moved faster and faster, until suddenly Bernoulli's principle came into action and the monstrous hunk of metal lifted into the sky. Amazing.

Though I don't recommend watching this camera during landing. Nauseating.

My former flame back in Chicago used to get frustrated with me as we would drive down the Kennedy and directly under a flight path to O'Hare. While driving, I would be continually distracted by all the jets in in the sky, and instead of focusing on traffic patterns and honing my defensive driving techniques, I would marvel at the sheer size of the planes that floated above me. Gaping out the window, I would count these aircraft, and continually wonder how on Earth they stayed up there. So many flights, and so few incidents. Amazing.

I went through a stage about 4 years ago when I became terrified of air travel. It was to the point where I would have to consume a large quantity of alcohol before I would even consider hauling my backside onto a plane. Once, on a trip to Ireland, I was so tanked that I was asleep when the plane took off (which was how I liked it at the time) and awoke only when a large (and very flatulent, it turned out) man proceeded to bellow Irish drinking songs at the top of his lungs. Maybe he was scared to fly too...or just liked his Guinness a bit too much. But I kept crossing that ocean each summer, and sometimes during the cooler months. I've crossed the Atlantic quite a few times now, and the fear is gone...which is a thankful thing, as I no longer have raging hangovers upon arrival.

Yesterday I flew back to Berlin, through New York's JFK airport. Again, I was struck by just how many planes take-off and land each day, and how many people there are in the world traveling at one given moment. I wandered in search of some reading material, and after passing on a book entitled "Why Men Marry Bitches" (but I do wonder about that sometimes), I located a non-fiction titled: Ask the Pilot: Everything you need to know about Air Travel. This is my dream book. It answers all those questions that have mystified me over the years. Those little things that make air travel seem almost magical in my eyes. I bought the book. But part of me just doesn't want to read it. It would be like seeing the man behind the curtain. I like to believe there is a little fairy dust involved in the magic of flight.

Today, flying almost seems commonplace to me. But for one split second as the jet races down the runway, I can visualize the air moving across the broad wings, more quickly on top and more slowly underneath. I always wonder if it will really work...will this feat of engineering actually rise into the air? With a creak and a shudder, the craft lifts...first an inch, and then higher and higher as the wing dips to one side and we begin our journey towards our final destination...

Amazing. And magical. There's gotta be some sparkly dust in there somewhere.

PS - Have a happy New Year! I will be posting early in the week about my adventures at the Brandenburger Tor - 1,000,000 people are expected...and it will be on TV I think...I am the dot with the black hat. I'm sure you'll find me. Just remember, at 6pm Eastern Time, I will be ringing in the new year, German style! (They call it Silvester here. No...I have no clue why.)

Morgen ich gehe nach Hause!

2006-12-22T19:54:00.000+01:00

Das is richtig! Tomorrow, I am going home on the Flugzeug. I have packed my bag, it weighs a ton, and I am praying that the fine folk at Air France are all right with the amount of kilos I am hauling with me to the States. If not, then I am afraid I will have to ditch some presents, because that is what the bulk of my suitcase is filled with! Gifts for all you fine readers...aka, my family. I am especially proud of my gift buying this year, as I found some truly German-inspired presents to distribute.

Just you wait, Mom. And yes, I remembered to bring some of those rice cakes you liked.

(And a little something extra-special I think you will really enjoy...)

See you soon!

Jopp!

2006-12-17T10:25:00.000+01:00

Last week I joined up at a Fitness Club that is nur für Frauen. Only for women! It is called "Jopp Frauen Fitness" (pronounced: Yopp!) and is conveniently located all around the city. The one I will primarily go to is halfway between work and home, and also on my favorite shopping street, Schlossstrasse. Yes. I spelled that correctly...three s's in Schlossstrasse. Of course, you could also spell it Schloßstrasse, but sometimes I get lazy and don't feel like inserting a special character. Right.

I had intended this Sunday's blog installment to be about all of my new experiences at Jopp, as I was planning on going Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday. I did go last Sunday; it was my first time working out there, and I had to converse with the locker room attendant as I couldn't figure out how to get the locker open with their fancy system. I think our conversation went something like this:

Me: Hallo. My German is not good, can you me help?
Locker Room Lady: Yes.
Me: It my first hour here, and I understand not the door. Here. Door.
LRL: Yes. (Takes my membership card and waves it magically in front of vacant locker. Door springs open with a pop.)
Me: Oh. That is very practical.
LRL: Yes.
Me: I come from the USA.
LRL: Yes.
Me: I need exercise here now. When I am coming to Berlin, I am eating too many Gummi Bears.
LRL: (gives me the once over) Yes.

The big thing I noticed about the locker room here is all of the nakedness. Of course, there was nakedness at my gym in the States, but it seems more apparent here. On my walk to the WC, I passed the Sauna. Lots of nakedness. Full on. Also, there are these lounge chairs by the pool. Naked. Big time. I am using the adjective Big for a reason. The shower? Like the ones they show on prison shows. Just a room with a few spouts sticking out of the wall. No privacy. Of course, it is pink. Interestingly, I had no issue with this. I think my attitudes towards nakedness in general have changed since coming here. Each Tuesday I have to take my kids for swimming instruction at a public pool, and we were originally supposed to change in there with them. My teaching partner and I objected to this, so we now change in a separate part of the facility. But still with each other and some other women. Doesn't seem to be such a big deal anymore. But don't worry, I'm not pondering joining a nudist colony quite yet. I get cold too easily. And I would miss my sweaters. But on with the story...

So I changed into workout clothing, and headed out into the main area in search of a towel to accompany me as I traveled around the machines on the circuit they have set up. (It is quite nifty, with a little red and green light which tells you when to switch and then you just rotate to the next machine. Takes about 25 minutes. Though some people don't follow the rotation. Probably foreigners.) I hunted for a towel, but was unable to locate one. Upon closer inspection, I realized that everyone had different colored towels. This must be a German thing, I thought. You have to haul a towel from home. What a pain. I realized I couldn't do the circuit, as I didn't think it would be highly thought of if I left remnants of back sweat on a machine without wiping it off. I then turned to the treadmill and decided to do a quick jog.

I hopped on, hit "Quick Start" and was faced with a red digital request from the machine just like at the gym at home. Except in German. I recognized the word "Zeit" and figured out it wanted me to enter my time. "30," I punched in on the keyboard. A new command appeared. Elevation, I guessed. "0," I entered. Its been a while since I have put forth any athletic effort, so I wanted to start off slowly. A new request. Weight, I guessed. "1--," I thought. Ooops. Kilograms. I knew the answer to this one. I will not be sharing that information here today, however. Remember...the Gummi Bears. A final question from the machine. Speed, I guessed. I recalled my starting pace from the old days. "4.0," I entered. The machine started to crawl beneath my feet. I shuffled along. "This seems really slow," I thought. "Weird." Then...the Glühbirne went off in my head. (Lightbulb...literally translated=Glow-Pear.) "Kilometers!"

I petered out after approximately 20 minutes on the Metric Treadmill, and decided to head home. I awoke the next morning with a raging cold that has turned into a really beautiful case of Bronchitis. So I have yet to return to Jopp! since my initial visit.

I bet the Locker Room Lady wonders where I am.

She probably thinks I am eating Gummi Bears.

I am, of course. Laced with Vitamin C.

Frohe Weihnachtsmärkte!

2006-12-10T12:46:00.000+01:00

Yes, I know I skipped last week. I heard about it. But I had a very good reason.

Glühwein.

You see, there is this cultural phenomenon in Germany called the Weihnachtsmarkt. This means Christmas Market. They have sprung up all over town, and are literally small Lincoln Log shacks filled with the delights of the holiday season. You can purchase all sorts of fun Christmas gifts like incense burning Weihnachtsmänner (Santa Claus - literally translated: Christmas Man!), those spinny fan things where you have the candles burning and it causes the wooden fan on top to rotate, and the little nativity scene inside to revolve at what must be nauseating speeds for the Holy Family, and of course, Glühwein.

Now, what is this Glühwein I keep prattling on about? Well...basically, it is heated wine with spices and a collectible cup. You put a deposit down when you buy the stuff, but if you want to, you can keep the cup and forgo the €2. I like keeping the cups. I have one from the Winterwelt (Winter World) at Potsdamer Platz (where I slid down a fake mountain on an intertube...twice), one from the Weihnachtsmarkt at the Ku'damm that has a cool picture of the burned out church on it (to the left), and one from the Gendarmenmarkt Weihnachtsmarkt that is so fancy you have to pay a Euro to get in (pictured at the top!). This did not keep it from being claustrophobically crowded, unfortunately. Anyway...Glühwein=yum. And I like the cups.

There is also food. Lots of sausage based choices, as well as pflammenkuchen, which is what I had for dinner last night while at a market with my Weihnachtsmarkt-partner-in-crime Danielle. This pizza-like creation is basically a flatbread crust, smeared with cream-cheese, topped with regular cheese and typically speck (crumbly ham stuff) but we went with the Vegetarische version. The guy was super nice to us, and gave us free cherry Glühwein. But the cups were not all that cool, so we returned them. You must have standards, people. If you are going to start a kitschy collection, only the best will do.

Upon my first trip to a Weihnachtsmarkt with Danielle last weekend, I spied these odd creations you see to the left. They were explained to be "Schneeballen" or snowballs, which seemed odd to me, as they were all brown. Looked more like balls of something else, if you know what I mean. However, upon further description, I found out that they were basically pie crust dough, molded into a ball shape with Marzipan inside, and chocolate coating outside. "Yum," I said. "Blech," said Danielle. "They're really awful and tasteless, trust me."

I did not trust her. I bought myself one of these Schneeballen.

I took a bite.

Blech.

It turns out that they do not put any sugar in the pie crust dough. Just like a regular pie crust. Flour and lard. With a VERY thin coating of chocolate.

Blech.

It tasted like... Well, I'm sure you can come up with your own word here after looking at the photos.

I think I will stick to the Glühwein.

And now...I am off to Jopp Frauen-Fitness, my new health club. Nur für Frauen. No Männer allowed.

Gotta work off that Pflammkuchen. It turns out that a piece of bread slathered with cheeses may not be low-cal.

But worth every bite.

Happy Turkey Day!

2006-11-26T16:57:00.000+01:00

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.

2006-11-19T09:51:00.000+01:00

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...

2006-11-12T18:05:00.002+01:00

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

2006-11-05T17:43:00.000+01:00

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.

Running out of Rice Cakes

2006-10-29T10:15:00.000+01:00

This will be a quickie, as my mother is visiting me for a long weekend (yippee!), and we have much to do and see. We spent our first full day together yesterday, as she had been recovering from the jet lag all day Thursday and Friday while I was at work. We toured the Ku'damm and accomplished some serious shopping (and I found cute shoes!), and have eaten some tasty international meals (Indian, Thai, and Australian - Mom ate Kangaroo and Crocodile!). Today we are hitting Checkpoint Charlie, hopping on one of the Hop-on/Hop-off bus tours for the day, and going to the Dark Restaurant for dinner. I am curious to see how she reacts to that.

All in all, it is wonderful to have Mom in town. I am lucky to have such a good relationship with her...even if she has already eaten all of my rice cakes.

Once upon a time...

2006-10-15T09:37:00.000+02:00

...there were two girls who decided to take a bike tour through western Germany. They shall be called Red Riding Hood (Red for short, as she had a bright red rain jacket) and Gretel (who really liked cookies, especially her Busha's oatmeal ones, but gingerbread too). At the last minute a third girl decided to join their little group, and she shall be called Princess Pea (as her backside was quite sensitive to the bounciness of the bike ride and unaccustomed to long hours on a hard seat; she ended up purchasing a gel-seat to help with this issue). They were very excited, despite never having been bike touring before. They packed their paniers as lightly as they could, attached them to their cycles, and headed off to the Berlin Hauptbahnhof early one Tuesday morning to catch their 6:39am train to Kassel, the former home of the Brothers Grimm. Along the ride to the station, they passed the famous Brandenburger Tor, the symbol of Berlin.

After a couple of train rides, the girls arrived in Kassel and started their ride. They had a map, some directions, and a lot of determination and trepidation. They headed out of Kassel, and into the forest, spreading out as they rode. They saw farms with rows of cabbages, turnips, and other vegetables and their path soon joined the Fulda River which was snaking its way north. Red was in the front of the group, and soon disappeared into the trees. After about a half-hour of riding, Gretel glimpsed Red in the distance, knelt next to her bike with a puzzled look on her face. She approached, and soon learned that Red's bicycle chain had broken! Pea then joined the two and they discussed how to go forward from there. It was agreed that Gretel would ride ahead to the next town to locate a bicycle shop while Pea and Red would walk. Pea volunteered to stay with Red as her rear end was already in a bit of a state from the riding and walking was preferable. Gretel hopped back on her bike and began her quest for the next town and a bicycle repairman (or woman) that could help her friend. On the path, she scattered Treni Italia moist towelettes she had swiped from her summer trip in Italy. She thought these might be helpful in removing the bike chain grease from Red's hands.

Gretel rode and rode, finally approaching a small town on her left. The town was nothing more than a smattering of houses, and after talking to a stern looking woman in leather pants with a ferocious dog, she decided that the town of Hann-Münden would be her best bet. Meanwhile, Red and Pea were continuing to walk the path through the forest, and were told to veer off to a town called Immerhausen where there would surely be someone to help with the chain. They texted this to Gretel, who texted back that she would find some lunch in the next town and they should do the same. Once the bike was fixed, they could all meet up in Hann-Münden and head to their final destination of Reinhardshagen, where they could find a bed for the night.

In Hann-Münden, Gretel enjoyed a salad and a coffee at an outdoor cafe, fell briefly off her bike in front of a large red tour bus, and bought Bio-Ricecakes at the local Reformhaus. She worried that it was getting a bit late, and her friends were still waiting for the bicycle shop to open in Immerhausen. She soon received a text informing her that the bicycle shop could not fix the bike chain, and that Red and Pea were heading back to Kassel on a tram. Gretel decided to continue on the ride to Reinhardshagen to try to secure accomodations for the night. She knew that these towns were very small and that if many cyclists were also following the Deutsche Märchenroute, that rooms might not be available. She missed her friends, but she was also enjoying cycling along the path and watching the kilometers add up on her odometer. By the time she arrived in Reinhardshagen, she was surprised to see that she had ridden 50 km, or 31 miles. It was starting to get dark, and she looked for a sign that read "Zimmer Frei" which means "Free Room." She knew of course, that her friends would want to stay somewhere nice, and she was happy when she turned down a little road and found herself in front of a house facing the river. She rang the doorbell, and a girl of ten years with glasses and dimples appeared. "Hallo," Gretel said. "Haben Sie ein Zimmer frei für drei Personen?" This was Gretel's best attempt at German, as she had only been living in Germany since July, and was repeatedly told that she had a difficult accent to understand. The young girl looked at Gretel blankly, and said: "Ein Moment, bitte...Maaaaamaaaaa!"

A minute later, the girl's mother appeared at the door. "Sprechen Sie Englisch?" Gretel asked. "Nein," said the mother. "Okay..." Gretel said. "Tut mir Leid, mein Deutsch ist nicht gut." Despite her nervousness at only using German for communication, Gretel found that she actually lot more German vocabulary than she had thought, and managed to have a conversation with the mother, daughter, and son of this family. She learned that the mother was called Haike, the daughter Nadja, and the son was Florian. It was difficult to speak at first, but the words came easily the more Gretel spoke, and although Nadja would sometimes giggle at Gretel's difficulty with pronunciation and incorrect use of articles (die instead of der or das) Gretel was very happy with her progress in communication, and managed to secure a room for three people for the night, including Frühstuck, or breakfast. She called Red and Pea, and they were on their way to the train station to start heading towards Reinhardshagen. The closest they could get was to Hann-Münden, where Gretel had eaten her lunch and almost got run over by a tour bus, and then they had a 10km cycle through the dark woods and roads to arrive at "Da Guiseppe" the Italian restaurant down the road from Haike's home. Gretel was there to meet them with a bottle of fermented red grape juice and three glasses. The three friends toasted each other on the unusual day and hoped that the next four days would bring joy and laughter, but a bit less adventure.

During the next days of their travels they saw many beautiful places including the tower where Sleeping Beauty slept, rode up many long hills, and were served many odd looking meats for breakfast. One sausage on their breakfast plate they were pretty sure was some sort of dog food. Gretel decided to go back to being a vegetarian after she ate a bite of something that she could only describe as "tasting like farm." Having grown up in Indiana, Gretel had a distinct idea of the taste and smell of "farm" and this was enough to steer her back to a plant-based diet.

The trio arrived back in Kassel tired and happy to be heading to their own homes. Red was looking forward to the arrival of her sister, niece and nephew the next day, and of her husband, Prince Bisso the next weekend. Pea was anticipating the arrival of her parents in the next few days, as well as her Prince Liebe who was coming down from his home in Braunschweig to enjoy time with Pea's family. As for Gretel...she was excited to get home to watch the latest episodes of "Lost" and "Grey's Anatomy" which she had just learned to download from iTunes the day before leaving on her 144-mile Fairytale trip.

Sitting in her apartment in the sky, sipping her well-earned cup of cocoa and coffee, she thought to herself: "Eines Tages kommt mein Prinz."

And she hoped he would bring along some cookies.

Oatmeal, preferably.

But Gingerbread would do.

Prag, Tschechische Republik or Praga, Repubblica Ceca or Prague, République Tchèque or Praha, Česká republika

2006-10-08T12:10:00.000+02:00

There is one more thing I have a hard time getting used to here in Europe. Every city and country has a different name in each language. Except Berlin, it seems. Most changes I have seen to my home city's name is Berlino. At least this is somewhat recognizeable. The rest of the continent is a different story. I guess this has something to do with the ancient history of this hunk of civilization. When people were separated from each other without airplanes, trains, cars, and such to quickly whisk them from one place to another, they developed names for the cities of other cultures within their own language. It can also be a bit confusing in the airport (Venedig does not sound nearly as romantic as Venice, or Venezia in its true form).

But onto the real topic of this post: my first trip to Eastern Europe. Last weekend, I boarded an early train to the Czech Republic's capital city of Prague. I have heard much about the beauty of this old city once hidden behind the Iron Curtain. It is now the most touristed city in Eastern Europe, and much of their economy depends on tourism. After a 5-hour trip on the EuRail, we arrived at the train station. We being: Danielle (spec. ed teacher), Julie (French teacher), Vicki (6th grade teacher), and John (Vicki's husband, and IT teacher). After catching the subway to our designated stop, we began to wander the streets of Prague in search of Bartolomeska Street, where our hostel was located. We found it fairly quickly, dumped our bags in our small, but adequate room, and headed off to grab a bite and a Budweiser.

"Budweiser?" You are likely thinking. Well, it turns out that the name Budweiser actually originated in the Czech Republic, and not in our own brewery in the States. While I would not enjoy a Bud at home, the tasty brew from the Czechs is a different story. We walked towards the central tourist district, and checked out the menus of a few local restaurants. The money was listed in Crowns, which are roughly 23 to the dollar and 28 to the Euro. So a meal was listed at 200 Crowns, and appetizers at around 30 Crowns. I never did figure out the exchange, and kept doing it backwards thinking that I had spent far less than I had and gotten a real bargain. I did find a pair of black boots for 300 Crowns, or about 10 Euro. Not bad! But back to our first meal. We wanted to have some real Czech food, and as we were pondering one restaurant's selection, a large man poked his head out of the antique store next door and informed us that we were perusing a restaurant that raised its prices for tourists, and he would take us to a "real" Czech place that he goes to every day. "Okay," we agreed, and he led us down a few twisting alleys, depositing us at a place called "Barfly." Very Czech name. Not. We walked up to the entrance (with John and Vicki's rolling suitcases in tow, as they were staying at a hotel in another part of town) where several Czech men were seated in some sort of manly gathering. They all looked at us as we meandered in, and the VERY CUTE bartender took us to a lower part of the restaurant to have our first Czech meal. We all ordered large Budvars, and started looking at the menu. I quickly realized that I was not going to find much in this particular cuisine that I could stomach. Pork, pork, and more pork. And some sausage. And some fried stuff. And more pork. Blech. I ordered vegetable risotto. I did have a bite of the fried cheese which was tasty, but stopped when my heart began to shudder at the thought of another high cholesterol reading!

We headed to the tourist mecca of Charles Bridge that evening to meet up with Vicki and John for dinner, but missed them somehow, and then went off in search of some dinner. We located a pizzeria, and settled in for a tasty Italian treat. The pizza arrived with a light dusting of cheese, vegetables, and a bottle of ketchup. Yes, ketchup. Once we took a bite of this bland piece of cardboard, Julie, Danielle, and I all slathered ketchup on the "pizza" to make it somewhat edible. An unfortunate first dinner. We pondered hitting the town, but were tired and ready to head home. Upon arrival, Julie hit the hay, but Danielle and I headed to the bar next door for one more drink and the pretzels they had hanging from the stands on the tables! We went back to the hostel for a good night's sleep, but spent the evening listening to a German schoolgroup raising Hölle next door and in the corridors. Not very restful. Despite the toilet paper in my ears, I did not get much sleep.

The next day was rainy and cold, so I was happy to purchase a gray pashmina from a tourist shop. We wandered back to the Charles Bridge area, crossed, and hiked up the tall hill to the Prague Castle. Like the true tour guide that I am in the off season, I bought a book and read aloud as we visited various parts. Yes, I am a dork. It was beautiful, however, and felt almost like being in Disney World. It continued to rain, so we stopped off in a cafe for a coffee, and then headed back towards the hostel to dry off and have a nap. We awoke refreshed, and went to the town center where we found a nice square with several eating areas outside. Again, we perused the Czech menu, and ended up with grilled fish. No pork knuckle here - though we did try the Bohemian Dumplings for authenticity - and which turned out to basically be pieces of slightly wet white bread. Blech.

We stopped by a nightclub named Double Trouble, but did not see much trouble ourselves. After a couple of drinks, we again headed back to the hostel, hopeful for a quiet evening which we did indeed have! Again, the next morning was rainy and chilly, but we set out with shopping on our minds. With the inability to calculate the exchange rate, I took out a set amount of cash and vowed to stay within that limit. And I did - though I still have no idea how much I spent. My happiest find was not my new gray jacket, my new boots, or my new jeweled eyelashes...it was a can of Pam. Yes, the Czechs seem to have a lot more American imports than those stubborn Germans, and cooking efficiency in cans seems to be of importance to them as well! Danielle was equally pleased with her purchase of Skippy Peanut Butter (I have Jif now, thanks to my Aunt Paula and sister Mary!!!). After this exhausting day of shopping we again, trudged back in the rain to nap and revitalize for our last night in Praha.

On the first day, we had found a restaurant across the bridge specializing in Mexican food, and had vowed to eat there, as Berlin has an appalling lack of burrito joints (Doner stands instead!) and the ones that do exist are quite horrific, really. So we all munched on yummy veggie burritos, and hit the Irish bar for a beer.

On our last morning in Prague, we had intended to hit the touristy shops along the market street, but on the way I spied a hair salon and decided to be adventurous and get my hair cut. I had heard nothing but bad stories of the German hairdresser and wanted to take advantage of an international stylist. After motioning that I only wanted a trim, and getting a price quote of 400 Crowns, I walked to the back of the salon with my stylist (who I am not quite sure, but may have been Eminem). He really took his time with my hair, but spoke no English, Italian, German, or French, and so we were therefore confined to smiling and nodding. And lots of hand signals. Post-haircut, I met up with Danielle and Julie and we finished our shopping, grabbed our suitcases, and went to the train station to head home. We had a bit of extra time so stopped in the station's "restaurant" for a coffee. Oddly, the chairs were about three feet too low, so we could almost rest our chins on our table!

The train ride home was uneventful, and upon arriving home in Berlin, I was very happy with my first holiday out of the country! I can't wait to see more and more and more. Happily, we now have this week off of school for our fall holiday, and I will be taking a bike tour of Fairytale Road, out in western Germany. This is the road the Brothers Grimm traveled as they collected folktales in small towns throughout the 1700s. It is not a guided tour, and I will be traveling with my friend Jo (5th grade teacher), my bike, and a map. For a detailed description of our tour path, click here. Should be very interesting.

Just hope that the rain doesn't follow me from Prague! Or the food.

What color was my food?

2006-10-03T22:11:00.000+02:00

Hello, all! I am fresh off the train from my weekend in the most touristed city in Eastern Europe - Praha, or Prague as we call it. That was a very different experience, but one I would like to take more time posting, so I will work on that this weekend. For this post, I'll let you in on my dining in the dark experience.

I convinced four of the teachers (Kate, Jo, Shona, and Danielle) I work with to join me at Unsicht-Bar, which the Germans refer to as a Dunkel Restaurant (Dark Restaurant). We were all a bit apprehensive, and were told to keep our bags under our chairs once inside, and make sure that all cell phones were turned completely off, as once you are inside the restaurant your pupils expand and any small amount of light will completely illuminate the room. We pre-ordered our meals, which were only described in the menu, so you would not know exactly which ingredients were in your dinner. This way you could really be surprised as you ate. We had to choose from the vegetarian, poultry, fish, lamb, beef, or suprise menu. Four of us went veg, while one went with the poultry.

We were then met by Savin, our waitress for the evening. She was a blind woman, as all the servers are at this establishment, since it would be almost impossible for a sighted person to navigate the restaurant without spilling mass amounts of food on people. We were instructed to go single file behind her, each placing a hand on the next person's shoulder. We were led through a small hallway, which darkened gradually and was completely silent. We were then in total darkness, and the sounds and smells of a restaurant were all around us. Clinking silverware, the aroma of breadbaskets, chatter from diners, and human movement were everywhere, but the field of vision was completely black. It was very odd.

We were taken by Savin to our table, which she described as three chairs on one side, and a long bench on the other. She helped us navigate our way into our seats, and we situated ourselves. Then we started talking to figure out where each person was sitting. We also spent a minute or so feeling about the table to find the silverware and napkin. I felt a moment of panic at first, as not being able to see anything is very overwhelming and I could almost feel the blackness closing in. But it went away as Savin arrived with the wine and bread basket. She left the wine for us to pour ourselves, which was a bit of a nerve-wracking experience. We figured out how to keep a finger in the glass while pouring so we could tell when we needed to stop. The wine and bread were passed around, and we started chatting about various things. Savin returned with our salad course, which we dug into with gusto. Except that it is very difficult to eat salad when you can't see it, it turns out. While sighted, you can gauge how much salad is on your fork by looking, but without the light, you must judge by the weight of the fork - otherwise you end up with a messy mouthful of lettuce and lots of dressing on your chin - or a nice munch into the metal tines. Trust me. The salad, by the way, was a tasty selection of beet root cube, arugula, radishes, nuts, and a balsalmic dressing. I ended up eating a bit of it with my fingers, as I couldn't keep those pesky nuts on my fork.

I had been given a bag before entering the restaurant, and was told this had several presents inside! I opened them, while trying to figure out what they could possibly be. Only Kate, a first grade teacher, knew what the gifts were, and she got a kick out of listening to me describe each item and then passing it to others for a guess. She had purchased a cute lantern candle holder, a wire hanging bud vase set, a loose tea dipper shaped like a lemon, day of the week bath gel, and movie passes. Once we had figured out each item, it was fun to try to guess the colors, and then see them for real once we exited the restaurant.

Our main courses arrived, and the vegetarian meal seemed to be a spaetzle (German wormy-shaped pasta) with seitan (wheat meat) slices in a stroganoff sauce. Very tasty. Dessert came next, which was a tapioca style pudding with slices of mango, grapes, and papaya. Of course, we kept guessing at each item and most of our conversation centered around what we thought the ingredients might be. We also had a very interesting conversation about which senses we felt were the most important, and which we would voluntarily give up. We all agreed that we would lose the sense of smell first, although it does affect your ability to taste. Most of us also agreed that the sense we would dislike losing the most would be sight, but Shona waffled a bit at the thought of no longer being able to hear music. Makes you thankful for having five - I want them all, thanks.

It was finally time to leave, and we heaved ourselves from our chairs a few pounds heavier than when we had arrived. Again we marched single file behind Savin, and were blinded by the light as we re-entered the lobby. There were several restaurant patrons sitting and watching exiting diners - it must have been a bit funny to see people as they left the darkness. I think I may have blinked for about 2 minutes straight. We were given the menu with all of the ingredients as we prepared to pay, and it was then that we realized the things we had dined on that evening. We were close in most of our guesses, but off on a couple. I had thought the papaya was mango. Silly me.

All in all, it was an amazing experience to go sightless for an evening. Not only did it place you in a situation that many people experience in their day-to-day life, but it gave you an appreciation for how much you rely on your eyes to navigate in this world. No, I would not want to give up my sight at all. But after that delicious meal, my sense of taste is one I am grateful for as well.

But a sense of taste is not as necessary, I found, when you travel to the capital of the Czech Republic.

Pork knuckle and cabbage, anyone? Tune in next time.

Happy Birthday to me...

2006-09-28T07:42:00.000+02:00

I'm in Germany...
I'm having dinner at a restaurant,
Where no one can see.
Unsicht Bar Berlin

Or too negative...

2006-09-26T21:27:00.000+02:00

Wow! My post must have come off really negative! I guess I want to make it clear that I am not miserable here. :) I actually like it still, quite a bit. Today I went cycling in the Grunewald forest, which is just outside of Berlin. And I managed to make Rice Krispie Treats for my class (thought all I could find were chocolate Krispies). It is not all bad here! I was merely trying to illustrate how when you are with a bunch of expatriates, sometimes you tend to gripe about the little oddities, and don't focus on the positives. And I found that I was doing that quite a lot - it is funny to talk about, really. I've never really realized my own culture until I was out of it. That was more my point. Worry not (if you were) I am still a happy little Deutsch girl. Not as happy as I would be if I had some decent low-fat low-sugar peanut butter, but still, pretty happy! But thanks for caring!

Love, Me

PS - I will be posting this Friday about my birthday dinner on Thursday. Keep your eyes open (this is a clue!). I am also off to Prague this weekend, so will not be doing my usual Sunday post!

It is easy to go negative...

2006-09-23T22:46:00.000+02:00

Going negative is actually a subtraction strategy I was taught by a fellow schoolteacher once. If the number in the ones place of the top number (let's say 71) is too small to subtract the number in the ones place of the bottom number (let's say 56), then you can do this instead of all that pesky borrowing-crossing-out gobbledy-gook that our second grade teachers taught most of us:

1-6 is -5, then 70-50 is 20, then 20 -5 (remember that negative five you found at the beginning of this exercise?) is 15. And 71-56=15

But of course, you did not check-up on me here at Jelly Doughnut to hear about my interest in alternative math strategies.

The reason I titled this post in the way that I have is simply because: it is totally and completely true. It is very easy to go negative here. Which means, that among your fellow expats, it is a common happening to dive into the seemingly trivial, though still somewhat frustrating things that are different about life here in Germany. I have decided that if I continue on this path (though fun and entertaining at times) I will be denying myself the opportunity to see the many positives, and become a giant German-bashing expatriate. Okay, maybe not to that extreme - but I do want to start seeing more of the positives...perhaps this is just part of the adjusting process. So as a part of my own self-therapy, I am going to - for one final time - go on a wee tirade and include you on my top categorical oddities of life here in Deutschland.

The Grocery Store
1. To take a cart around with you, you must have a Euro to deposit into the handle. If you arrive without said Euro, be prepared to carry several items about in your arms and endure whithering looks from fellow shoppers at the non-sensibility of not always having a 1 Euro coin at the ready.
2. Bags are not free. Despite good intentions to bring a bag with, I often purchase one - meaning I am accumulating quite a supply of bags that I intend to re-use "the next time" I go to the store.
3. There is no Dominick's. By this I mean, there is no one store you can hit for all that you need. Aldi is good for frozen bags of vegetables, yogurt, and my favorite low-fat cheese. I have to hit the Plus to get my Veggie Tellers, which are the frozen bowls of veg I take to work. For any sort of fruit, it really isn't worth going anywhere but the Winterfeldplatz open market. The grocery stuff is either sort of gross, or if at a nicer market like Kaiser or Edeka, way pricey. For good Muesli, the Bio-Markt can not be beat, but if I am really jonesing for Microwave Popcorn - the only place to get it is the Import section of the department store giant KaDeWe.
4. The checkers at the supermarket seem to think it is a race to scan your items as quickly as possible, then glare at you in exasperation as you attempt to fish out the money while simultaneously loading the bag you have purchased (because of course you forgot to bring one from home, and didn't have the Euro coin for the cart).

Social Niceties
1. While waiting for the bus, everyone quietly mills about. The second the bus arrives, a frenzy ensues with everyone attempting to board the bus at once. I, at first, thought that perhaps this was due to a lack of seats. But this happens even when the bus is completely empty.
2. While waiting in line for check-out at a grocery store, you can guarantee a nice cart bump in your backside. The thought process here, I think, is because banging your trolley into my butt will definitely increase the already sonic-superspeed scanning abilities of the local Aldi checker, Frau Stein.
3. If you happen to glance down for a split-second while waiting to order at the kaffee shop or bäckerei, recognize that your position in line is forfeited. Because as soon as the girl behind the counter locks gazes with someone else, they become the most important person in the room. And forget it if you think this usurper is going to say something along the lines of "No, she was the next in line." Right.
4. They do not operate on a tipping system in restaurants. Which means it is less work for the server if you stay at the table longer. Which means that if they bring you your drinks, food, or bill in a timely manner, you will vacate the table, more people will sit down, and they will have to do more work. So it is in their best interest for you to sit as long as possible. Be prepared to eat a simple bagel and coffee over the course of at least two hours. Ninety minutes if you are lucky. And this is only if you actually go and find your waiter inside, and request the bill for the third time. And then explain that you never actually received your second cup of coffee ordered one hour earlier and therefore would like it removed from the bill. All in German, of course, which leads us to...
5. When attempting to communicate in German to shop-people, they often do not "understand" you. They stare blankly as you repeat what you know is the correct German word for the article you require. For instance, when ordering a coffee this morning, I asked for süßtoff, the diet sugar. "Shzhuusstofff," I said. Blank stare. "Shhhzuuusstoooofff," I said. Blank stare. "Schhhhzuussstooofff!" I said. Blank stare. "Shhhhzuuuussstooofffff," the German man next to me said to the waiter. "Oh, Shhhhzzuuuussstoooofff!" the waiter replied. Because I was apparently asking for something completely out of the ordinary with my coffee, like a straw hat, or a bucket of pickles. Maybe a donkey. I don't know.

The little things I miss the most.
1. Decent Peanut Butter (think Simply Jif)
2. Cold medicine that actually makes you feel better instead of high and nauseated (think Advil Liquigel Cold and Sinus extra-strength) and cough medicine in a red syrupy form
3. Microwave Popcorn (94% Fat-Free of course)
4. Instant Oatmeal (all they have is the hardcore old-fashioned stuff - it has been interesting figuring out how to make that edible!)
5. A sense of personal space
6. Maalox Multi-Symptom Chewables (I have been indulging in too much Indian and Thai cuisine, I am afraid)
7. Boca, Garden, Dr. Praeger, Morningstar Veggie Meat Substitutes (all the stuff here is high-cal, high fat, and in sausage form and loaded with so much salt that I retain water even thinking about it - I am afraid that the vegetarianism is coming to a close due to lack of substitutes...I know, I could eat actual vegetables and nuts...but I am just not feeling all that great without a good chunk of protein in my diet...sorry fishies, and sometimes birdies, I tried.)
8. I honestly don't miss the sugar-free/fat-free stuff. But they don't have any of that here anyway. Which is a definite good thing - fake food is not the way to eat, I think. I am much more satisified and having far fewer tummy troubles...except when overindulging in Thai and Indian food...but it is sooooo good.
9. Smiling in greeting to strangers on the street. I'm not sure what everyone is looking for when they stare fixedly at the sidewalks as they walk. There are exceptions to the rule of course, but even if you catch an eye as you stroll down the street, you can forget about any upturning of the lips occuring. Much more of a quizzical stare.
10. Having friends and family nearby.

So that, everyone, is the last of my negative rants about my new home. From now on, I embrace the culture of Germany. Ram that cart right into my backside, and I will turn around and say "Danke!"

And under my breath, I'll say "Zurückgebliebender."

Don't worry. It's not that bad of a word. I don't think. Regardless, I'd probably mispronounce it and they would think I was asking for diet sugar.

"Schhhhhuuuuussstooooff!"

Ich bin Krank...and what is up with all the fizzy stuff?

2006-09-14T10:10:00.000+02:00

Hello. I know it is not Sunday, but I am home sick today. That is why this is titled "Ich bin Krank." That means: I am sick. Which I am. I decided to stay home, as I was not getting better, and yesterday I was using the tables in my classroom as a means for staying upright. Without them, I would have ended up splayed on the floor in a nap. By the way, if you are interested in knowing exactly when I update this baby, you can always suscribe to bloglines.com. Then I guess you get an email when I put on a new post. Stalker. Back to the drugs.

All of the medicine here seems to be in fizzy form. Today, I wandered to the Apotheke in search of an expectorant. I had a cold going, and had visited a different Apotheke in Zehlendorf on my way home. He had given me Rhino-Pront, which had a lovely picture on the front of a green-nosed profile surrounded by what I can only think of as soundwaves. Perhaps indicating that the noises you are making as you try to blow out the grossness inside your nose is quite loud and Rhino-Pront is the drug of choice to cure this rude and bothersome phenomenon. It also makes you feel a bit wobbly. Whatever - the stuff did dry up my drippy Rhino, but so much so that I am like a 1st grade nosepicker with my constant nosebleeds. Minus the nosepicking, I promise. These bleeds are spontaneous. When the Germans say they have a drug to dry you up, they aren't messing around.

Back to the fizzy stuff. So the cold has migrated to the lungs (as colds often do...perhaps the nose is like the north of Europe, and the lungs are where the cold goes on holiday - like to the Mediterranean. See, told you that Rhino-Pront has made me loopy.). This Apotheke understood my need for an expectorant, to send the grossness in my lungs on its way, but she did not bring out a bottle of Robitussin D. Nor did she bust out some nice soothing cough drops. She gave me cough medication in a fizzy tablet ala Alka Seltzer.

(Heartwarming Side Anecdote: My dad was a big fan of A-Seltzer, and used to try to give it to me when I was with him on the weekend and I would get sick. I would always refuse, but once he was so insistent that I gave in. And promptly vomited on him. That was the end of the Alka-Seltzer plan. See? Rhino-Pront = Loopy.)

This cough stuff is called ACC Akut, and when I looked it up for a picture to put on this post, I found a game you can play on the web site. Click the picture where it says "Starten" and you can attempt to whack tablets as they come down a conveyer belt and try to get them into a glass. Okaaaay. Maybe the makers of ACC Akut are also taking Rhino-Pront. Recreationally. The Apotheke then recommended that I also take some Asprin mit Vitamin C to help me move the cold along faster. Also, in fizzy tablets. Blech. I then wandered to Plus, the bargain grocery next door to see if I could locate some vegetable broth. The only kind they had that even remotely resembled a broth was filled with Schweinfleisch. Pig flesh. Don't think so. I then spotted some supplemental vitamin C in tablet form, and thinking these were chewables, bought those as well. Upon closer inspection, these also have to be dissolved in water for consumption. So it is a fizzy tablet gourmet buffet for me today, as well as lots of juice and water. And tea. I am digging tea lately. I even have loose tea and teabags to fill. Wow. How did that old song go? Plop, plop, fizz, fizz, oh what a relief it is?

Looooooopy. Seriously, they could market this Rhino-Pront stuff on the streetz.

Yet another weekend stretched before me...

2006-09-10T13:24:00.000+02:00

Thursday was my most dreaded night of the year. Back-to-School Night. I really can not stand getting up in front of people taller than 4 feet and speaking. But alas, it is a standard evening in the life of an Elementary School Teacher. Yes, the parents must know the curriculum for the year, as well as expectations, commitments, and procedures. So I did the deed (alongside my teaching partner, Shona) without any major difficulties, aside from a few butterflies that decided to take up lodging in my tummy for the evening.

Then Friday passed by in a blur (mostly as I was very tired from the night before - not getting home until 10:30 at night!). We had a meeting after school regarding the German lessons that the school provides for us, and which will start up in the next few weeks. A few people said they were planning on meeting up for a bite after work, so I decided to join up, and cycled to an area called Steglitz with Jo (a new teacher from Australia, who has been trying to convince me of the joys of cycling - and has succeeded - I love it! - and not just because it means I don't have to wait for the 629 bus which only comes every 20 to 40 minutes). We ran into the Early Childhood teacher, Abigail (a German) along the way and we all cycled into Zehlendorf (Jo's neighborhood, and the closest Berlin border neighborhood to the town of Kleinmachnow, where my school is located - Jo cycles all the way to work, whereas I hop off the S-bahn at the Zehlendorf Station to ride the 3 remaining miles to school - more on that later, I am getting too parenthetical here!). We stopped by Jo's apartment, which has a lovely Asian feel to it, and which will soon have furniture, again making me feel lucky to have found the furnished gem of a pad in which I reside.

We continued on into Steglitz, where we met up with Annie (Australian, the librarian), Ann Marie (English, high school English teacher), Annelies (American, middle and high school Social Studies teacher), and Danielle (1-12 Special Ed teacher - eek! 1-12!). We had a yummy dinner in a little Italian trattoria, chatted and had a lovely time. Annelies' 5-year-old son Finn joined us, and I am amazed at how well he has adjusted to life in Germany. I recall all the difficulties I have had and still have at times, fitting my life in Berlin together. Doing all this with a child in tow is an incredible feat as far as I am concerned. Hats off!

I rode my bike the rest of the way home, which totals up to around 11 miles. I took this path earlier in the week, and have found that I really enjoy cycling all the way home on nice days. Plus, 14 miles a day on a bike has got to count for some exercise. At least a gummi bear or two.

Saturday morning arrived with the bang of construction outside my window at 7am. I felt suspiciously puffy and weird, and as I glanced down at my pillow I saw the horrid growth of mold again! Ick! Mold! My sworn enemy! I rushed to the computer to see what the story was with this creature which had taken up residence in my pillow. The computer told me that it was likely that the mold spores had existed within the pillow at purchase, and that chucking it was the best course of action. Dumb IKEA pillow. I agreed. I chucked it. I now am sleeping on anti-allergen foam pillows. Not as plush, but no critters to make me sneezy either.

I then cycled off to meet Jo and Danielle at Tim's Canadian Deli next to the Winterfeldplatz Saturday market in Schöneberg. We had a lovely coffee outside and chatted, and then wandered about the market for a spell, picking up radishes and apples. And some brown socks for me. We also hit a teeny craft store (no Hobby Lobby, let me tell you!) and Danielle and I bought some knitting needles for entertainment. Oh, and some yarn too. Knitting needles aren't much fun without the yarn.

We then trotted back to Winterfeltplatz, decided we were hungry, and chowed down on a Baghdad Teller (plate) at Baharat Falafel Vegetarisch Restaurant. After munching on Hummous, Tabouli, Falafel (of course!), veggies, and pita bread, we nibbled (inhaled) the dried fruit we had purchased at the market. We shot the breeze for an hour or so there, and then decided to head to the Kufürstendamm, or Ku'damm, as the Berliners call it. The Ku'damm is the Michigan Avenue of Berlin. But cooler, as it is in Berlin, and not a place I know like the back of my hand. Plus there are 4 H&Ms. Yes, I got a little shopping done. I tried to stay under control, but I really did need some new tops - cycling to work prevents me from wearing the slightly dressier clothing I used to wear to work in Glenview. Not that I was all heels and skirts, mind you, but now I am closer to cargo pants and long sleeve t-shirts in a rainbow of colors. Easy to mix/match/and grab-n-go in the mornings. I have also discovered what to do with the lack of Downy Wrinkle Releaser in this place (I am a horrid ironer, and this product allows you to spray, shake, and dry the wrinkles right out of your clothes...unfortunately, it doesn't work on those crow's feet around the eyes). It turns out that the magic substance that has been a staple of my wardrobe preparation for the past few years is nothing more than: fabric softener and water. So I mixed some generic fabric softener from Schlecker (pfirsch-scent - peach) and water into my old Downy bottle from home and Voila! Wrinkle-free magic. I don't even want to think of how much cash I wasted on that stuff over the years! Fabric softener and water. Argh.

But back to the Ku'damm...we went inside the famous department store of Berlin (think Harrod's of London, Marshall Field's of Chicago, Macy's of New York, Wal-Mart of Fort Wayne, Indiana) Kaufhaus des Westens. This giant of a store, nicknamed KaDeWe, houses 7 levels: Ground floor though 6. Each floor has different items from cosmetics (no one seems to wear make-up here by the way, I tried to go with this trend, but I needs me my mascara and eyeliner, thanks!), to housewares (I have IKEA, of course), to clothing (that I can't afford), to the top floor which is a snazzy grocery store with a huge chocolate section and an even huger import section. You can find authetic goods from England, France, Asia, Italy...and the States! I found Orville Redenbacher's Smart Pop 94% Fat-Free Butter Flavor Microwave popcorn! Yippee! They don't have microwave popcorn here! Also - peanut butter! But it was Reese's (€8,49). Blech. It is Simply Jif for me or nothing. Marshmallows (€4,59)! Diet Cherry Coke (€1,29)! Salsa (€4,59)! And Fluff! Marshmallow Fluff! Strawberry flavored and regular. Jo was mystified at Danielle's and my enthusiasm over Fluff. Even after we explained the magic of the Fluffernutter sandwich. She did find the lightness of the jar odd, but that didn't convince her to fork over €5,79 for a taste. Since I have experienced the wonders of Fluff before, I also took a pass. Fluff is nothing without some Jif to go with it.

We left KaDeWe, and headed up the Ku'damm, to browse a few stores here and there, grabbing a coffee at the Chicago Coffee Company (hee!), hitting a couple of H&Ms, and then deciding to grab a drink before heading home. At this point, our breakfast/market morning get-together had turned into an all-day extravaganza. I love days like that. When you have no idea where they are headed, and then they fly by in a flurry of unexpected activity. We grabbed our bikes from the racks, schlepped them down to the U1 underground station, and took the train up to the more western section of Charlottenburg, the trendy restaurant and bar area in the western part of the city. More posh and less alternative than both Kreuzberg and Prenzlauer Berg, which both have very hopping nightlifes of their own. We were in search of an Irish Bar that Danielle knew of, but being unable to locate it, we settled in at Moon Thai, a charming Thai restaurant with just a few tables and brightly painted orange walls. We enjoyed a late dinner of Pad Thai with Tofu, Tofu with Pineapple in Saure Tomatensauce, and Tofu in Hot Red Curry. Plus, veggie spring rolls. Neither Jo or Danielle are vegetarians, but they like the tofu, so we all ended up sharing this vegetarian Thai feast. The amazing thing, is that eating out in Berlin is really pretty cheap. For all of that food, plus three beers, we each only forked over €12,00. Quite a deal, I think!

Jo and I hopped on our bikes and headed back to our homes around 11:00 at night, while Danielle grabbed the S-bahn. I rode home through the streets of Berlin, really feeling like it was my home and that I was beginning to start up my life here. Things are starting to fall into place, and I was even invited to join a few teachers on a weekend trip to Prague next month! I cruised down the streets with my lights flashing, and heard an odd singing coming from one of the many public squares off of the Ku'damm. I pulled over for a second to watch this bagpipe/drum/guitar one-man-band attraction, but couldn't catch the humor which was in German, so headed back towards home on my bike. After a slightly odd detour through a dark and somewhat creepy street (though it never feels too unsafe here, even with the odd prostitute on the street here and there - it is legal in Germany, you see) I was at Potsdamer Platz, the brightly lit tourist mecca just north of the place I call home. I continued my cycle back to my apartment, walked in, and settled in my bed for the night. It was a great way to end my Saturday.

Just me, my bear Twigs, and a few mold spores to keep each other company on a fine September nacht.

Danken Sie Gott für Zucker or Thank God for Sugar

2006-09-03T11:39:00.000+02:00

The first week of school. A bit of a beast, usually, but the beginning of my sixth year as a classroom teacher seemed to be far more exhausting than years previous. I questioned myself: Is it the children in my classroom?, Is it the slightly longer days?, The hour earlier start time?, The lack of Starbucks in my diet?

After discussions with several co-workers who at the end of the day also seemed as if they could use one of those rubber moving walkways that you often see in airports and Las Vegas, I have figured three components have contributed to my excessive tiredness.

1. The first week of school is exhausting no matter what, but when you go home and things are crazily different and you are struggling to communicate for the simplest things like vacuum bags or a decent tame-the-frizzies conditioner, the entire day becomes a bit of a trial.

2. My school is pretty old (built by Hitler during WWII) and damp (you know me and my allergies to anything green, fuzzy, and going by the name of mold) and mostly made of hard stone floors. This means that whenever you walk anywhere you are tromping on very unforgiving rock, which can be a bit of a stress on the old legs (and this place is pretty vast - the closest bathroom is in the other building due to construction, and to pick them up from recess and other classes necessitates quite a long stroll, and sometimes stairs...hard stone stairs).

3. This morning I discovered mold growing on my pillow. Yep. Mold. Have no clue how the hell that happened. I mean, the pillow is new, the cases are new...and I did wash them 1 week ago, thank you! There was no mold on the pillow, just the case. So weird. So I boiled some water in a pot and killed that mold dead. I am guessing sleeping with my nose pressed against its very worst enemy was likely a cause for my constant weariness as well.

Luckily, amidst my trudging about, feeling like I would like to do nothing better than sink down onto that cold stone floor and take a napperoo, I found the solution to my problem.

Gummis.

They have an extraordinary amount of gummi candy here. I can do without hard candy, but gummis have always been a favorite. They have yogurt gummis, sour gummis, ring gummis, wine gummis, farm animal gummis (my favorite!), and of course, bear gummis. I was feeling so low at the train station that I bought a pack of gummis from the vending machine as I awaited the arrival of the S1 that whisks me home. I ate about half the pack and threw the rest away (don't want to become a giant gummi myself, you see) and realized I felt...completely renewed! The sugar rush sent me into moments of productivity in my tiny apartment that left it gleaming and spotless. Well, not quite to that extreme, but I did vacuum.

I realized however, that gummis can not be a long term solution, so I grabbed a bag of Chupa-chup Cola Lollis at the Plus market on Friday, and carry them with me in case of an emergency sugar low. A bit fewer calories than downing even half a bag of gummi pigs, cows, and some other farm animal that I can't identify, but which is lemony delicious.

This weekend I trekked back to Kleinmachnow, where my school is located, as my students were singing at the Kinderfest and I felt my presence might be appreciated. Plus, I like the little knuckleheads and wanted to see them show their stuff up on stage. They did a great job representing our school. I then wandered over to the BBIS booth, where a few of my fellow workers were busy painting faces on wee kinder who demanded things like full-face butterflies and spiderwebs. I was quickly put to work as the line started to grow, and spent a few hours with little German muffinheads yammering to me in German, regardless of the fact that I told them "Ich verstehe nicht!" (I don't understand) and "Ich spreche Englisch, kein Deutsch." (I speak English, not German). Finally I just gave up and nodded a lot. I did work on my German a bit by asking them things like "Welches Farbe?" (Which color?) and "Was ist ihr Name?" (I am hoping you can figure that one out!). There was this particularly cute pumpkin (kid) who just kept asking me questions, and I did my best to answer. She asked me if the other grown-ups (Erwachsener) at the table (tisch) were my friends (Freundin). Since I understood those three words, I was able to answer with a confident "Ja, Sie sind meine Freunde." (It may be mein Freunde, but you know those bloody articles are a mess and I don't ever know which one goes with which.) Such a cutie, though. She wanted a giant ladybug on her face. She was still cute after this. But not as cute.

Then after the Kinderfest, I met up with Danielle, an American teacher, and Jo, an Australian teacher at a place called Strandbar Mitte, where you sit on a beach near the River Spree. It truly felt like a beach, although we were all wearing sweaters. The Germans are very worried about being cold, and have been wearing their scarves and heavy overcoats since mid-August. People keep telling me this is because they know what is coming and they are just preparing. Really. How bad can it be? I've been living in Chicago for crying out loud. We have some of the worst winters out there. But I was told...

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

And make sure you have a good pair of Aufladungen.

Liede durch das Lagerfeuer or Songs by the Campfire

2006-08-27T21:06:00.000+02:00

Well, on Thursday the weekend lay ahead of me with promises of planning many math, inquiry, language arts, and various and sundry lessons. It is now Sunday night, approximately nine p.m., and I have to admit I have yet to crack open my lesson plan book. Of course, I have Monday and Tuesday all planned and ready to go (I am a professional, as you well know!) but have a little more prep to do for the rest of the week. My weekend turned out to be much busier and more interesting than I had planned, you will soon see.

It all started with this odd German message on my cell phone. This was from a co-worker, who is perhaps even more obsessed with the German language (and Germans in general) than I. In a good way, as when I hang out with this guy I learn loads about German culture, differences (he's an American as well), and a few new vocab words here and there. Thank goodness he was speaking slowly (langsamer) so I was able to interpret the message after 8-10 listens and a little help from Babelfish. Love that free online translator, as it has gotten me out of many a pinch! The message, or rather, my coworker, was inviting me to a party which he was throwing with his German buddies on Friday night. He thought it would be a good chance for me to meet some real German people, but also assured me that there would be a few teachers from the school there as well. He gave me directions to the flat in Charlottenburg, which is a lovely area and home to the Ku'damm, which is Berlin's version of Michigan Avenue. I hopped the S1 train up to Friedrichstrasse (a big station where you can transfer to many lines) and then took the S9 over to Charlottenburg. I was supposed to be on the lookout for a mural (which I of course, completely missed) and then use this mural to help me head in the right direction. Having completely blown by the aforementioned mural, I managed to get myself quite lost on my way to the Partei, and found a kind old German to help me find the correct street. He did not speak English, so I had to put my German studies to work (I have learned the words for left and right, as well as straight ahead, for this exact purpose). It turns out I was just one block off, and I managed to get to the flat in just a few minutes. And only an hour-and-a-half late!

Of course, I was a little nervous, as I didn't know if I would know a soul at the place, and upon entering the flat, I realized I had committed a major Partei foul. They have this whole "No Shoes Inside" rule. And I was wearing sandals. And lots of band-aids. I'm not sure if Germans bring along socks for this purpose, if they are wearing no-sock shoes, but I had no socks, and thus had to wander around this stranger's apartment in my bare, very-bandaged feet. Ooops.

I managed to find my coworker, then two more teachers from school, and so only used English for 90% of the night. At one point, two German guys came and sat with one of the teachers and me, and taught us a game called "Skat." Pronounced "Skaht." It seemed to be basically a form of Euchre, with three players, and more bidding. And way more math. The crazy thing was that the letters on cards are different. The king is the same, as Konig (the German word for King) also starts with a K, but there was a D on the Queen for Dame, and a B on the Jack for Bube which means Boy. Clubs are called Kreuz (for cross), Hearts are Herz (heart), Spades are Pik (for shovel), and Diamonds are Karo (which means expensive). So we played this interesting (yet horrible, because of all the mental math) game for a couple of hours. I got into a chat with one guy, Niko, who helped me understand a bit more German grammar. It ended up being a very nice, but very late evening. I actually ended up leaving the flat at 6 a.m. And pretty sober, thank you! Don't get any ideas, there.

Now you're probably thinking that I headed home to my own place, and took a nice long morning snooze. This was not to be. For the past week, a couple at my school had been talking about inviting people to their "farm" in the countryside, approximately 1.5 hours outside of Berlin. I was interested in going, but it was far, and I didn't feel like I knew people at school well enough to try to bum a ride over. There was a train available, but again, I didn't want to show up by myself and such. My German message-leaving coworker is great pals with the couple throwing the farm weekend, and kindly invited me to take the remaining seat in the car he was traveling in...which was leaving at 10 a.m.! So I scooted home on the S-bahn, arriving there close to 7. I packed up a few things in a bag for camping (the owner of the farm had several tents, so it was an outdoor sort of adventure, and I figured I'd want some blankets!). I napped for an hour, then hopped the train up to Prenzlauer Berg, where I met my other coworkers, and we traveled out to the farm, which was near Rhinow (pronounced Reno) and lots of green pastures and cows.

We were greeted warmly with bowls of delicious tomato-vegetable soup, hung out and chatted (with our shoes off, of course, as we were inside the house!). We walked to the river, where a couple of people were brave enough to swim, despite the chilly temperatures. Then it was time to start preparing for the evening feast. We grilled, chopped, cut, and laid out everything on a large table, and people just helped themselves to an amazing meal that all had helped to prepare. There were salads, sausages, veggie sausages (cooked by fellow veg., Kate, pictured here). There was also fresh bread, sauerkraut, veggies, and lots and lots of beverages on hand. We gathered around the campfire to eat and chat (at this point, many people had shown up with their children in tow). One of the children had appointed himself Firemaster, and continually added firewood, as well as poked the fire with a long stick. The music teacher brought out his guitar, and everyone joined in a grand sing-a-long that lasted for hours. I even sang "Danny Boy." By myself. And I hadn't even consumed that much liquid courage. A little, yes.

Waking up to the sound of a rooster was a quick reminder that I was no longer in my high-rise, and I wandered out of my tent to find coffee and breakfast were underway. Everyone again pitched in to help, and we munched on waffles, toast with Nutella, fruit, scrambled eggs, and other yummy breakfast foods. I got to be in charge of the espresso machine. If I had only had a green apron, I would have been a true barista. Without the attitude, of course.

It was time to head back into the city, so the tents came down, the food was cleared, and back to Berlin we went. Which brings us to now...after a couple hour nap to catch up on my sleep, I managed to get in some laundry, vacuuming, and general cleaning. After this posting, I will crack open the books and see if I can figure out the rest of the week. But I wanted to update you on my weekend first, as I know many of you were curious to see if I could manage to develop some sort of social life!

Es war eines gutes Wochende. A very good weekend, indeed. And how cute is this boy with the bratwurst?

Ich bin ein Slacker...but not really.

2006-08-21T20:53:00.000+02:00

I know, I know, I was supposed to post yesterday when I got my Kaffee and Kuche (which I did get, by the way - cherry and pudding. I have a photo, but I am feeling lazy and don't want to download right now. It just looked like a danish. But bigger. And more diamond-shaped). The thing is, that I was on the hunt for Airline tickets home for the Holidays, and was increasingly depressed at the cost. So I cheered myself up with reading about celebrity gossip instead. And that is how I spent my Sunday morning. Poor Lindsay Lohan (eye-roll). But I digress.

Big news: I bought a bike. Ein Fahrrad. By the way, there is a show here called "Pimp My Fahrrad" which is exactly like "Pimp My Ride" on our own MTV, but with bikes. They take the bike and make it all cool and stuff. You probably did not need that explanation, but there you have it. Give me a break, I'm tired. School inservices started last week, and there is a lot to do. Kids start on Thursday. My room was a bit of a wreck (think old Nutella jars and Werther's wrappers) but we all know my passion for all things organization, so it is now in tip-top shape! Yippee! I also have no fingernails to speak of (at least not mentioned in polite conversation, as they are looking horrid), but the room is clean. Now if I could just figure out what to teach.

I have 18 students, which is the cap for classes at my school. Therefore, I should not be expecting any newbies during the year. It is considered quite large by private school standards, but smaller than any group I've had, so I'm sure it will be just ducky. My dad used to like to say "Ducky." Yet again, I digress. Sorry. Tired. No fingernails. Decidedly not Ducky.

Back to the bike. Berlin is a monster of a city, and I finally decided that walking was getting tiresome, so I searched on Craigslist here in Berlin (which is mainly English-speaking expats, so quite good for me, you see) and a lovely used bike was listed for €100. Used? And a hundred? Well, here in Deutschland, the bike is king, and they are very well made (no Target Rough Riders with decals instead of a paint job here!). They usually run well over €200 for a low-end new one. I managed to get it down to €85, got the lock, basket, and air-pump as well, and am now one of the many Berliners who ride the red brick section of the sidewalk merrily dinging my bell at any pedestrian (read: tourist, or me, exactly one-and-a-half months ago) who dare cross my designated bike path. I've been biking up a storm in the two days since I got mein Fahrrad. Today, I took it on the S-bahn with me as I went out to work. (I have to buy the bike a ticket, too! Of course-God forbid anything is free.) I take a train to a station called Mexikoplatz, which is just on the edge of Berlin. Last week, I was taking a bus for about 20 minutes to school. But now, I can bike that distance. It still takes about 20 minutes, but it is a nice ride. Except for the bloody hill at the end. When I arrived at school this morning, I ran into Renate, who is the school nurse/office queen. She actually asked me if I had biked all the way from Central Berlin. I am thinking my red face and sweaty shirt probably indicated to her that I had biked quite a distance. Instead of the short three-mile jaunt I had actually completed. Yes, people, I am horribly out of shape. And these school lunches they are feeding us are not helping. They have new caterers at the school, and they want to practice on us each day, so we get to eat for free. I have yet to figure out how to say "No fatty gravysauce on my veggie meatballs, please!" So I am suffering through gloppy lunches - yet quite tasty. Must be all the fat. Apparently that makes things taste better. News to me.

Yesterday afternoon, I took a ride up to a flea market in Prenzlauer Berg, a trendy neighborhood on the former East side of the city. The flea market was not so lovely, however, as it was just like one giant dirty garage sale. I suppose I have always longed to be one of those girls who can find fab vintage clothing at one of these places, and look like Janeane Garofalo in "Reality Bites." But alas, I can not. Besides the fact that I am sort of grossed out by the thought of wearing someone's old and slightly dirty stuff, I simply do not look cool like that. I look like a total Poser. Yep, an alternachick wannabe. I suppose I will just have to continue with my solid color t-shirts and jeans, and give up on this particular dream.

Besides, there just isn't enough bleach in the country to convince me that pitstains can come out of a 1960s mod minidress.

Right Back At'cha, Jess!

2006-08-15T08:31:00.000+02:00

"If Shakespeare had been a weblogger, Romeo would find Juliet after she took poison and would have been so overcome with emotion he would have blogged about finding Juliet dead and would have taken so long that Juliet would have awoken and Romeo wouldn’t have killed himself, and they would have married and had kids and his and her weblogs.
-Shelley Powers quoted in the Carnival of Capitalists (for the week of December 26, 2005)

to blog
Part of Speech: verb
Definition: to maintain an online diary or a personal chronological log of thoughts published on a Web page; also called Weblog, Web log
Example: Typically updated daily, blogs often reflect the personality of the author.
Etymology: shortened form of Weblog
Usage: blog, blogged, blogging v, blogger n

It has truly been great fun maintaining this blog. I feel like it gives me a forum in which to express my thoughts and viewpoints to whomever wants to listen, as well as allowing me to show off my zen-like decorating skills. Well, IKEA's skills anyway. Most importantly, it has provided me with a way to stay in touch with my family and friends who are across the Atlantic. It has saved me numerous hours writing the same story over and over again as I attempt to give everyone a glimpse into what it means to move to a new continent. I doubt I would have even shared the oddities of the German toilet, had it not been for this new form of media outreach.

There are many blogs out there in this big and beautiful world. I have a few I check myself on a semi-regular basis. But this summer, while searching the Internet for sites that might give me insight to my new home in Berlin, I stumbled across the blog of another Jess. This college senior, at the time, was in Berlin herself, observing and snapping photos, and using her blog to share her point of view with the world. Rarely am I particularly impressed with the writing I encounter in weblogs (I admit, I am a snob for syntax, spelling, grammar, and basically - good writing; though some may argue that I do not employ these characteristics within my own posts). However, I found that this girl who happened to have the same name as I, and was also conducting her own love affair with Germany's capital city, actually managed to create sentences worth reading. Not only that, her posts have a point, a conscience, and usually give me something to think about for a spell. Quite a feat for a girl in her early-twenties. And I mean that in the highest regard. Thinking back to my own years at the end of college, I recall being more fixated on waking up in time for class or which 7-11 had the best blue raspberry slurpee (and a host of other things I will not mention here - my mother reads this, you know!).

I recommend that you check out Jess's Site for a break from my own self-centered blatherings. She was actually participating in an internship in Israel when conflict erupted this past July. And she wanted to STAY. This girl is the kind of person I hope my students are inspired to be. As I tell the children I teach repeatedly throughout the year: "You can make a difference. You just need to make the choice to go after what you want and stand up for what you believe in. What people fear most is change."

This girl is actually doing it.

As she says at the top of her blog: "Well-Behaved Women Rarely Make History."

Amen.

Der Arzt, Die Arzt, Das Arzt...whatever.

2006-08-14T10:39:00.000+02:00

At least I know Arzt is the word for Doctor. I can't remember which "the" goes with it and I'm not in the mood to look it up right now...hence the title of this post. By now you have probably guessed that I made my first trip to see the Doc today. It was an unexpected one, as I have been battling a sinus infection for a few days, and when I developed a wee fever yesterday, I started to think that maybe Afrin and Allegra weren't going to do it this time. But...I had no idea even where to begin to look for a doctor here, and I do have health insurance through the school, but hadn't heard about Primary Care Physicians or which groups I was allowed to go to and so was hesitant to put the insurance to use quite yet.

So I wandered into the local Apotheke (pharmacy - separate from the Drogerie here, which sells beauty stuff, cleaning things - like Walgreens minus the guys and gals in the white coats). The pharmacists here are very highly trained, almost to the same level as doctors, and they keep all "over-the-counter" medicine in back, diagnosing you by your symptoms and giving you the proper pills. However, when I inquired of this pharmacist if she could give me antibiotics or if I needed to see a doctor (as the pills I had acquired three days earlier from another Apotheke didn't seem to be doing the trick) she told me to go across the street, three doors down to see her friend Dr. Plasse. "Okay," I thought. "This should be interesting." So I followed her directions, rode in a very odd elevator to the second floor of the medical building I located, and walked into Dr. Plasse's office. He is an internist as well as a Frauenarzt. That means Ladies' Doctor. You know what I'm saying. The receptionist did not speak English, but I was able to pull enough German out of my Arzt (couldn't resist that one) to tell her that the Apotheke had sent me down the street, I had been living in Berlin for a couple of weeks, and had insurance. I also said I had "Krank in mein Kopf," and pointed to my sinuses. That means "sickness in my head." I might have been telling her I was a nutter, but she seemed to get my drift. She told me to sit, and about 3 minutes later a tall man walked in (no coat, just chinos and a button-down). He said: "What's wrong with you?" Mind you, I am still sitting in the waiting room. I told him of my sinus pressure and low fever, and he said: "Well, let's have a look, ok-ee?" We walked to the exam room, I sat on a chair, he stuck a tongue depressor in my mouth, pressed on my ears, and asked me if I wanted an "Antibiotika." "Yes, please!" I replied, since I have had more than enough sinus infections over the years to know when Advil will do the trick and when it is time for the big guns. This was definitely a drug ending in -myacin sort of situation here. He walked me to the reception area again, and the receptionist took my card and my phone number. Meanwhile, der/die/das Arzt walked back in and gave me the antibiotics, so I didn't have to go to the Apotheke. How nice! And I now officially have a doctor. You see, you pay €10 for your first visit. Then you can keep going for three months. Then you have to pay again. So I am all set until November, or something. Sort of nifty. Plus, this place is literally out my back door about 5 minutes, and next to the Apotheke, so if I do get sick, I don't have far to go. It was certainly easy! Almost too easy.

Love Germany. Even their medical system runs like a well-oiled machine. Ich liebe meinen neuen Arzt! By the way...it is der Arzt. Die Artzin if it is a woman doctor. You knew I'd look it up eventually.

Kaffee und Kuchen an Sonntag #1

2006-08-13T16:26:00.000+02:00

Guten Morgen! And welcome to my first edition of "Kaffee und Kuchen an Sonntag." This means: "Coffee and Cake on Sundays." You see, with the school year beginning this week (!) I fear that I will have much less time to devote to my updates on this blog. So, now I will be updating at least weekly, on Sundays (for the most part), after picking up my carb-laden treat at the delicious German Bäckerei downstairs. Despite their grand fame for being the kings of sausage production, the Germans are quite fine bakers, and their tasty breakfast offerings are many. That is why I have decided to deviate from my usual fairly heathful diet and sample one of these creations each Sunday morning. It is purely cultural research. Delicious research. I will also use this post to update you on the latest happenings here in Germany's Capital. All the while trying to keep crumbs out of my keyboard.

Today's Kuchen: I chose the tasty round delight pictured to the left. It was a simple fluffy pastry with frosting and a sweet crumble. No filling, no fruity flavor, just your basic German cake. I also got a Kaffee to go. I ordered the "large" which you can see in the photo. Wonder what the small is. A thimble, perhaps.

So this past week, I found myself sort of stuck. I don't want to blow the entirety of my bank account running around Berlin - and I found out that the museums are NOT free the first Sunday of the month. This can be a pricey city if you aren't careful. Yes, I know that walking around and seeing the sights from the exterior is free...but you can only walk so much, and besides just looking at stuff gets boring after a bit. Especially if you are going solo. Suffice it to say, I was quite happy when my DVDs arrived, and I could start learning German in a practical way: With Ross, Rachel, Phoebe, Monica, Joey, and Chandler. I realized quickly that sitting with my laptop on my legs was uncomfortable, not to mention way toasty after a while. So I treked up to Saturn (Berlin's version of Best Buy) and bought myself a universal DVD player. It plays both my new German DVDs as well as my old favorites from home. I forgot how much I loved the movie "Lost in Translation." But, thank God I didn't move to Tokyo.

These DVD purchases have proved immeasurably helpful in my study of the German language - and a refresher on what incredibly bad actors the cast of Friends were in Season 1. I can watch them in up to 6 different languages, and also put the subtitles up so I can see the printed word at the same time. This helps a lot, as the spoken German dubbing is often longer than the time alloted from the original, so they speak REALLY fast. If I didn't have the subtitles to glance at, it would be total gibberish. It pretty much still is. The most entertaining part of this, is that the actors saying the German lines sound NOTHING like the originals. Phoebe's voice sounds like a cross between a Jersey girl and a tripped-out hippie from the 60s. Hard accent to pull off, I am sure. Especially in German.

I did manage to go on several walks, when it wasn't raining. I strolled through the neighborhood of Kreuzberg and into the beautiful Viktoriapark. Its most impressive feature is the 66 meter high Kreuzberg hill, the highest natural elevation in central Berlin. I climbed this hill, viewable from below, and then above. Since 1821 a national monument has stood on Kreuzberg hill in order to commemorate the wars against Napoleon. It is shaped like a cathedral tower and topped with the cross that gave name to the hill and later the district. Kreuz in English means Cross. The park has many green areas, sport fields and playgrounds, a beer garden and a petting zoo. The vines on the hillside have been cultivated since the middle of the 16th century, and every year in September there is a fair here. I think I may just have to go. I also found this interesting bag. Though I hear they have been booted out of Germany. Bye Smiley.

I visited Museum Island, and saw the beautiful exterior of the Berliner Dom. I will write more about this ancient church when I actually make it inside. Since the museums were not free, as I said earlier, I chose the one that seemed to be of the most interest to me. I spent 4 hours inside the Deutsches Historiches Museum, as I find this to be the most relevant as I tour my new home. It was an amazing exhibit that takes you, labyrinth-like, thorough the history of Germany from the early Celtic tribes, the Roman Empire, Crusades, Medieval times, all the way up through the fall of the Wall in 1989. It was mentally exhausting, but worth it to gain such a perspective on the rich history of this land. The area now known as Germany has had so many names and geographical boundaries, I learned. Prussia, Saxony, and Bavaria just to name a few. My brain took in so much information, but it would require a great deal further study to truly proclaim oneself as knowledgable in the past of this country. I am satisfied with the amount I have acquired, but if you would like to investigate further, I direct you here. The most interesting to me, was the way in which they portrayed Hitler's rise to power and the chaos and catastrophe that subsequently came of his leadership. The amount of propaganda posted on the walls and the directness of the explanation of this part of their history was extremely enlightening. The museum's explanations made no apologies for the course that Germany's history had taken. They presented the facts exactly as they were. In my opinion, this is all they needed to do. When faced with true facts and figures as atrocious as the ones shown in the Historical Museum, one knows that just acknowledging this gruesome part of their own past must be difficult enough. To realize that these things happened just 70 years ago is still, for me, hard to believe.

Preceding my visit to the Deutsches Historiches Museum, I had gone just a few steps out of my door to see the Topographie des Terrors, an outdoor exhibit showcased in the underground excavations of the former SS headquarters. It was in the buildings above the exhibit that the Third Reich planned their deportation and extermination of the Jewish people, as well as created strategies for warfare across Europe. The exhibit, while completely in German, has powerful photos of events and key players in this period of history. The photos that struck me most were not even those depicting horrific acts of violence, but the standard portraits of the people who held leadership roles in Hitler's regime. I just kept looking at them, and thinking that these were actual people, who at one point had been innocent children. How had the course of their life progressed so that they would become the monsters that they did? I literally stared into their eyes on the billboards wondering what it was inside them that allowed them to operate without conscience. Even when faced with the facts, I still find it incredibly difficult to understand that the horrors of Nazi Germany occured. How can such evil exist? And not so very long ago.

Directly behind this exhibit, was another regarding the Nuremburg Trials. This was in English as well, so I was able to follow along as they told how the prisoners were held, how the courtroom had to be specially created, and also gave detailed biographies of all of the accused, their fates, and the important judges and lawyers that participated in this unprecedented sort of trial which finally held war criminals responsible for their crimes against humanity. While all fascinating, I took special interest when it was described how the translation of the German language was handled for each of the presiding judges and the other participants. Since the testimony had to be translated into English, French, and Russian, revolutionary technology was created to allow the translators to translate almost simultaneously for their listeners. The main difficulty (which I am also encountering as I learn German myself) is that oftentimes, the verb will appear at the end of the sentence. This poses unique difficulties for translators, as they often have to pause to wait for the verb before they can translate the complete sentence. For instance, in English, you would say: "I want to go to the movies." In German it would be: "Ich will ins Kino gehen." Or, directly translated: "I want in the movies to go." Sure makes the learning fun! The longest remaining section of the Wall is also directly behind this exhibit.

Right there, as well, is the hot-air balloon Die Welt (The World) which I see going up and down, up and down, up and down all day and all evening. I think at some point I would like to take a ride, but it doesn't seem like something I should do solo. You know, in case I start to fall out. Maybe I will find someone to go up in Die Welt with me soon enough...you never know!

Finally, I also made it to Checkpoint Charlie. This was the main border crossing from east to west during the years of the Berlin Wall. It is probably one of the most visited sites here in Berlin, and is easily found by locating the large photos of an American soldier and a Russian one. Checkpoint Charlie is also home to a museum called the Haus am Checkpoint Charlie, but I chose to abstain from now. For more info on this point in history, please click here.

Well, that is all I have for now. It is gray and drizzly today in Berlin, and now that it is Sunday night I feel the doldrums coming on. Sundays always get me in a funky mood...and I swear I can hear the tick, tick, ticking of that horrible clock from "60 Minutes." Even though school has yet to start, Sunday night remains my least favorite night of the week. But it was considerably brightened by creating this post. I am so happy that so many of you are choosing to check in with me so frequently. Makes home seem not quite so far away. Though I bet it is sunny there. It is, isn't it? Lucky! Tomorrow I am off to the DeutschePost to try to retrieve two of my packages that weren't delivered. They don't speak English. I'd better get crackin'. Vital vocab to acquire tonight: "package," "missing," "where is," and "Listen, Buster, I'm not leaving until you give me my package which I know contains two bottles of Downy Wrinkle Releaser and L'Oreal Castings number 12 in Espresso!" By the way, they do have Castings here...my shade is called Dunkelbraun. Hee. Sounds like a donut.

I hope you enjoyed my first edition of Kaffee and Kuchen! See you next Sunday!

Oh Scheisse!

2006-08-11T17:18:00.000+02:00

WARNING: Not for the faint of heart. If you continue to read, you must swear to maintain your high opinion of this blog's writer; please remember her for the kind, cultured, and intelligent person that she is; and finally...keep it all in perspective, people...

Okay, let's first start off with your initial reaction to the title of this post. This word in German, which corresponds to our not-so-nice English word starting with the same letter, is integral to this article. Plus, I have learned throughout my hours of diligent German study (aka watching TV) that this word is allowed across the German airwaves during prime-time hours, and is really a closer equivalent to a much less offensive word which I will not print here either, as I don't care for it myself. If you are dying to know to which word I am referring, it rhymes with Snap, but starts with the first two letters of Crackle. And means Pop, with an extra "o" thrown in. Ew. Get the picture? I hope so.

If you are already feeling a bit queasy (and concerned about the current state of my mental health, given the amount of time I have put into writing out this intro) you must get past your gag reflex and continue reading. Because I have some very important cultural information for you:

The German toilets are really weird. REALLY WEIRD.

Why am I only writing about this phenomenon now? Well, to be honest, I guess I didn't realize the historical and cultural significance of their porcelain God. It was only today, as I was attempting to remove the top cover from the tank of my own German toilet, that I realized I needed more information about the intricacies of German plumbing. Which basically means: I couldn't figure out how to get the lid off. Why did I need to remove the lid? I wanted to put one of those nice bleach-filled clippy things inside so that my bathroom would always smell nice and lemony-fresh. And when you read what I have now read, you will further understand why. Since I was having such difficulty in figuring out this seemingly simple task, I turned to everyone's best friend for answers. The Internet. And when I plugged in the search terms "German Toilet," boy did I get more than I was looking for.

Below, you will find three links. I absolutely, positively, one-hundred percent insist that you click on and read "Link #1." I also insist that you be sitting down, because although it is completely gross and hard to believe...it is also true. Really. And maybe the funniest thing I have ever read. If you wish to further research this fascinating topic, please click on "Links #2 and #3." They provide an even broader scope to this previously unknown plumbing phenomenon.

Link #1 - READ ME!!!
Link #2
Link #3

Please continue to think kind thoughts of me after this post. I truly am only trying to give you a complete picture of some of the differences I am finding here on this side of the pond. Yes, this post is a deviance from my earlier and more thought-provoking writings. A bit less significant, but important nonetheless.

And funny. You know you laughed. You did. It can be our little secret.

'Cause that was some funny...Scheisse.

My New Plan to Learn Deutsch

2006-08-08T19:13:00.000+02:00

Okay, I am sort of getting bored with clicking on the pictures that Rosetta Stone (my exciting language acquisition software) provides. Yes, I now know how to say "The man has long, curly, black hair" and "There are more cowboys wearing hats than horses" as well as "The men and the boy are in the airplane" with perfect grammatical syntax. Test me.

1. Der Mann hat langes, lockiges, schwarzes Haar.
2. Es sind mehr Cowboys tragen Cowboyhüte als Pferde.
3. Die Männer und der Junge sind in einem Flugzeug.

But when will I use these handy phrases? This is what I am asking. So while I will continue to use Rosetta Stone (it does work well in teaching me the four different cases for the German language intrinsically...you see, we use the word "the" and "a" or "an" and pretty much only these articles when referring to our nouns...in German, the word "the" can be represented by the words "der, das, die, den, des, or dem" depending on the role of the noun - indirect or direct object, subject, possessive, and plural; also "a" can be "einem, ein, eine, etc." and hers, his, yours, its, and all those good things are also affected by the role of the noun...IT IS VERY CONFUSING). Blah, blah, blah.

Anyway, let's just say I am tired of clicking on pictures. I am also sort of bored. While I am living in a big and exciting city, I can't play tourist every single day - I have grown tired of it. So I went on Amazon.de...and ordered some DVDs to supplement my language instruction. These DVDs come with both German and English options, so I will watch them first in English...and then in German to see if I can start to pick up some of the lingo. I think it is a swell idea. Of course, I had to order DVDs with which I was already familiar...and I went with the following: "Friends, Season 1," "Sex and the City, Season 1," "Northern Exposure, Season 1" (way cheap), and, of course..."The OC: Season 1." Can't wait to see how they say "Chrismukkah" in Deutsch.

At least Seth will teach me some snappy one-liners in German. And I will finally learn how to say "Ugly Naked Guy." Not that I'll use that phrase that much. But maybe more than I will be talking about Cowboys and their hats.

I do live in the big city, you know.

Der Markt!

2006-08-07T18:35:00.000+02:00

Hallo, again! A bit of a lighter post this evening, as the one from yesterday did end on a bit of a retrospective note. Tomorrow's post will be more of the same, as I will detail my visits to the Nazi bunkers with my visit to the "Topographie des Terrors" and "Checkpoint Charlie." But for now...I will tell you about my first visit to the outdoor market in Schöneberg.

I am a huge fan of the farmers' market, as it is truly the best place to buy fresh fruits and veggies, as well as being a prime spot for people watching. This is why I was so very excited to head out last Saturday morning for my first foray into the German open-air market culture. You see, the Deutsche are just as big of fans of this way of produce shopping as I. There are many outdoor markets around the city on different days of the week. In fact, I will be heading to the Mayfeuerbach Markt tomorrow morning, to scope the scene there. It is not only a food market, but a flea market as well, and is well attended by the large Turkish population of Berlin. I am looking forward to it.
My travel to the Nollendorfplatz Markt was quite easy, as I just hopped the U-Bahn 2 and zipped to my stop in about 5 minutes. I walked out of the station, and just one block away there were many stands full of fresh produce, breads and cakes, meats, sausages, and fish, and other delicacies. There seemed to be a few Italian vendors selling different kinds of marinated olives, cheeses, and seafood tasties as well. It was a beautiful sight to behold. I decided to walk the entire market before choosing my purchases, and was amazed at how huge this set-up was! There were so many stands, that I decided to choose one item from each place I stopped, so that I could practice my German shopping language more efficiently. My first stop was a fruit stand that had pears to sample, and upon my sampling I knew I needed a couple. So I said to the woman: "Drei Birnen, bitte," and you know what? She gave me 3 pears. Just like that. It worked! She then said: "Ein Euro, zwanzig." So I gave her €1,20. But I realized that I wanted a bag to carry them in, so I said: "Eine Tüte, bitte?" And guess what...she gave me a bag. It was all very exciting. I repeated this feat at several stands, buying Blaubeeren (blueberries), Tomaten (tomatoes), Paprika (peppers), and rosa Äpfel (pink lady apples - that one is for you, Nat!). Unfortunately, the produce was all so fresh, that I have already eaten it or thrown it out. Must buy less tomorrow. Now that I am in the German mode of shopping in the open market, I no longer have to "load up" I guess.

Zwei Birnen is probably plenty.

The photo below is a nod to my friend Tim, who I know is probably not checking this blog, because I have yet to see a comment from him. However, he is both Canadian and named Tim, so I thought he might find interest in this picture. I don't think he likes sandwiches, however. To this oddity, I say: Das steht auf einem anderen Blatt (That's a different kettle of fish.)

PS - While searching for a good German idiom to end this post, I also found this one which is now my new favorite saying. I think I will be able to use it a LOT when school starts!

Er steht da wie die Ochsen vor dem Berge: He stands there like a duck in a thunderstorm.

Seriously.
Best. Idiom. Ever.

Walk #1 - North of the Centre

2006-08-06T18:48:00.000+02:00

In order to keep from writing monster posts, I have decided to break up my last few days events into several postings. Of course, I realize most of you have much more worthwhile things to do than follow my adventures, or at least you don't want to spend the bulk of your day plodding through my version of "War and Peace." So I will write it all up now, but post a new one each day until I have caught up with myself. Because I have just oh so much to share with you! Berlin is a very exciting and action-packed place. Especially if you have the most informative travel book on the planet..."Eyewitness Travel: Berlin." Really, I have seen more people schlepping this book around than any other. Get one if you plan to go somewhere. Good stuff.

On with Walk #1!

I actually took this walk way back on Tuesday of last week (August 1st). I opened my book, and a walk around the area described as "North of the Centre" was to be my destination. This area is located in the northern part of the neighborhood known as Mitte, or middle. One of the main streets in this area is Oranienburgerstrasse, which is where I took the S1 line. I walked up the stairs out of the subway, and found myself in what used to be the heart of Berlin's Jewish district until WWII. I walked past a building called the Centrum Judaicum, or Jewish Centre, which was guarded by two policemen. As I went to take a photo, they discreetly walked away.

I then walked to the Neue Synagogue, which was built in 1866. Not so Neue. It was Berlin's largest synagogue, until November 9th, 1938, when it was partially destroyed during the infamous "Kristallnacht," or night of the broken glass. On this night, thousands of synagogues, cemeteries, Jewish homes and shops throughout Germany were looted and burned. There is a plaque on the side of the building to commemorate this sad event in Germany's history. I took a walk into the Neue Synagogue, and walked up into its beautiful gilded dome, which I can see from the windows of my flat. They don't allow photos, but it was a lovely view.

I then continued down Oranienburgerstrasse to an area described as a pleasant place to spend some time relaxing. Monbijoupark is the former site of the Monbijou Palace, which was damaged by bombing during WWII, and was dismantled in 1960. However, they seemed to be doing some maintenance here, as it was completely surrounded by fencing, and I was unable to get in for my relaxing. So I continued onward.

Next on my tour was the Alter Jüdischer Friedhof, or the Old Jewish Cemetery. This was located just off of Grosse Hamburgerstrasse, and was established in 1672. It was used until 1827, when it was finally declared full. It had been used as the final resting place of 12,000 Berliners at that point. It was destroyed by the Nazis in 1943, and in 1945 was turned into a park. In the original cemetery wall, there remain a few Baroque masebas (tombstones).

Upon exiting the cemetery area, I happened upon the Gedenkstätte Grosse Hamburgerstrasse Memorial commemorating Berlin Jews killed in the Holocaust. From my book:

"Until the years leading to WWII, Grosse Hamburgerstrasse had been one of the main streets of Berlin's Jewish quarter. It was home to several Jewish schools, an old people's home, and the oldest Jewish cemetery. The home was used during WWII as a detention center for many thousands of Berlin Jews condemned to death in the camps at Auschwitz and Theresienstadt. The building was later destroyed, and in its place stands this monument representing a group of Jews being lead to their deaths."

While Berlin is an exciting city in which to live in many respects, one is also faced with its difficult history and almost unbelievable historical events on a contintual basis. We've all studied the horrors of WWII and Nazi Germany during our respective educations, and have all recoiled at the choices that were made during this time. However, it is difficult to express the thoughts and feelings that I have as I am confronted with these historical moments while exploring the city. I've had many more of these experiences in my further exploration of Berlin over the past few days, and I know there are more to come. When faced with these real moments from the past, I can only think of the poster which was taped on my sophomore year history teacher's cinder block wall:

"History repeats itself because we didn't listen the first time."

I'd like to think that we have listened, but as I watch the news on any given day, sometimes I am not so sure.

Mark your Calendars!

2006-08-05T21:19:00.000+02:00

Right. Anyway, I am going to post tomorrow night - afternoon for you folks back in the States - and I have had many more adventures. I walked the Jewish district, which is north of the City Centre. I also walked the last remaining section of the wall and saw Checkpoint Charlie. I found "Wal-Mart" which is here known as "Domäne." I navigated the open-air market in Schöenberg, and only used German, except when I spoke Italian to two nice ladies who pretended to understand what I was saying. I scored three free peppers. I finally took a run - even though my running shoes were shipped back to the United States by the German Post by mistake. And last, but not least, tomorrow I head to Museum Island to see the Altgalerie (Old Art Museum) and the Pergamon (biggest Berlin museum attraction), as state-run museums are free the first Sunday of the month. So check back! Tchüss!

Extreme Flat Makeover - Berlin Edition

2006-08-03T21:56:00.000+02:00

I went to my first Cinema day in Germany. As I have mentioned, I am just a 10 minute walk from Sony Original Kino, where they show the movies in their original language...ENGLISH!!! Tuesday nights, it is €5,50 to see a film so I went to see Pirates of the Caribbean 2...known here as "Fluch die Karibik 2." Which means "Curse of the Caribbean." They rename movies when they are released in another market. Well, of course, this seemingly simple excursion of mine turned into a new learning experience. I bought my ticket, walked into the theater, and chose my seat near the front. I had been given the option to pay an extra Euro to sit in the back, but I am cheap. With money. Anyway, I sat near the front. As the theater started to fill up, I noticed that people were looking around at the seats like they were looking for assigned places like in a real theater. And I realized...they ASSIGN seats at the movies here! And given mathematical probablity, I was not in the right seat. I fumbled around in my purse, searching for my ticket stub, and saw that my correct row was K and my correct seat was 15. But did I move? No...I decided to avoid embarrassment and see if anyone got assigned my current seat. Of course, someone walked up, informed me I was in their seat, and I moved to K-15. Which was sandwiched in between a non-deodorant user and a lovey dovey, ultra-chatty couple. The couple to my right talked, not whispered, through the first half of the film, while she sprawled herself over his lap. Then, they left. Um...okay. I'm not sure what emergency would get anyone to leave Orlando Bloom and Johnny Depp appearing together on a gigantic screen, but I was happy for the silence.

Since I have returned home to my pristine white apartment, I have been very busy heading back and forth to everyone's favorite homestore...IKEA. I also went in search of a hammer and nails, and found Bauhaus, which is basically identical to Home Depot. Even with the helpers running around in orange aprons. The only interesting thing of note here, is that the German hammer looks like it has a bottle cap opener on the other side instead of the two-prongy thing that lets you pull out nails. So while nailing up my photos and such, I could not get out mismeasured nails. (Who am I kidding, I didn't measure, I totally eyeballed it.) So I just pounded them into the wall. The following pictures show the before and after. Finally, I have been adventuring around the city and using my wonderful color-coded "Eyewitness Berlin" book, which outlines 8 walks through the different areas of Berlin. Since this is quite enough to read for one day...and it is possible you, dear reader, have also not seen my fab trips to Italy, London, and Paris, which follow this post, I will delay my posting of "Walks of Berlin, Part I...North of the Centre" until this weekend. But you'd better get cracking...lots going on over here on this side of the pond. Onto the makeover...

Being up on the 16th floor, I run to the window whenever I hear the sounds of fireworks. I am not quite sure of where these were going off, but I plan to locate the source at some point. It seems to be a stadium or arena of some sort, but I do know that the Olympic Stadium is in the other direction, so I don't think it is that.

Top: My view at sunrise...at 5:30am. Bottom: The amazing view at night. It almost doesn't look real.

How the bed and surrounding area looked before.

Now, calm and soothing shades of eggplant, gray, and white. Plus, the bed is made. Of course. Note the shape of my duvet. German sheets and duvets only come to the edges of the top of the bed. Makes the bed-making process easier! No more tucking and hospital corners! Yippee! Sorry, Mom. Also, the Totally 80s fluted and gilded mirrors are now history. Replaced with window-shades.

The living room before.

Now, in the new soothing tones, much more my style. Thank you, IKEA. Thank you.

The teeny kitchen. And big clock.

The big clock is still there, as you can see. But the kitchen is now a nice, bright white, and much cleaner thanks to bleach. And more bleach. And Scrubbing Bubbles. The pink and green flag you see hanging hides some buckets, and is a representation of the Dragon neighborhood in the Tuscan town of Siena. And it was the right dimensions to hide the ugly buckets.

I hope you enjoyed this edition of Extreme Flat Makeover - Berlin Edition. I need to go tend to my many bruises, aches, and pains. Overhauling an entire flat, even a small one, is not without its minor handy-related injuries. Especially if you are me. I think you know what I mean.

So, maybe I am not the most observant person, but I am really embarrassed to admit this one. I know that I only live a few blocks from where the wall stood. And as we all know, the wall came down 17 years ago, and there is very little still standing. As I had read, there is just a small stretch still up somewhere in Berlin. Well, that somewhere is on the next block. Visible from my window. And pictured above. I can get to this spot in about a three-minute walk. And a slow stroll at that. A wee bit of history right outside my elevator doors. Love Berlin. Love it.

Except for the weird hammers. And the assigned seats at the movies.

Love it.

Home again, home again. And my tribute to La Tour Eiffel.

2006-08-01T09:54:00.000+02:00

Boujour! Guten Tag! Buon Giorno! Hello! I am back in Berlin (despite a bit of a screw-up at the airport yesterday when I blew through customs without picking up my bags - I got a bit turned around, and then had to wait at the lost and found for my luggage). My apartment is newly white, I am heading off to IKEA (again!) for some more decorating things. And I will also be on a desperate hunt for a hammer and nails. Can't seem to locate those. I miss Walgreens.

You will find three new posts this morning, or afternoon, or evening, depending on when you look at this. This first one is my tribute to the beautiful Eiffel Tower of which I could not seem to get enough pictures. At 10pm the entire tower begins to sparkle, and it is truly the most beautiful thing I have ever witnessed. Plus, at this time I was on my dinner cruise on the River Seine, so I was able to get many unobstructed views and shots. I was so photog-happy that I almost missed dessert. Almost.

The second and third posts are of my trips to London and Paris, and Italy. I hope you enjoy looking at the photos as much as I enjoyed taking them. I hope you are all well, I miss each and every one of you. Really, I do. I've been gone a month now, but now that I am back home I think the distance will start to seem more of a reality. So please keep in touch. :)

PS - My apartment may be white, but it still smells like curry most of the time. :(
PPS - I did laundry. It was very difficult. Thank goodness the doorman came and helped me. He continually spoke German, even though he knew I had no clue what he was saying. So he spoke louder and louder. Interesting to be on the receiving end of that for a change.

La Tour Eiffel...

The view from the tower. Sacre Coeur in the distance.