Luebeck

Please forgive me my holiday slacking off on the blog. Here's a post about what I did before Christmas:

I went to Luebeck with my friend Kaska for the weekend. There was no real reason for the trip, other than that we wanted to go away for a couple of days and see somewhere else in the world. There was also the fact that Kaska is having a baby in May and after that it won’t be so easy to pick up and go anymore.

Luebeck is a small city that used to be a big city. From the 11th to 17th centuries,  Luebeck was really rich and important. It was the capital of the Hanseatic League and the main port out to the Baltic Sea. The Hanseatic League was an trade alliance of cities in northern Europe - sort of like the EU but richer and with fewer members.

Luebeck is cool because its entire city center is historic. Many German cities, Hannover included, have a distinct historic district that is reconstructed and deliberately quaint. Much of Luebeck’s downtown, however, looks just like it did in the 17^th century. It's quaint-ness is more sincere. Allied bombs in WWII were considerate enough to explode outside the city center, hitting places of more strategic importance than the city’s seven gothic churches.

Our trip had two goals – Christmas markets and a swimming pool. Luebeck has several different Christmas markets that ooze down the streets and around the churches and melt together in a sticky, smoky, cinnamon-scented mess of Christmas cheer. At the center of it all is St. Mary’s Church and the devil. No, it’s not Krampus. It goes like this:

As the people of Lübeck were building St. Mary's, along came the devil and asked what they were building. "A large tavern", they lied so as not to anger him. A tavern? A place of vice and drunkenness?" This pleased the devil and he gave a hand so that the building quickly grew.

Only when the church was nearly finished did the devil see that the people of Lübeck had tricked him. Furious, he picked up a huge boulder so as to destroy the building. The people pleaded with him and promised to build a large tavern right next door, the Ratskeller. The devil dropped the boulder so that it fell close to the church and it stands there today.

Kaska, the devil, and me

Luebeck is also home to Germany’s famous marzipan. I have a confession to make – I think marzipan is gross. This is why, no matter how well I learn to speak German or how many scarves I buy, I will always be a foreigner. Germans love the stuff. Marzipan is around all year, but takes center stage at Christmas, when it lures you with pretty shapes and chocolate coverings until you are convinced that there must be something delicious inside, then dashes your hopes with its pasty, grainy guts.  

In Luebeck we met up with friends of Kaska's, drank Gluhwein (warm, spiced wine) in the Fishermen's church, had a conversation in four languages with a Polish jewelry maker with dreadlocks from Tenerife, and spent a morning in the swimming pool and the sauna. We also visited a museum exhibit on Nativity scenes from around the world. It was a festive, fun and Christmasy weekend. Even better, I was not tricked into eating any marzipan.

Holiday time in Hannover

It doesn't feel much like Christmas around Hannover. It's a damp 43 degrees without even a plastic reindeer or nativity scene in sight. There are a couple of places, however, where holiday spirit has taken hold. Here are a few photos:

Hannover Christmas Market.
Market stands along remnants of the old city wall

This snowman on stilts was a little sassy.
I wonder if anyone tried to trip him.

Kaska with kielbasa

                                                 

Holiday baking with exactly 16 inches of counter space. I am not a tidy cook.

Yes, those cookies are lying on top of my washing machine

Krampus, the bad Santa

Meet Krampus, the Christmas devil.
Beyond the sugarplums and snowflakes, Krampus lurks in the shadows behind your Christmas tree.



This guy makes the Grinch seem jolly. In Alpine folklore, Krampus is a demonic figure with goat horns and hooves, a lot of hair and a long pointy tongue. He carries chains and sack on his back. He is St. Nicholas's bad boy companion. While Nicholas rewards good children with gifts on December 6th, Krampus kidnaps the bad ones. He puts them in his sack and carries them away to his fiery lair.

Krampus comes from pre-Christian traditions and may have later developed into the Christian image of the devil. In Germany, Austria, Hungary, Slovenia and Croatia, Krampus is part of Christmas folklore.

In many cities of the region, December 5th is the night of the Krampuslauf - a parade of the greusome anti-Santas. Check out this video clip of the Krampuslauf in Graz, Austria.

Forget good will toward men. These guys are mean.


After decades of being ignored in favor rosy-cheeked Santa Claus, Krampus is having a pop culture rennaisance. He was recently featured in American Dad, and the series Grimm. Grimm is a favorite in our household - it's about how most of the criminals in Portland are actually supernatural creatures with German fairy tale roots, and the detective/avenger of evil who can see them in thier true forms has to figure out how to beat them at their own game. Its actually not as weird as it sounds. There are also German phrases in it from time to time that I can now understand.

Every good story needs a villain, even the Christmas story. And Krampus is a perfect fit (King Herod doesn't have much of a stage presence). He would certainly keep me from dreaming of sugar plum fairies. I'd rather just take the lump of coal.

Things Americans do backwards

Why has world domination eluded the United States?
We are masters of pop culture, technology, Olympic sports and the Snickers bar. We have a lot of people, a lot of money, a lot of weapons and a lot of high-fructose corn syrup. We haven't been bothered with dictators ever or civil war for a couple of centuries.
Yet we have not yet taken over the planet.

Why? I'll tell you why - yards, degrees Farenheit, quarts and how we write our dates.

Today a 10 year old German boy named Nikolaus asked me what yards are for, and how much is a yard in meters. As a substitute teacher I should know this.
"Well," I said, "a yard is almost the same length as a meter. People use yards in the U.S. and sometimes in England."
"If it's almost the same, why don't you just use meters then?" he asked.
"That's a good question. I don't know."
"I know - because you use yards in golf."
"That's true," I said. End of discussion.
This same child answered the question 'what does Christmas mean to you?' by saying, "it means golfing on Mallorca."

Measuring things like fabric and football fields in yards is one of our major handicaps. So is writing down what day it is. Even though people around the world agree that 9/11 was a terrible day, most of them probably think it happened in November. Europeans, like everyone else in the world, write their dates with the day, then the month, then the year. This is inherently logical. You start small and work your way up.

Why do Americans go with the month first? My in-depth google search brought me no answers other than that Americans are backwards. And if the internet doesn't know it, then there must not be an answer.
I have no idea what sort of global summits, academic symposiums an multinational corporate meetings Americans have missed. I can imagine what may have happened, though:
"Hello, I'm here to sign the international accord on nuclear energy. Where do I check in?"
"Um, I am sorry sir, that happened in March."

Time/date challenges on a lesser scale face expats like myself. Luckily I have not messed up any of my official documents. I'm lucky, because my birth date is 4-4. It's idiot-proof.

I blame it all on the English. They got us going with feet and pounds and - my personal favorite - stones. There's a scale in the teachers' bathroom at school that is set to tell your weight in stones. One stone is worth 14 pounds, so this scale is great for your self-image. The British have mostly moved on to the metric system and put their dates before their months. But we have one advantage - they still drive on the left.

So when little Nikolaus is out his designer golf shirt and plaid pants on a course in Mallorca on 25-12-13, maybe he will think about how Americans do things a little bit backwards. Maybe he will be eating a Snickers bar too.

Adventzeit

It's Advent time in Hannover. In case you don't hang on my every word (I hope you don't), I'll remind you that Advent is a thing in Germany. As in, you buy something at the bakery and the cashier wishes you a happy 2nd Advent Sunday. There are Advent calendars and Advent wreaths everywhere. As a Catholic and an American, Advent to me means solemn songs and purple candles before the crazy happy relief of Christmas. And it's something you don't discuss outside of church.

When I covered a 3rd grade class last week, part of my job was to open another day in the Advent calendar with the kids every morning. All sorts of alarm bells were going off in my secular, politically-correct mindset. But little Abtin from Iran went ahead and opened the next day of the calendar for me, and no one seemed to mind.

So while my compatriots are putting up giant light-up inflatable reindeer and Happy Holidays signs in their American yards, Hannoverians have a tasteful set of four candles in the window and Advent wreaths full of chocolate. The German Christmas tree (Weihnachtsbaum) comes later. So much later, in fact, that it's weird to put one up more than a week or two before Christmas. It's also common in Germany to use real candles to light up your tree. Hopefully you don't light it up so much that it burns down your house. To Americans, using real candles on a Christmas tree seems crazy and dangerous. Of course, we can have handguns in the house and that doesn't seem weird.

So if you live on the fourth floor with no elevator, and you don't own a car, how do you get a tree?
It's almost like the Griswold family tromping through the snow and finding a giant tree to embody the spirit of Christmas ("Dad, did you bring a saw?"). But really it's more like riding your bikes down to the lake, picking out a little tree from the lot, loading it on your bike and then walking it home. I did wear my Santa hat, though.

Brian is less excited about this photo opportunity than I am.

The tree is up, and looking lovely, in our living room. It has only electric lights. We've got stockings hanging from the window handles and lights on the hallway ceiling. Maybe we should also put some inflatable reindeer out on the balcony...

Storm of the Century

In the land of punctuality, great health care, public safety, good roads, great transit and robust social programs, there are a very few things that make me feel superior as an American. But when northern Germany started to shut down yesterday as it prepared for the Storm of the Century, I rolled my eyes. When it comes to dealing with winter weather, the Germans are wimps.

The cause of the storm was Hurricane Xaver, which is a legitimate hurricane that developed over the North and Baltic Seas and caused some real damage in coastal areas. Yesterday in Hannover, we started to prepare for what was predicted to be the worst storm since 1962. There were predictions of gale-force winds, heavy snow and rain. After school activities were cancelled, travelers were advised to stay put, and weather warnings went out all over the media. In order to show you what I mean, and to make it sound funnier, I put this one into Google Translate:

Note to potential risks: There are widespread among other severe damage to buildings possible. Trees can be uprooted and fall down as tiles, branches or objects. Close all windows and doors! Secure outdoor objects! In particular, keep away from buildings, trees, scaffolding and high voltage lines. If possible, avoid outdoor living!

So then I started to think that maybe this was a big deal. As a Midwesterner, I am used to weather systems that involve arctic air hitting the gulf stream... this hurricane-related stuff is all new. Plus if there was rain that turned into freezing rain into ice, it could get dangerous out there. Some schools were already canceling Friday classes, which meant it must be serious.

And this morning, as I woke up to nothing but dry roads and a healthy breeze, I kicked myself (figuratively, that is). I had fallen for their scare tactics and their extreme caution. I was like the German who had to stay home from work because I'd sneezed twice in the same hour.  This is not a real winter storm, one where you can't open your door because of snow, when cars are stranded in the streets, when it's so cold your eyelids freeze together. The north Germans, who hardly even have thunderstorms, much less hurricanes and blizzards, had tricked me. They are an inherently careful and risk-averse people, even when it comes to the weather forecast.

Yes, the wind is blowing hard. I think the pigeons are staying in. And there's some drizzly rain and snow flurries too. Currently, 37 snow flakes have stuck to the ground in Hannover, based on my observations. Some sticks even blew off the trees by the swimming pool (which was delightfully un-crowded as I swam this morning, since so many people were staying home to be safe). In Hamburg, the fish market flooded. They even did the unthinkable there - they closed the Hamburg Christmas markets.

There's little that I can be really snobby about in a place where they do everything so well. For points of national/cultural pride I am basically left with a) toughing it out and going to work when you are a little sick, and b) dealing with severe weather. I guess I could also add c) striking up conversations with complete strangers and d) McDonald's, Hollywood, and Coca-Cola.

Rather than reflect on how pathetic that may be, let's be proud. And let's make fun of these people who don't know what a real storm is like. I just hope to get a tail wind as I bike home from school today.

Thanksgiving part 3

This is the last post about Thanksgiving, I promise, at least until next year. But it was a three day celebration, and deserves one more post.

Saturday was day of Puten Bowl 2, also known as the Turkey Bowl. Even though people who knew how to play American football were in the minority, it was a hit. Everyone filled their typical roles: Brian was the coach, Andrew showed up late, Patrick took his pants off in public, and Kent called in sick. Everyone had a good time aside from being annoyed by a couple of Germans who took the game too seriously and argued about the rules (typical). Here are a few photos of the epic battle between pilgrims and indians:

Back row: Patrick, Sankey, Stephan the show-off, Sallee, Mac, Jake, Macoustra (hidden, aka the other Mac), T-Bird the Danish-Indian wonder
Middle row: Ed the opera singer, Jamie, Smilin' John Licandro, Hendo, Artur (Lithuanian), T-Dog Merkle (in scarf)
Front row: Evan and Marius (the other Lithuanian in crazy pants)

The party Saturday night was a hit. I can't say for sure how many people were here, since they came and went throughout the evening. To my surprise, we had 7 neighbors show up. Apparently they want to be our friends. Brian and I are not sure what to make of this, and whether we should suspect some ulterior motive. It was good the neighbors came pretty early, because my German language skills deteriorated as the night went on. All of our usual good-time friends were there, plus the Lithuanian folk dancers and a musician from Krakow. With no permanent damage to our house and no food or wine left over, I'd call it a success.

Giganturkey

In my last post, I mentioned ordering a turkey for our Thanksgiving dinner. I went on and on about how it needed to be a small turkey so that it would fit in our euro-sized oven. I spoke too soon.

On Thursday I rode my bike to the farmers' market to pick up the turkey. I had my empty backpack and was ready to bring home a bird. I'd had paincky thoughts that maybe they'd forgotten, that there would be no turkey and we'd have to eat sausages for Thanksgiving.

When I told the lady at the poultry stand that I'd come for the whole turkey, she said "I have it, (whew) but there's a problem." If she had it, what could the problem be? Was it a mutant turkey? Did it get run over by a tractor? Had her dog taken a bite out of it? Did it have three legs? no wings? was it still covered in feathers?  How does a three-legged turkey walk around, anyway/

"You ordered a 5 kilo turkey, but it's actually 10 kilos. We will only charge you the 5 kilo price." 10 kilos is 22 lbs. That's enough turkey for a horde of starving pilgirms. It was enough for 1 kilo of turkey for each of our dinner guests. While a huge half price turkey is a great thing, this was sort of a problem. "But I don't think it will fit in my oven," I said, then realized I was complaining about a massive half-priced turkey and decided to keep my mouth shut. I didn't know what had happened - were all their turkeys that huge? Was it an unexpected growth spurt? Did the little turkeys get used for cold cuts? She didn't explain.

When I took out the backpack, ready to transport the bird in style, the turkey lady said, "but I don't think it will fit in there." Thankfully it did. I held the backpack open while she pushed the bird inside it.  I zipped up the bag, loaded the Giganturkey on my back and got on the bike. It may sound ridiculous to carry a massive turkey in a backpack while riding a bicycle through the city, but that's what I did. Keeping my balance as I rode had to be the strangest abdominal workout I've ever done.

I didn't want to cut the legs or the wings off, and thought I'd have a chance of fitting the turkey in if it was tied up tight. Happy turkeys from the market don't come with a little wire thing to hold the legs down or a pop-up timer. They let it all hang out. And of course, we didn't have any string. Luckily, Brian had an old pair of sweat pants with a broken drawstring. So I cut it out of the pants and used it to tie the wings and legs tightly against the body, put the rack on the floor of the oven, and loaded the bird in diagonally. Miraculously, the Giganturkey fit. It's a good thing it wasn't a three-legged turkey. I don't think the drawstring could have stretched around all those drumsticks.

Five hours later, the Giganturkey was ready. It was fantastically juicy and delicious. And after eating a lot, giving some away, and freezing some more, it still is.

Our Thanksgiving dinner crowd

Sankey, Brian with turkey leg, Jake

Andrew and baby Juno, 3 months

Viola and Ulla