This is the final chapter of my little story about renters' rights, the German word for gas leak, and neighbor gossip. Here's a quick recap: a few weeks ago, all the tenants in our building got a bill from the landlady for the amount we owed in Nebenkosten, which is sort of like a condo association fee for renters in Germany. Everyone owed a lot - anywhere from 200-700 euros. The neighbors in my building decided to contest the charges.
There was another meeting while I was out of town. We know this because Brian had not yet left for Disney World when a couple of the downstairs neighbors knocked on our door one night. He was already getting ready for bed and is a little afraid of them anyway, so he didn't answer. When I got back, the couple on the floor below us (not the ones whose balcony we drop stuff on, the other ones) had written up an English translation of all the notes from the meeting, included an English version of the German renters' rights code, and attached a copy of the letter they had just sent to the landlady. At the meeting, the group decided that each tenant should send a letter separately. So with the help of my 3rd floor heroes, I just had to copy what they had written and change some of the numbers.
But I didn't have to. The next day, we got a letter from the landlady explaining that she had agreed to all of our demands. Our main argument was that the costs of repairing a gas leak and fixing the windows were expenses that she couldn't pass on to us. So was she trying to sneak that past us the first time and see if she could get away with it? Does she still think she's right but its better not to make the tenants angry and get into a legal dispute? I don't know, and it doesn't really matter. We got 2/3 of our money back already. I baked some cupcakes for the translating neighbors and the case is closed.
However, our relationship with the neighbors has changed a little. By getting involved in this discussion and showing up at the first meeting, I have sort of broken the ice. I don't know if that is good or bad. It was simple to be anti-social. Now I might have to try and chit chat in German when I see them on the stairs, rather than just saying 'hi.' Maybe we are becoming the neighborhood project (or charity case) and they will try to keep including us until we give in. I guess there are worse things than having nice neighbors, though I am sure they gossip about us when we are not there. Of course, we used to do that over the fence with our neighbor in St Paul. We just did it in English.
Sunday, March 31, 2013
Friday, March 29, 2013
Southward the second time
The last day of the trip we went south again, except this time we could not see the mountains. They had ducked under blankets of clouds and snow.
The highlight of the day was an unexpected place. We visited Wieskirche, solely because three guidebooks said that we should. (Makes you wonder - what else would we do if they all recommended it??)
Wieskirche is a church built in a field outside of a small town, on the site where villagers saw a wooden image of Christ crying in 1738. They built a small chapel on the site, and a few years later, the pilgrimage church was constructed. It's built in "Bavarian Rococo" style, which means that it has pink and green marble, gold trimming, and little cherubs everywhere.
The Wieskirche is a UNESCO world heritage site. I had heard of this designation before but never knew what it meant, so I looked it up. UNESCO stands for the United Nations Education, Scientific, and Cultural Organization. The world heritage sites have several criteria, check them out here if you like, but basically they designate places that are unique and awesome. The criteria that I would guess Wieskirche falls under is: "to represent a masterpiece of human creative genius". Here's what it looks like:
Oberammergau (say that three times fast) was our next stop. This town is famous because once every ten years during Holy Week, there is a Passion Play there. Since the next one is in 2020, we just shopped and got some lunch. Brian was going to be Epcot center this week, and the Germany part of Epcot probably looks like Oberammergau (but on a sunnier day):
I had heard a lot about Bavaria, and in my mind I had built it into this warm happy friendly place with birds singing and tuba music playing softly in the background. It is very pretty and interesting, but the people didn't seem so different from the Northerners. During our trip, the people were nice when I talked to them but not outwardly friendly. I am used to that kind of thing in Hannover but from what I'd heard, I thought people would be more outgoing in the South. They do say a few different words, like "gruß Gott" rather than "hallo" as a greeting and "auf wiedersehen" (it still reminds me of the good night song in Sound of Music) rather than "tschuss" for goodbye. I still am holding out hopes to hear more tuba playing on my next trip.
The highlight of the day was an unexpected place. We visited Wieskirche, solely because three guidebooks said that we should. (Makes you wonder - what else would we do if they all recommended it??)
Wieskirche is a church built in a field outside of a small town, on the site where villagers saw a wooden image of Christ crying in 1738. They built a small chapel on the site, and a few years later, the pilgrimage church was constructed. It's built in "Bavarian Rococo" style, which means that it has pink and green marble, gold trimming, and little cherubs everywhere.
The Wieskirche is a UNESCO world heritage site. I had heard of this designation before but never knew what it meant, so I looked it up. UNESCO stands for the United Nations Education, Scientific, and Cultural Organization. The world heritage sites have several criteria, check them out here if you like, but basically they designate places that are unique and awesome. The criteria that I would guess Wieskirche falls under is: "to represent a masterpiece of human creative genius". Here's what it looks like:
Oberammergau (say that three times fast) was our next stop. This town is famous because once every ten years during Holy Week, there is a Passion Play there. Since the next one is in 2020, we just shopped and got some lunch. Brian was going to be Epcot center this week, and the Germany part of Epcot probably looks like Oberammergau (but on a sunnier day):
I had heard a lot about Bavaria, and in my mind I had built it into this warm happy friendly place with birds singing and tuba music playing softly in the background. It is very pretty and interesting, but the people didn't seem so different from the Northerners. During our trip, the people were nice when I talked to them but not outwardly friendly. I am used to that kind of thing in Hannover but from what I'd heard, I thought people would be more outgoing in the South. They do say a few different words, like "gruß Gott" rather than "hallo" as a greeting and "auf wiedersehen" (it still reminds me of the good night song in Sound of Music) rather than "tschuss" for goodbye. I still am holding out hopes to hear more tuba playing on my next trip.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Ulm
For Palm Sunday we went to mass at the Augsburg cathedral. Rather than carrying palms, people had little bouquets of pussy willows and boxwood that they brought along to be splashed with holy water. I hadn't been to a German-language Mass in a long time and came to the conclusion that I still can't really understand anything. Understanding readings from the Bible in a thousand year old echo-y cathedral is way beyond my skill level.
Then it was off to Ulm. Tto you Minnesotans out there, Neu Ulm is also a city, right next to Ulm. We liked Ulm. I am not sure why, other than it seemed to be a historical city that you could live in. Like a lot of places in Germany, it was partly destroyed by bombings in World War II, but some old buildings have been restored. And, unlike a lot of places in Germany, Ulm managed to avoid making its newer architecture ugly. The old buildings housed modern shops but still hung on to their character (in Celle, near Hannover, there is a Claire's Boutique in a half-timbered house from the 1600s). The businesses had decorated statues of birds flying off of a lot of the buildings. This one was my favorite, outside a travel agency:
I later learned that Ulm is Albert Einstein's birthplace. But Ulm's big claim to fame is that it has the tallest church steeple IN THE WORLD. The Protestants decided to stick it to the Catholics and made the steeple on the Ulm Munster church just a bit higher than the one at the Cologne cathedral. We went in but decided not to climb up.
Ulm is on the Danube river and on a warmer day I could definitely sit on a bench to watch the water flow on to Budapest. The unique thing we did in Ulm (by this point, Medieval churches are pretty routine), was going to the Museum of Bread Culture. The whole museum is about bread - how grain is farmed, ground into flour, mixed, baked, and eaten. It explained the history of the milling and baking guilds in Germany, who used the pretzel as their trademark. There's also a section on hunger and famines throughout history. I like this sort of thoughtfulness about food. Mostly because I like food, but it also because Germany takes a lot of pride in its bread. There's a bakery on most city blocks, with more varieties of rolls and slices and cakes than you can name. It would be like having a pizza museum in Chicago, or a barbecue museum in Kansas City, or a beer museum in New Ulm.
Then it was off to Ulm. Tto you Minnesotans out there, Neu Ulm is also a city, right next to Ulm. We liked Ulm. I am not sure why, other than it seemed to be a historical city that you could live in. Like a lot of places in Germany, it was partly destroyed by bombings in World War II, but some old buildings have been restored. And, unlike a lot of places in Germany, Ulm managed to avoid making its newer architecture ugly. The old buildings housed modern shops but still hung on to their character (in Celle, near Hannover, there is a Claire's Boutique in a half-timbered house from the 1600s). The businesses had decorated statues of birds flying off of a lot of the buildings. This one was my favorite, outside a travel agency:
I later learned that Ulm is Albert Einstein's birthplace. But Ulm's big claim to fame is that it has the tallest church steeple IN THE WORLD. The Protestants decided to stick it to the Catholics and made the steeple on the Ulm Munster church just a bit higher than the one at the Cologne cathedral. We went in but decided not to climb up.
 |
| Ulm Munster |
Ulm is on the Danube river and on a warmer day I could definitely sit on a bench to watch the water flow on to Budapest. The unique thing we did in Ulm (by this point, Medieval churches are pretty routine), was going to the Museum of Bread Culture. The whole museum is about bread - how grain is farmed, ground into flour, mixed, baked, and eaten. It explained the history of the milling and baking guilds in Germany, who used the pretzel as their trademark. There's also a section on hunger and famines throughout history. I like this sort of thoughtfulness about food. Mostly because I like food, but it also because Germany takes a lot of pride in its bread. There's a bakery on most city blocks, with more varieties of rolls and slices and cakes than you can name. It would be like having a pizza museum in Chicago, or a barbecue museum in Kansas City, or a beer museum in New Ulm.
Munich
On Saturday we took the train into Munich. Actually, we took a bus to a train to a subway into the city center. I must confess I love public transportation. Early in the trip my dad offered to let me drive the rental car if I felt like it. I didn't feel like it. True, a car means having a lot of flexibility and freedom but it also means having to know where you are going, dealing with other drivers, traffic, gas... in a country where you can get to all but the most remote places by public transit, buy me a train ticket and I'm happy.
My first sight when heading out of the train station was the rotating, dancing figures on the Glockenspiel of the "new" Rathaus (city hall). As I have mentioned before, Germans like clocks, and this one is as fancy as they come. Twice a day it puts on a show, complete with bell music, entertaining the crowds below. Take a look:
Despite the cold, Munich was bustling and in the market square people were buying Easter branches and cold fish sandwiches. Some even sat outside to drink beer. I can imagine spending an entire summer afternoon in the market square - watching people, shopping, sampling beers.
On a unusually cold day in early spring, though, we made it to three churches and a museum. The churches in Munich, and all of Bavaria that I have seen, have onion-shaped domes. They are also Catholic churches, which you don't see much in the North.
My dad's favorite site of the day was the men' s room in a restaurant where we had lunch. I (obviously) didn't get to see it, but apparently there is a heart-shaped hole in the wall where you can look into the eyes of the urinal user opposite you, and a painting of a bull who stares directly at you in the act. He couldn't describe it without laughing. In a week or two, this may be my dad's favorite memory about our day in Munich.
Munich is pretty. It is not gritty and intriguing like Berlin or clustered around the harbor like Hamburg. Even though a lot of the buildings have been restored since WWII, they don't appear to have sprouted in the '60s either. Munich is a good-looking place to be. On a clear day, you can even see the Alps in the distance. I can't say I got to know Munich in one day, but I got a good look at some of it. Maybe that's the lesson we need to learn from the bull - have a good long look.
My first sight when heading out of the train station was the rotating, dancing figures on the Glockenspiel of the "new" Rathaus (city hall). As I have mentioned before, Germans like clocks, and this one is as fancy as they come. Twice a day it puts on a show, complete with bell music, entertaining the crowds below. Take a look:
 |
| New Rathaus Glockenspiel, Munich |
Despite the cold, Munich was bustling and in the market square people were buying Easter branches and cold fish sandwiches. Some even sat outside to drink beer. I can imagine spending an entire summer afternoon in the market square - watching people, shopping, sampling beers.
 |
| Cheese stand at Viktualienmarkt, Munich |
 |
| Pussy willows and other branches for sale for Easter |
 |
| Viktualienmarkt, Munich |
On a unusually cold day in early spring, though, we made it to three churches and a museum. The churches in Munich, and all of Bavaria that I have seen, have onion-shaped domes. They are also Catholic churches, which you don't see much in the North.
 |
| Frauenkirche Munich |
My dad's favorite site of the day was the men' s room in a restaurant where we had lunch. I (obviously) didn't get to see it, but apparently there is a heart-shaped hole in the wall where you can look into the eyes of the urinal user opposite you, and a painting of a bull who stares directly at you in the act. He couldn't describe it without laughing. In a week or two, this may be my dad's favorite memory about our day in Munich.
Munich is pretty. It is not gritty and intriguing like Berlin or clustered around the harbor like Hamburg. Even though a lot of the buildings have been restored since WWII, they don't appear to have sprouted in the '60s either. Munich is a good-looking place to be. On a clear day, you can even see the Alps in the distance. I can't say I got to know Munich in one day, but I got a good look at some of it. Maybe that's the lesson we need to learn from the bull - have a good long look.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
The Romantic Road - part 2
On Friday, we took the Romantic Road south. Imagine the alps in the distance, edelweiss blooming in a meadow, an old man in lederhosen yodeling in the background. That's the part of Germany we went to. I may be exaggerating, but the clear, sunny skies made the whole scene a little more... romantic.
We started in the town of Fuessen, at the foot of the German Alps. It sits on the road that the ancient Romans used to cross the Alps. Fuessen has a quaint pedestrian old town and a shop, that I stopped in, filled with only cuckoo clocks. We walked up a hilltop to see the town castle and happened on a monastery from the 900s called St Mang. The church on the site was ornate, empty, and filled with artwork of St George the dragon-slayer and his rival dragons. I am not sure why the monks chose to fill their church with dragons, except that it seems like one might climb out of a cave in the valley below Fuessen and try to eat a few princesses.
Did I mention that the sun was shining? It was, which gave us a great opportunity to see the two castles nearby: Hohenschwangau and Neuschwanstein. Both castles belonged to crazy King Ludwig of Bavaria. Apparently once Bavaria joined Germany in the mid 1800s, Ludwig decided to spend all the royal family's money on building elaborate castles. Sleeping Beauty's castle at Disneyland was modeled after Neuschwanstein, and it is right out of a fairly tale.
By the time the castle was built in the 1880s, Ludwig was in serious debt. After he died, the castle was opened to paying visitors and the debt was paid off a decade later. So this place has been a tourist trap for over one hundred years. Today you can take a bus or a horse-drawn carriage up the hill to the castle, or you can walk like we did. You need to burn off that spaetzle somehow.
The last stop on our excursion to the south was to Reutte, Austria. Our main motivation to go was so that I could say I'd been to Austria and scratch it off of our scratch-off world map. After much debate, my parents and I decided that it would not count if I didn't get out of the rental car and actually set foot in Austria. So we decided to get cake. We found the place in Reutte where the grandmas meet for coffee. It seemed to be the Alpine version of the Elmwood Family Restaurant near my Grandma's house.
We drove back safely past the castles and through Fuessen without being eaten by dragons. The scariest thing was navigating bad German pop radio and getting back into Augsburg in pre-game soccer traffic.
 |
| View from our gas station stop |
We started in the town of Fuessen, at the foot of the German Alps. It sits on the road that the ancient Romans used to cross the Alps. Fuessen has a quaint pedestrian old town and a shop, that I stopped in, filled with only cuckoo clocks. We walked up a hilltop to see the town castle and happened on a monastery from the 900s called St Mang. The church on the site was ornate, empty, and filled with artwork of St George the dragon-slayer and his rival dragons. I am not sure why the monks chose to fill their church with dragons, except that it seems like one might climb out of a cave in the valley below Fuessen and try to eat a few princesses.
 |
| Fuessen |
 |
| St. Mang Basilica |
 |
| St. Mang Basilica |
Did I mention that the sun was shining? It was, which gave us a great opportunity to see the two castles nearby: Hohenschwangau and Neuschwanstein. Both castles belonged to crazy King Ludwig of Bavaria. Apparently once Bavaria joined Germany in the mid 1800s, Ludwig decided to spend all the royal family's money on building elaborate castles. Sleeping Beauty's castle at Disneyland was modeled after Neuschwanstein, and it is right out of a fairly tale.
 |
| Neuschwanstein Castle |
 |
| Neuschwanstein Castle |
By the time the castle was built in the 1880s, Ludwig was in serious debt. After he died, the castle was opened to paying visitors and the debt was paid off a decade later. So this place has been a tourist trap for over one hundred years. Today you can take a bus or a horse-drawn carriage up the hill to the castle, or you can walk like we did. You need to burn off that spaetzle somehow.
 |
| Hohenschwangau Castle |
The last stop on our excursion to the south was to Reutte, Austria. Our main motivation to go was so that I could say I'd been to Austria and scratch it off of our scratch-off world map. After much debate, my parents and I decided that it would not count if I didn't get out of the rental car and actually set foot in Austria. So we decided to get cake. We found the place in Reutte where the grandmas meet for coffee. It seemed to be the Alpine version of the Elmwood Family Restaurant near my Grandma's house.
We drove back safely past the castles and through Fuessen without being eaten by dragons. The scariest thing was navigating bad German pop radio and getting back into Augsburg in pre-game soccer traffic.
The Romantic Road - part 1
My parents came to visit me, just not in Hannover. They decided to meet me in Bavaria because they had already seen everything there was to see in Hannover last year. Remember, it is the Omaha of Germany.
This year's plan was to fly into Munich, stay in an apartment in nearby Augsburg, and do day trips around the area for about a week. I have not been on vacation with just my parents before. I can't remember spending that much time with just me and them together since high school. I didn't think anything would go wrong, but what if in that much togetherness we decided not to like each other any more? What if we started to finish each others' sentences? What if we just stopped talking altogether? Hey, it's possible. Brian was not included on the trip because his spring break didn't start until Saturday, then he flew to Disney World to make a celebrity guest appearance coaching for the St Anthony Huskies. My parents and I were, appropriately, going to be seeing the places that made it into the Epcot version of Germany.
During our first two days, we explored the Romantic Road. Is it a route for sweethearts? An ancient road used by the Romans? A great post-war marketing ploy? I think the answer is all of the above. The Romantic Road is a north-south route through southern Germany that is sprinkled with charming, historic towns, castles, and great views. It also offers a steady supply of cuckoo clocks and bier steins for sale.
On Thursday we headed north to Rothenburg ob der Tauber. If you took a picturesque medieval town and froze it in time, then added some souvenir shops and a Christmas museum, this is what you'd get. I am sure in the summer it's packed with tourists, but in late March the place was mostly deserted, chilly, and really cute.
Sightseeing with my parents goes like this: My dad strides ahead, way ahead, with hands in pockets. My mom walks a little behind, at a slower pace as she looks in shop windows and up and around. Still, she feels some obligation to keep up with Dad, so she walks briskly. I am with her a lot of the time, until I feel the need to stop unannounced and take a photo of a cool doorknob, or I have to look in a shop window (biggest regret so far is not buying a figurine of a wooden bunny driving a carrot race car). Then our family excursion stretches all the way down the cobblestone street.
I was shocked by the number of American accents I heard in Rothenburg. I am used to hearing English speakers around Hannover sometimes, but these were outspoken, slang-using, ball cap-wearing Americans. I should not have been surprised, since this is one of the most popular places to visit in Germany, but I couldn't help it.
The next stop was Dinkelsbuehl, which is almost as pretty as Rothenburg and has the added attraction of being a functional small town with traffic and hair salons and travel agencies, all housed in picturesque medieval buildings like these:
In Dinkelsbuehl, despite the raw and cloudy day, my dad wanted ice cream. He had his mind set on it. And I confess that despite the chilly weather, ice cream started sounding pretty good to me too.
Like a cowboy who swaggers into a saloon with his spurs jingling, slams a fist on the bar and demands a whisky, Dad went right into the ice cream shop to ask confidently for two scoops in a dish. I walked in, at least ten strides behind, to find him gesturing and see the man behind the counter looking completely bewildered. His eyes were huge and staring blankly. He may have been shaking. I convinced Dad to sit down at a table and open a menu, then I explained to the Italian waiter what we wanted in my imperfect German. He must have recovered from his shock well enough to serve up some ice cream while we listened to Italian radio programs. In a Western, he would have been the first one to duck behind the bar when the bad guy walks in, especially if that bad guy spoke English.
So we weren't finishing each others' sentences exactly, but had formed quite a team.
*Regarding the photos - due to some technical difficulties, I haven't brushed them up as much as I'd like to. The full set of photos will be up on Facebook in about a week.
This year's plan was to fly into Munich, stay in an apartment in nearby Augsburg, and do day trips around the area for about a week. I have not been on vacation with just my parents before. I can't remember spending that much time with just me and them together since high school. I didn't think anything would go wrong, but what if in that much togetherness we decided not to like each other any more? What if we started to finish each others' sentences? What if we just stopped talking altogether? Hey, it's possible. Brian was not included on the trip because his spring break didn't start until Saturday, then he flew to Disney World to make a celebrity guest appearance coaching for the St Anthony Huskies. My parents and I were, appropriately, going to be seeing the places that made it into the Epcot version of Germany.
During our first two days, we explored the Romantic Road. Is it a route for sweethearts? An ancient road used by the Romans? A great post-war marketing ploy? I think the answer is all of the above. The Romantic Road is a north-south route through southern Germany that is sprinkled with charming, historic towns, castles, and great views. It also offers a steady supply of cuckoo clocks and bier steins for sale.
On Thursday we headed north to Rothenburg ob der Tauber. If you took a picturesque medieval town and froze it in time, then added some souvenir shops and a Christmas museum, this is what you'd get. I am sure in the summer it's packed with tourists, but in late March the place was mostly deserted, chilly, and really cute.
Sightseeing with my parents goes like this: My dad strides ahead, way ahead, with hands in pockets. My mom walks a little behind, at a slower pace as she looks in shop windows and up and around. Still, she feels some obligation to keep up with Dad, so she walks briskly. I am with her a lot of the time, until I feel the need to stop unannounced and take a photo of a cool doorknob, or I have to look in a shop window (biggest regret so far is not buying a figurine of a wooden bunny driving a carrot race car). Then our family excursion stretches all the way down the cobblestone street.
I was shocked by the number of American accents I heard in Rothenburg. I am used to hearing English speakers around Hannover sometimes, but these were outspoken, slang-using, ball cap-wearing Americans. I should not have been surprised, since this is one of the most popular places to visit in Germany, but I couldn't help it.
The next stop was Dinkelsbuehl, which is almost as pretty as Rothenburg and has the added attraction of being a functional small town with traffic and hair salons and travel agencies, all housed in picturesque medieval buildings like these:
In Dinkelsbuehl, despite the raw and cloudy day, my dad wanted ice cream. He had his mind set on it. And I confess that despite the chilly weather, ice cream started sounding pretty good to me too.
Like a cowboy who swaggers into a saloon with his spurs jingling, slams a fist on the bar and demands a whisky, Dad went right into the ice cream shop to ask confidently for two scoops in a dish. I walked in, at least ten strides behind, to find him gesturing and see the man behind the counter looking completely bewildered. His eyes were huge and staring blankly. He may have been shaking. I convinced Dad to sit down at a table and open a menu, then I explained to the Italian waiter what we wanted in my imperfect German. He must have recovered from his shock well enough to serve up some ice cream while we listened to Italian radio programs. In a Western, he would have been the first one to duck behind the bar when the bad guy walks in, especially if that bad guy spoke English.
So we weren't finishing each others' sentences exactly, but had formed quite a team.
*Regarding the photos - due to some technical difficulties, I haven't brushed them up as much as I'd like to. The full set of photos will be up on Facebook in about a week.
Friday, March 22, 2013
A few days in review
Saturday:
We had a party for St Patrick's Day. It wasn't supposed to be more than a few people coming over.
Then I went to bed at 3:30, and there were still people in my house.
My wonderful husband stayed up and washed the dishes 'til almost 5.
How does this happen? Time felt different back in the U.S...
Unlike our last few parties, no glasses were broken, no crusty guacamole on the floor the next day, no red wine splashed on the wall. I'd call that a success.
Sunday:
Indian food, mopping, early to bed.
Monday:
Confirmed - we now have airline tickets to go to the U.S. this summer! For one fabulous month of heat, sunshine, mosquitoes, root beer and Mountain Dew, we will be back home. On the agenda is a Gray family reunion and some time with Twin Cities friends... and that's it so far.
Tuesday:
I subbed for P.E. class and a 6th grade boy was injured playing fortress doctor dodgeball. It's not worth explaining what that is, except that part of the fortress fell on his head and there was blood. I'm not sure I'm qualified for this.
Wednesday:
Got on a train headed south, met up with my parents in Augsburg for a week of sightseeing. More on that trip to come. We don't plan on staying up past 12 but a wine glass has already been broken.
We had a party for St Patrick's Day. It wasn't supposed to be more than a few people coming over.
Then I went to bed at 3:30, and there were still people in my house.
My wonderful husband stayed up and washed the dishes 'til almost 5.
How does this happen? Time felt different back in the U.S...
Unlike our last few parties, no glasses were broken, no crusty guacamole on the floor the next day, no red wine splashed on the wall. I'd call that a success.
Sunday:
Indian food, mopping, early to bed.
Monday:
Confirmed - we now have airline tickets to go to the U.S. this summer! For one fabulous month of heat, sunshine, mosquitoes, root beer and Mountain Dew, we will be back home. On the agenda is a Gray family reunion and some time with Twin Cities friends... and that's it so far.
Tuesday:
I subbed for P.E. class and a 6th grade boy was injured playing fortress doctor dodgeball. It's not worth explaining what that is, except that part of the fortress fell on his head and there was blood. I'm not sure I'm qualified for this.
Wednesday:
Got on a train headed south, met up with my parents in Augsburg for a week of sightseeing. More on that trip to come. We don't plan on staying up past 12 but a wine glass has already been broken.
Monday, March 18, 2013
Hannover landmarks
First is the Kroepke clock. Do you remember the meeting spot under the horse's tail? If you are not meeting at the horse's tail in Hannover, you are probably meeting at the Kroepke clock. Kroepke is the name of the biggest and busiest part of Hannover's downtown. It's basically a square with the opera house on one side and a pedestrian shopping street on the other. You can usually find a street musician or two there, along with a balloon man and a sausage vendor. There are usually at least ten people standing around the clock, waiting to meet someone.
It's hard in Hannover, and I think in most of Germany, to really lose track of what time it is. There are clocks all over - on church steeples, on the front on the Rathaus, at tram stops, and sometimes even outside of storefronts, hanging over the sidewalk. The Germans are punctual people. If you are meeting friends at the clock, they can definitely tell when you are running late.
The next landmark is a trio, a trio of buxom hippie lady statues. They are the Nanas. On Saturday mornings, the flea market opens under and around them, along the Leine River banks. The Nanas were created by French artist Niki de Sant Phalle in the 1960s and have been in Hannover since 1974. The Nanas are meant to emphasize feminism and women's rights, so they are very... rounded. These "everywomen" are named Sophie, Caroline, and Charlotte (I'm not sure which is which). They also sport some cool psychedelic outfits. While the Nanas were controversial when they first arrived, now they are some of the most loved landmarks of Hannover.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
Friday night with the neighbors (part 2)
Here's the (not-so) exciting conclusion to my last post:
I spent Friday night with the neighbors, trying to follow a discussion in German about window repair and water heaters.
Claudia and Nordbert were hosting a meeting of neighbors to talk about the unusually high bills for 2011's Nebenkosten. Brian was also having a "fun" Friday night chaperoning a 4th and 5th grade dance at the school (and wouldn't have understood much anyway), so I was on my own. Their apartment looks like the grown-up page from the Ikea catalog. It's all white and beige and sleek, with fake animal skin rugs and a beautiful stainless-steel kitchen that made me drool.
Like some other gatherings I've been to in Germany, it started out with a bunch of people going outside to smoke while I played with the kid. 4 year old Julian is the son of our next-door neighbor, and has some Playmobil soldiers on horseback that are pretty cool. He also does not use words like "radiator repair".
I decided to play the dumb foreigner card yet again and tell Nordbert that this Nebenkosten thing was all new to us. In the U.S., rent is rent and anything that it doesn't cover is the landlord's responsibility. When the Nebenkosten conversation began and I basically stopped talking and put all my brainpower toward listening. A couple of the neighbors do speak English, but what was I going to do, stop the whole group and ask them to translate some kind of a tenants' rights statute to me? I prefer to struggle through and smile and just get the main ideas down.
After an hour of going through the documentation line by line, we decided that Claudia would email the landlady and ask for an extension for all of us on paying the bills, and Meike would meet with the tenants' rights organization and find out what we could do. The main issues were that: 1. some expenses showed up as on our bills than they were on the attached receipts, and 2. we were being billed for some costs, like functioning windows, that should be the landlady's responsibility. Another couple, who are not foreign, had paid their bill too, making me feel a little better. If any of the costs are adjusted, we can probably get our money back. I'm pretty sure that's what I heard.
The more interesting part of the evening, though, was the talk about the neighbors who weren't there. The therapist with a practice on the ground floor apparently had her husband playing trumpet on Christmas morning, and he woke everyone up. There was some joke that the sketchy-looking older guy from the 3rd floor (who I sometimes see walking around with a lot of plastic bags) smells like garlic, and makes the building smell like garlic. I am not sure if there was some history there I didn't know about, or if I missed too many words, but everyone else seemed to find it funny. They clearly all knew each other pretty well.
As the conversation wrapped up, Nordbert asked me how long it takes me to run around the Maschsee. I was not expecting that question but it made me realize what they probably say about Brian and me when we are not around. They see us going out for runs or a bike rides and don't know much else about us... other than that we speak English and sometimes drop ashes and passports and other items from our balcony onto their windowsills and balconies below.
What did they say about me when I left the room? Who knows. They did make me promise that Brian and I would come out the next time they have a barbecue (grill-party in German) in the back yard. We generally avoid those events because Brian and I both hate making people speak English to us and keeping them from having normal relaxed conversations in a social situation. It makes us feel like dumb foreigners who need extra assistance. Which, I guess, is what we are. Katrin, who is the target of our ash-dropping, did tell the story of coming to our housewarming/Thanksgiving party last year and hearing everyone around her speak English and feeling helpless. So maybe she empathizes.
What comes next with the Nebenkosten? We will wait to hear, or get another letter from the landlady. What comes next with our neighbors? Maybe I'll talk with them more, or at least give them something more to talk about.
I spent Friday night with the neighbors, trying to follow a discussion in German about window repair and water heaters.
Claudia and Nordbert were hosting a meeting of neighbors to talk about the unusually high bills for 2011's Nebenkosten. Brian was also having a "fun" Friday night chaperoning a 4th and 5th grade dance at the school (and wouldn't have understood much anyway), so I was on my own. Their apartment looks like the grown-up page from the Ikea catalog. It's all white and beige and sleek, with fake animal skin rugs and a beautiful stainless-steel kitchen that made me drool.
Like some other gatherings I've been to in Germany, it started out with a bunch of people going outside to smoke while I played with the kid. 4 year old Julian is the son of our next-door neighbor, and has some Playmobil soldiers on horseback that are pretty cool. He also does not use words like "radiator repair".
I decided to play the dumb foreigner card yet again and tell Nordbert that this Nebenkosten thing was all new to us. In the U.S., rent is rent and anything that it doesn't cover is the landlord's responsibility. When the Nebenkosten conversation began and I basically stopped talking and put all my brainpower toward listening. A couple of the neighbors do speak English, but what was I going to do, stop the whole group and ask them to translate some kind of a tenants' rights statute to me? I prefer to struggle through and smile and just get the main ideas down.
After an hour of going through the documentation line by line, we decided that Claudia would email the landlady and ask for an extension for all of us on paying the bills, and Meike would meet with the tenants' rights organization and find out what we could do. The main issues were that: 1. some expenses showed up as on our bills than they were on the attached receipts, and 2. we were being billed for some costs, like functioning windows, that should be the landlady's responsibility. Another couple, who are not foreign, had paid their bill too, making me feel a little better. If any of the costs are adjusted, we can probably get our money back. I'm pretty sure that's what I heard.
The more interesting part of the evening, though, was the talk about the neighbors who weren't there. The therapist with a practice on the ground floor apparently had her husband playing trumpet on Christmas morning, and he woke everyone up. There was some joke that the sketchy-looking older guy from the 3rd floor (who I sometimes see walking around with a lot of plastic bags) smells like garlic, and makes the building smell like garlic. I am not sure if there was some history there I didn't know about, or if I missed too many words, but everyone else seemed to find it funny. They clearly all knew each other pretty well.
As the conversation wrapped up, Nordbert asked me how long it takes me to run around the Maschsee. I was not expecting that question but it made me realize what they probably say about Brian and me when we are not around. They see us going out for runs or a bike rides and don't know much else about us... other than that we speak English and sometimes drop ashes and passports and other items from our balcony onto their windowsills and balconies below.
What did they say about me when I left the room? Who knows. They did make me promise that Brian and I would come out the next time they have a barbecue (grill-party in German) in the back yard. We generally avoid those events because Brian and I both hate making people speak English to us and keeping them from having normal relaxed conversations in a social situation. It makes us feel like dumb foreigners who need extra assistance. Which, I guess, is what we are. Katrin, who is the target of our ash-dropping, did tell the story of coming to our housewarming/Thanksgiving party last year and hearing everyone around her speak English and feeling helpless. So maybe she empathizes.
What comes next with the Nebenkosten? We will wait to hear, or get another letter from the landlady. What comes next with our neighbors? Maybe I'll talk with them more, or at least give them something more to talk about.
Neighbors, Nebenkosten, and mistakes (part 1)
I've learned a lot about apartment rental in Germany and about our neighbors in the last few days. And there has been a lot of learning from my own mistakes.
Let me give you a little background for this story.
In Germany, every month renters pay rent for the apartment or house, plus Nebenkosten. Nebenkosten literally means "costs beside", and includes things like water, building maintenance, insurance, garbage pick-up, etc. The landlord determines the amount of Nebenkosten that each tenant should pay every month based on the size or your apartment and how many people are living there. Then, at the end of the year, the landlord compares the actual costs with what you paid in, and you either get money back, break even, or pay extra.
About two weeks ago, we got the documentation for 2011 Nebenkosten. We owed 388 euros, which seemed like a lot to me. It came with a stack of receipts and bills and cost break-downs and a cover letter stating that costs were high because of a gas leak that had to be repaired. I asked our friend Thorsten to take a look at the letter and clarify what it said. Then I paid the bill. This is dumb foreigner mistake #1.
Then Thursday night, the doorbell rang. The doorbell sounds just like the buzzer from outside the building. Also, there is currently huge Irish flag on the inside of the door and a "Help wanted - no Irish need apply" sign covering our peep hole (in honor of St. Patrick's Day). So I picked up the intercom phone and said "hallo" to no one waiting on the sidewalk outside. This is dumb foreigner mistake #2 because the neighbors were standing outside my door. Claudia and Nordbert from the second floor had come to tell me that the Nebenkosten bills were especially high this year - they owed over 500 and the people below us owed 700 - and there would be a neighbors' meeting at their place on Friday night. They hoped we would come.
This was not my idea of a great way to spend Friday night, but if there was a chance to contest the bill and get the money back, then it was worth trying to follow the conversation. Since I'd done ok with the chat in front of my door all in German, I felt like I had a shot.
Did I really? How many other dumb foreigner mistakes would I make? Read on to find out in part 2...
Let me give you a little background for this story.
In Germany, every month renters pay rent for the apartment or house, plus Nebenkosten. Nebenkosten literally means "costs beside", and includes things like water, building maintenance, insurance, garbage pick-up, etc. The landlord determines the amount of Nebenkosten that each tenant should pay every month based on the size or your apartment and how many people are living there. Then, at the end of the year, the landlord compares the actual costs with what you paid in, and you either get money back, break even, or pay extra.
About two weeks ago, we got the documentation for 2011 Nebenkosten. We owed 388 euros, which seemed like a lot to me. It came with a stack of receipts and bills and cost break-downs and a cover letter stating that costs were high because of a gas leak that had to be repaired. I asked our friend Thorsten to take a look at the letter and clarify what it said. Then I paid the bill. This is dumb foreigner mistake #1.
Then Thursday night, the doorbell rang. The doorbell sounds just like the buzzer from outside the building. Also, there is currently huge Irish flag on the inside of the door and a "Help wanted - no Irish need apply" sign covering our peep hole (in honor of St. Patrick's Day). So I picked up the intercom phone and said "hallo" to no one waiting on the sidewalk outside. This is dumb foreigner mistake #2 because the neighbors were standing outside my door. Claudia and Nordbert from the second floor had come to tell me that the Nebenkosten bills were especially high this year - they owed over 500 and the people below us owed 700 - and there would be a neighbors' meeting at their place on Friday night. They hoped we would come.
This was not my idea of a great way to spend Friday night, but if there was a chance to contest the bill and get the money back, then it was worth trying to follow the conversation. Since I'd done ok with the chat in front of my door all in German, I felt like I had a shot.
Did I really? How many other dumb foreigner mistakes would I make? Read on to find out in part 2...
Monday, March 11, 2013
Mystery meat
Have you heard about the horse meat? I know, it's old news by now. But I decided that I, as a reflective ex-pat and sole writer of this blog, am qualified to write about it, because I want to.
A few weeks ago, horsemeat was discovered in several kinds of processed meat products in five European countries. The foods were labelled as containing beef, but actually contained mostly horsemeat. The item that seems to be most disturbing to consumers is frozen lasagna.
I understand the uproar - you should not be eating a horse when you think you are eating a cow. There's nothing wrong with eating horse meat, however, except that horses are pretty.
The EU prides itself on food safety, on banning many genetically engineered crops, even on regulating the size and shape of bananas. It seems like the horse meat scandal has all the European countries very embarrassed and pointing fingers at each other.
I found this in a BBC article:
"Frozen processed foods had arrived in Germany, via Luxembourg, from Comigel - the supplier in northeastern France which sent mince containing horsemeat to several UK retailers. The supermarket giant Tesco, frozen food firm Findus and budget chain Aldi received mince containing horsemeat from Comigel.
So it's the Romanians' fault. Let's blame it on them and see if they fight back.
German paper Der Spiegel reported that horse meat found in canned goulash was traced back to suppliers in Poland. Germany can try pointing its finger at the Poles, but they should be careful. The Poles are probably still resenting that whole World War II invasion thing.
Then horse meat showed up at the most beloved of all European institutions: Ikea. Inspectors discovered that the iconic Swedish meatballs contained horse meat. The source turned out to be a Swedish supplier working with, again, a Polish slaughterhouse.
This scandal has caused EU powers to propose a new plan for labelling any products containing meat. The food packaging would have to state the origin of the food, in this case where the animal was raised. I don't know for sure, but I'm assuming "mystery meat" is not an acceptable classification.
I am all in favor of knowing where you food came from or how far it has traveled, but doing so only after a horse meat scandal seems somehow unfair. Does this mean that shoppers will stop buying meat that comes from Poland or Russia? Who's to say that meat produced in other places is any safer? Isn't the EU supposed to be like one big economy where borders aren't important? I guess not.
Maybe the issue is really about cheap meat. Not to get on my high horse (bad pun - haha) about ethical meat-eating, but if buyers demand a low price for meat, then they are going to get low quality meat, right? Maybe people should just pay a little more for meat and eat it less often. Maybe they should just go for the veggie lasagna next time.
A few weeks ago, horsemeat was discovered in several kinds of processed meat products in five European countries. The foods were labelled as containing beef, but actually contained mostly horsemeat. The item that seems to be most disturbing to consumers is frozen lasagna.
I understand the uproar - you should not be eating a horse when you think you are eating a cow. There's nothing wrong with eating horse meat, however, except that horses are pretty.
The EU prides itself on food safety, on banning many genetically engineered crops, even on regulating the size and shape of bananas. It seems like the horse meat scandal has all the European countries very embarrassed and pointing fingers at each other.
I found this in a BBC article:
"Frozen processed foods had arrived in Germany, via Luxembourg, from Comigel - the supplier in northeastern France which sent mince containing horsemeat to several UK retailers. The supermarket giant Tesco, frozen food firm Findus and budget chain Aldi received mince containing horsemeat from Comigel.
The French firm denied
wrongdoing, saying it had ordered the meat from Spanghero, a firm in
southern France, via a Comigel subsidiary in Luxembourg - Tavola. The supply chain reportedly led back to traders in Cyprus and the Netherlands, then to abattoirs in Romania."
So it's the Romanians' fault. Let's blame it on them and see if they fight back.
German paper Der Spiegel reported that horse meat found in canned goulash was traced back to suppliers in Poland. Germany can try pointing its finger at the Poles, but they should be careful. The Poles are probably still resenting that whole World War II invasion thing.
Then horse meat showed up at the most beloved of all European institutions: Ikea. Inspectors discovered that the iconic Swedish meatballs contained horse meat. The source turned out to be a Swedish supplier working with, again, a Polish slaughterhouse.
This scandal has caused EU powers to propose a new plan for labelling any products containing meat. The food packaging would have to state the origin of the food, in this case where the animal was raised. I don't know for sure, but I'm assuming "mystery meat" is not an acceptable classification.
I am all in favor of knowing where you food came from or how far it has traveled, but doing so only after a horse meat scandal seems somehow unfair. Does this mean that shoppers will stop buying meat that comes from Poland or Russia? Who's to say that meat produced in other places is any safer? Isn't the EU supposed to be like one big economy where borders aren't important? I guess not.
Maybe the issue is really about cheap meat. Not to get on my high horse (bad pun - haha) about ethical meat-eating, but if buyers demand a low price for meat, then they are going to get low quality meat, right? Maybe people should just pay a little more for meat and eat it less often. Maybe they should just go for the veggie lasagna next time.
Friday, March 8, 2013
Meet Play Global!
Hey readers,
Usually my blog is about my own musings and misadventures, but today I have something to tell you that's actually interesting.
Over the past several months, I have been working on starting a nonprofit organization. It's called Play Global!
It wasn't my idea. The visionary is our own Tom (Dizzy) Gillespie. He usually appears in my blog when I write about trips to Hamburg, or our vacations to Egypt and Scotland. This time, he's the man with a plan to continue offering baseball programs to kids and coaches in developing countries and places dealing with a lot of conflict. He's done some of this work before, but funding from corporations and MLB isn't available to do much more.
And why, you ask? Sure these kids need a lot of things, but why baseball? That was my question too. The answer is that baseball is a tool. It is a chance for participants to learn the lessons that can help them succeed now and in the future: how to play and work as a team, how to respect each others' differences, how to learn from your mistakes. Baseball is unique because most kids in Uganda or Israel or Serbia haven't played it before. It gives them an opportunity to start together from the beginning, no matter their gender, religion, or ethnic background.
And why me? I have some experience in managing programs and doing communications for nonprofits, and I'm working on my Master's degree in Public and Nonprofit Administration. There's a little I already know and a lot I am learning along the way.
And why now? We've been working on the organization since September, but this week we are getting the word out and asking our contacts to "meet Play Global!". The organization is mentioned in an article about youth baseball in Uganda that will be published in the program for the World Baseball Classic, which starts this week. That gave us a deadline to get our website in shape, and have a clear message to send about our programs. We're planning to do a few clinics later this year for both players and coaches.
There's a lot more information about Play Global!, our programs, and how you can help on the website: www.play-global.org
You can also keep up on our progress and spread the word by liking our Facebook page.
That's all the news for now. I promise to write more about mundane daily adventures soon.
Usually my blog is about my own musings and misadventures, but today I have something to tell you that's actually interesting.
Over the past several months, I have been working on starting a nonprofit organization. It's called Play Global!
And why, you ask? Sure these kids need a lot of things, but why baseball? That was my question too. The answer is that baseball is a tool. It is a chance for participants to learn the lessons that can help them succeed now and in the future: how to play and work as a team, how to respect each others' differences, how to learn from your mistakes. Baseball is unique because most kids in Uganda or Israel or Serbia haven't played it before. It gives them an opportunity to start together from the beginning, no matter their gender, religion, or ethnic background.
And why me? I have some experience in managing programs and doing communications for nonprofits, and I'm working on my Master's degree in Public and Nonprofit Administration. There's a little I already know and a lot I am learning along the way.
And why now? We've been working on the organization since September, but this week we are getting the word out and asking our contacts to "meet Play Global!". The organization is mentioned in an article about youth baseball in Uganda that will be published in the program for the World Baseball Classic, which starts this week. That gave us a deadline to get our website in shape, and have a clear message to send about our programs. We're planning to do a few clinics later this year for both players and coaches.
There's a lot more information about Play Global!, our programs, and how you can help on the website: www.play-global.org
You can also keep up on our progress and spread the word by liking our Facebook page.
That's all the news for now. I promise to write more about mundane daily adventures soon.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Signs of spring
It has been warm and sunny in Hannover this week. I haven't seen the sun this many days in a row since probably October. And with temperatures in the 50s, today is the kind of day when at least 5% of Minnesotans would be walking around in shorts, displaying glowing white legs.
In Hannover, most people are not that extreme. But the fair-weather joggers are out, along with the people who go rollerblading in jeans, and several Hannoverians seem to have removed their scarves. These are sure signs of spring. The ice cream shop around the corner from us is now open for the season and I saw a few crocuses in bloom yesterday.
The surest sign of warmer weather, however, was something I spotted while out on my bike yesterday - a naked guy at the naked lake. You may recall my post about the naked lake and the FKK nudist club. Well, this one was not afraid to sport his birthday suit in early March.
Temperatures will start dropping tomorrow and we'll have sleet before you know it. In Minnesota, it would be about time for a major spring snowfall that would crush the hopes of young baseball players and have sprinters and their coaches (like me, at least for many years) shoveling off the track.
Enjoy it while it lasts, Hannover. Buy an ice cream cone and dig out those shorts if you feel daring. Just keep them on, please.
In Hannover, most people are not that extreme. But the fair-weather joggers are out, along with the people who go rollerblading in jeans, and several Hannoverians seem to have removed their scarves. These are sure signs of spring. The ice cream shop around the corner from us is now open for the season and I saw a few crocuses in bloom yesterday.
The surest sign of warmer weather, however, was something I spotted while out on my bike yesterday - a naked guy at the naked lake. You may recall my post about the naked lake and the FKK nudist club. Well, this one was not afraid to sport his birthday suit in early March.
Temperatures will start dropping tomorrow and we'll have sleet before you know it. In Minnesota, it would be about time for a major spring snowfall that would crush the hopes of young baseball players and have sprinters and their coaches (like me, at least for many years) shoveling off the track.
Enjoy it while it lasts, Hannover. Buy an ice cream cone and dig out those shorts if you feel daring. Just keep them on, please.
Sunday, March 3, 2013
My new (old) bicycle
I got an early birthday present this week.
I had been wanting to get an old beater of a bike to ride around town, especially as the snow fell this winter and I was riding around on my old road bike with skinny tires and no fenders, and brakes that were getting sticky. Plus, that bike is too pretty. It's bright blue and looks like a bike someone would want to steal, even if the chain is rusted. I wanted to (I know it sounds lame) fit in. My blue bike just screams "foreigner". I wanted to be one of those people who rides a bike slowly, sitting completely upright, holding an umbrella, wearing a skirt, and smoking a cigarette. (Ok, not the cigarette part, but you get the picture.)
I told my idea to Brian one day. "Oh," he said, "that's what I was going to get you for your birthday." (My birthday is still a month away.) Brian and I spend more time together than we used to. And sometimes we start to think the same things. So it was settled. I was going to get a new (old) bike.
I did most of the searching online through Kleinanzeigen, which is a part of Ebay where people can post classified ads for free. It's like the German version of Craig's List. I emailed a few sellers and never heard back, so I decided to call. Calling people in Germany is scary for me. I have no hand gestures or smiles or looks of confusion to rely on. And after one awkward conversation in which I concentrated really hard trying to understand a man who must have been the fastest-talking German alive, I decided to be more humble. The first thing I should have said was "I'm sorry, my German is not very good, could you please speak slower?". What do I gain by pretending I understand everything he says? I know that's the logical way to think about it, but in the moment I so wanted to be a fully-functioning and literate adult that I couldn't bring myself to say it.
On Wednesday I acted fast. Two bikes had been posted online the night before, and I emailed right away, then sent them text messages. One replied to say that the bike was gone already, and the other wanted me to come and see the bike that afternoon. When I got there, a little late because I'd gotten lost, the first thing I told the lady who answered the door was "I'm sorry, I don't speak German very well." "Neither do I, she replied," and we laughed. I think she is Russian or Ukranian or from somewhere east of here. Her bike was pink and purple with a teal colored chain guard, and fenders, a chain that doesn't squeak and a light that works. I bought it. Fifty-five euros later, I felt just slightly less foreign. I rode home sitting straight upright.
I had been wanting to get an old beater of a bike to ride around town, especially as the snow fell this winter and I was riding around on my old road bike with skinny tires and no fenders, and brakes that were getting sticky. Plus, that bike is too pretty. It's bright blue and looks like a bike someone would want to steal, even if the chain is rusted. I wanted to (I know it sounds lame) fit in. My blue bike just screams "foreigner". I wanted to be one of those people who rides a bike slowly, sitting completely upright, holding an umbrella, wearing a skirt, and smoking a cigarette. (Ok, not the cigarette part, but you get the picture.)
I told my idea to Brian one day. "Oh," he said, "that's what I was going to get you for your birthday." (My birthday is still a month away.) Brian and I spend more time together than we used to. And sometimes we start to think the same things. So it was settled. I was going to get a new (old) bike.
I did most of the searching online through Kleinanzeigen, which is a part of Ebay where people can post classified ads for free. It's like the German version of Craig's List. I emailed a few sellers and never heard back, so I decided to call. Calling people in Germany is scary for me. I have no hand gestures or smiles or looks of confusion to rely on. And after one awkward conversation in which I concentrated really hard trying to understand a man who must have been the fastest-talking German alive, I decided to be more humble. The first thing I should have said was "I'm sorry, my German is not very good, could you please speak slower?". What do I gain by pretending I understand everything he says? I know that's the logical way to think about it, but in the moment I so wanted to be a fully-functioning and literate adult that I couldn't bring myself to say it.
On Wednesday I acted fast. Two bikes had been posted online the night before, and I emailed right away, then sent them text messages. One replied to say that the bike was gone already, and the other wanted me to come and see the bike that afternoon. When I got there, a little late because I'd gotten lost, the first thing I told the lady who answered the door was "I'm sorry, I don't speak German very well." "Neither do I, she replied," and we laughed. I think she is Russian or Ukranian or from somewhere east of here. Her bike was pink and purple with a teal colored chain guard, and fenders, a chain that doesn't squeak and a light that works. I bought it. Fifty-five euros later, I felt just slightly less foreign. I rode home sitting straight upright.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
About Me
- Julia
- Thanks for coming to my blog. It started as a way to keep in touch with family and friends, and now has become an ongoing project. I'm an American living in Germany and trying to travel whenever I can. I write about my experiences as an expatriate (the interesting ones and the embarrassing ones), and about my travels. There are some recurring characters in this blog, particularly my husband Brian and several of our friends. The title comes from the idea that living in a foreign country means making a lot of mistakes. So the things you used to do easily you now have to try over and over again. Hopefully, like me, you can laugh at how idiotic it feels. If you have happened upon my blog, then welcome. Knowing that people are reading what I write makes me keep going. Feel free to write comments or suggestions for future posts.