Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Guten Morgen Herr Deutschermann

Hallo Herr Deutschermann! Guten Morgen!

Guten Morgen, Sara. How are you doing today?

Oh I am doing well thank you. I was hoping to set up a time to talk about our lesson on the USA next week, I am not available on Tuesday, so maybe Wednesday afternoon?

Oh Sara, I am very busy right now. Things have been very busy for me in the past few months. Let me tell you, with a mother to care for, no children, and teaching until 1pm each day, the time sure goes by fast. The thing is Sara, I never asked for this much responsibility, but it came to me. And, you may not realize this now, but you too will be grown some day. And you will have to understand the importance of respon--

BELL RINGS

Oh, yes Herr Deutschermann, I understand. But I have to run to class, and I was hoping--

Oh Sara, you shouldn't be running through these halls. Don't you know how dangerous it can be to run through halls? It's just not something you should be doing at your age, what are you, 16? When you go to Uni you will understand the importance of taking your time getting to places.

Thank you for your advice. So when can you meet this week?

Well next is really busy for me. And you wouldn't believe the week I had last week. Just look at my planner! You would think I was the president of the United States! By the way, Sara, what do you think of old Barack Obama!? Have you met him? I will tell you, Sara, that Bush character was a bit of an idiot, if you ask me. I am glad you were finally able to vote in someone who can tell the idiotic Americans how to bow down to the Europeans! AH hahaha...

BELL RINGS

My goodness Sara! You are late for your class! You should have left five minutes ago! And, you know, Sara, you forgot to set up a time with me to talk about our lesson next week! It's OK though, because I remembered! Let's do it on Tuesday!

Sunday, May 2, 2010

On Living Alone


There are 80 million people living in Germany. I live in one of the most densely populated areas: the Ruhr area. My town has about 70,000 people, mostly German, some Turkish. I teach classes full of 36 kids, and I am close friends with about 10 Americans/English and 1 German.

But I live alone.

There are a lot of ways to be alone in a foreign place. For instance, I am the only native English speaker for miles around. I am also the only one who has no idea what plastics are recyclable. I am the only one in Dinslaken that can make good chocolate chip cookies, and I am the only person who seems to lack an appreciation for the German delicacy of Spargel.

Living alone means doing a lot of stuff that I usually have help with. Eating dinner, watching TV, yelling at inanimate objects: these are all things that I have to do without the company of friends and family. It also means that I have to eat all of my fruit faster. Unfortunately, candy doesn't go bad, so there are no good excuses for over-eating there.

But its not all bad. Looking around the room, I have a good number of comforts that make time spent here pleasant. For example, I am quieted by the glow-in-the-dark paint-by-number running ponies on the wall across from my bed (Already provided by the landlords). As I drift off to sleep, I run with those ponies through the rushing waters of the American West. I also have a nice assortment of porcelain ducks and eggs that keep me company.


Another comforting aspect of living alone is the fact that I don't disappoint with failed dinner experiments. I've proudly made some pretty delicious meals with the meager choices at German grocery stores (for example, try to make THIS tasty), but I've also proudly made some of the most disgusting food I think ever created. There is one particular chicken dish I have in mind that couldn't even be saved with emergency, flavor saver, American BBQ sauce.

I also love the time I have to people watch. I have this great bay of windows facing a whole slew of back yards. These people have beautiful 10 foot high hedges keeping them safely hidden from passerbys, but little do they know! The bored, curious, and somewhat creepy American girl living alone has nothing better to do but to spy on their gardening techniques. I'll tell you what though, I met my match the other day when I saw an old dude gardening in his tighty whities.

I also get to see how people get their groceries home without cars. While I personally prefer the “hang everything from your bike and pray you make it home” technique, there's an entire family I love to see walking by once a week, grocery cart in tow. The boys skip alongside their mother, ready to stock up on about 10000 liters of water, 6 loaves of bread, and 25 kg of cheese. What a thought—walking to the store with your own personal grocery cart...if only!

As I get closer to the conclusion of this craziness, I am coming to realize how much I appreciate my position in society here. I have the unique opportunity to be an outsider, an observer of an entire culture. Being alone doesn't mean escaping or worrying, but it is a time to indulge in the anonymity that comes with such absolute foreign-ness. Never before have I found myself living the life of the lone wolf, looking out on the world with a (usually) thoughtful gaze, waiting for a new scent to lead me on my next adventure.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Transportation Part Two

As promised, the second part of the transportation saga is here. Ready for readers and right to roar through the German countryside is the German train system. Deutsche Bahn is both a beloved and despised part of life for all Germans. It is sometimes broken, often late, and always expensive. But those trains are without any doubt the most important vector I have...point A and B would simply be two lonely dots on a map without good ole' DB.

I have to praise DB because I don't want to be trapped here (its a Karma thing). So just keep in mind that my official viewpoint is that I love the trains...I love the smelly, packed, dirty, late trains.

There are many things to...love... about trains. For instance, the times I spend on the train during football games can't be beat. It's like a giant party; everyone is so happily full of beer that the only thing holding them up is the fact that they are packed into the car like sardines. What better way to mingle with the people than to breathe in the exhaust of a full day at the football stadium chomping on some Liver Cheese?

I also adore the train stations. When you have the privilege of traveling with the “public”, it is usually the case that you spend a good amount of time waiting around. There are usually a few fun attractions around to keep you occupied. I try to fill the waiting time with grabbing something really bad for me to eat such as bread with cheese, bread with meat, or bread with mayonnaise. But sometimes its just about making it through the station to your track and onto your train. What you have to understand about the “making it through part” is that the bathrooms at train stations commonly explode. (Please note that the word exploded is used accurately here.)

I actually think I have to end this post here. If I think about this subject too long, my brain gets overheated, smoke starts coming out of my nose, and I make high pitched noises and sudden movements....hey just like a train!

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Science and Technology: A Rant

Ok so I know that no one is entirely interested in hearing one of the many rants of the girl with the shortest temper in the world, but this one has got to be said.

The current theme for English classes in the 12th grade is Science and Technology, with a specific focus on Genetic Engineering and the future of science. Now, if you were in the class, you would come to the immediate realization that the future of science includes an army of human clones, vegetables that bite back, and animals with the head of a dog, brain of a human, and strength of a great ape (also monocolored onesies, if I can trust the movies). Upon learning this last week, I realized that somewhere, somehow, wires have gotten crossed. What must have happened is that the secretary over in Duesseldorf was typing up the guidelines for English classes in my state and accidentally included the plot of the comic book he had been working on in his free time. If this isn't the case, then I am fearful for the future of Science in Germany.

So I'll leave you now, keeping in mind that impressionable young minds in Germany are being taught about our dreary scientific future from people who last took a science class up to 30 years ago, with a few quotes from our reading:

“The Pre-Designed Body”, published in 1971. (That's right folks, that's almost 40 years ago!)

“One of the more fantastic possibilities is that man will be able to make biological carbon copies of himself. Through a process known as 'cloning' it will be possible to grow from the nucleus of an adult cell a new organism that has the same genetic characteristics of the person contributing the cell nucleus...Cloning would make it possible for people to see themselves born anew, to fill the world with twins of themselves. Cloning would...provide us with solid empirical evidence to help us resolve..the ancient controversy over 'nature vs nurture' or 'heredity vs environment'...whole libraries of philosophical speculation could, by a single stroke, become irrelevant.”

“In the opinion of many of the world's leading scientists the clock is ticking for a 'biological Hiroshima'”

“We will be able to create sexual superathletes, girls with super-mammaries (and perhaps more or less than the standard two)...”

“In short, it is safe to say that, unless specific counter-measures are taken, if something can be done, someone, somewhere, will do it. The nature of what can and will be done exceeds anything that man is as yet psychologically or morally prepared to live with.”



“The First Test-Tube Baby”: A TIME article that describes the scene in the town where the mother-to-be lived. This one is much more recent and representative of current thought on scientific progress, published in 1978.

“Theologians—and more than a few prominent scientists—sounded warnings about its [the birth of the baby] disturbing moral, ethical and social implications.”

“Some thoughtful observers saw the work as still another ominous step toward further control and manipulation of basic life processes—comparable perhaps to the recently acquired ability of molecular biologists to rearrange and recombine genes of different creatures and even to create new life forms.”

Tomorrow I prepare for battle with two articles: “10 Ways Genetically Engineered Microbes Could Help Humanity” and “Why Should You be Scientifically Literate?”

At least I know that if I get non-GE tomatoes thrown in my face I can use my multiple super-mammaries to block them.

Monday, April 12, 2010

It's all downhill from here

Whew am I tired. I just spent about two weeks with various good friends doing just whatever pleased us...seeing the sights and basking in the sound of the English language as we were bathed in it around various locals in Dublin, Liverpool, Manchester, and London.

I don't think its any surprise for you all that I was pretty excited to get out of Germany for a bit. I could sing praise about almost everything I did...the food was better (boy have I missed sandwiches that don't just contain cucumbers and mayo), the buildings were prettier, and to top it all off, there was an extreme abundance of smiles. Those English and Irish really dig the whole politeness thing.

I've already mentioned a few tidbits about Dublin, Liverpool, and Manchester. But let me start the highlight reel just in case you didn't get a clear enough picture:

Dublin—Ben and I spent the majority of our money at Guinness Brewery and Jameson Distillery. On top of learning a lot about science (who knew that a distillery was really just a giant Organic Chemistry classroom!), we got a lot of history. I really love touring factories where they make stuff you eat/drink regularly. I will always have a special place in my heart for Jelly Bellies after touring their place of creation, and Jameson and Guinness will be on the top of my list when I think of things to get my head spinning.

Liverpool—I haven't yet mentioned the guy who channeled Lennon through his guitar. Not really, but there was a man who plays every day of the week in the Cavern Club, where the Beatles played before everything started. We had a great time down there in the narrow halls lined with bricks and full of drunken tourists. It just makes me think how lucky those people were who go to see the real Lennon, rather than his (talented) chubby reincarnation.

London—ohh what a time we had in London. We saw the typical sights...a little history here, a little Harrods there. But the most remarkable thing to me was the abundance of security cameras everywhere! Keeping an eye along streets, around corners, and up skirts! I was initially bothered by the fact that they might see me picking my nose, or even worse, a wedgie, but just a few minutes ago another horrible thought came to my mind. You can't have a secret rendezvous in London! There are no stolen moments with a new love, no giving the boss the slip to wander catch an afternoon movie...to say the least, Donald Draper would not survive in London 2010.

I imagine some significantly large man with a sweaty handlebar mustache watching an arena full of TV screens with a pint and chips (that's the British chips) in hand. He scours day and night for anyone with a life more exciting than his. Hopefully he saw how much fun we were having and was inspired to get on the treadmill, pick up the razor, and trade in the crisps for the biscuits (that's the British biscuits). Cause boy was I having a lot of (legal) fun in that surveilled city. (Wedgies were few and far between, for those concerned.)

I had to eventually say goodbye to England after a short trip to the Lake District (which comes highly recommended) with REAL English people. Being back in Germany is not something that makes me want to boogie (like the Lennon guy did), but its a lot more doable with memories of my trip. I feel bolstered by the country that taught Americans the importance of manners and that desserts should have sugar in them. I can take on these pork addicted hoodlems...after all, the next time I go west, I'm going all the way! So its all downhill from here, watch out Germany, this girl isn't leaving behind any regrets!

Thursday, April 1, 2010

Comments from the Road

A few weeks have blown by, but I've kept this space on my mind during my absence. I got to meet up with my ultimate match when it comes to havoc raising, and we have been leaving a trail of finished Guinness's, empty Jameson glasses, and half eaten fish and chips all throughout Ireland and the UK.

We spent some time in the land of green and alcohol and took part in some of the most sacred Irish traditions. Dublin was a welcoming and comfortable place to wander around...well the the weather was, to say the least, less than ideal but the people were friendly (at least, what we assumed they were saying through their thick accents seemed nice enough.)

Liverpool and Manchester were next on our list as we took just a thirty minute flight over to beans and toast country. Oh WOW! I'll tell you what, the Beatles paraphernalia in Liverpool makes this trip! I spent an entire 48 hours singing Beatles songs, learning fun facts, and discovering that most of the lyrics and information I thought I knew about the band was incorrect. It was both enlightening and informative.

I'd love to tell you more about my adventures through theses places of wonder and bad table service, but I've got to run down to London. The Queen has readied her men for the arrival of two trouble makers just in from America.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

Fruehling

I regret to inform you that this post will be written under the influence of one of the worst sicknesses I've had in a long time. It's common around these parts, and during this time of year almost everyone is afflicted. It results in a weakened heart and restless legs (please don't confuse with restless leg syndrome), a wandering mind and fidgety hands. Yes, I am sorry to say that I am suffering from a severe case of spring fever.

In order to help my case, I've decided to celebrate some of the joys of this time of year. Simple things like the itchy hotness that comes from wearing a coat that was too hot for the day, finally! Signs of Spring that we all may know, but that never fail to surprise us after we wake watery-eyed from our winter rests.

Thunderstorms. For me, there is nothing better than to sit on someone's porch and look out at a storm. This weekend we had a pretty terrible wind storm. It was the closest thing that I've seen to a good American thunderstorm in Germany so far. I was stuck in the middle of the train station: trains were stopped, people stranded (including myself), umbrellas turned inside out--general panic ensued. But it was such a great distraction! To look out, see farm animals blowing by, and remember so fondly the treacherous American weather. In general, Germany's weather is just boring in comparison to the plethora of storm systems we have in the land of the free . It's not great, not horrible, just gray and dull. But ohh!--the energy of that storm—a great contrast to the monotony of winter life! Got me excited for more to come as the skies get warmer.

The Moon. Tonight, riding home from dinner with a dim bike light, I had a lot of trouble making out curb vs. street vs. dog...it was a bit scary riding through the quiet, windy streets. Along the stretch that carries on into the woods, I noticed the moon. I didn't just notice the moon, actually, I almost fell off of my bike for the size of it. I felt like howling! I was drawn along the road as if I was swept up in the wake of a star blazing across the sky. I barely noticed my pedals moving as I weaved in the sidewalk to catch a better view.

As this giant moon balanced on top of my German life shining light on my ride home, I was truly transfixed. I looked up at the rest of the stars in the sky, the same ones you all see, and smiled. I smiled! How wonderful it was to sit under the moon and smile like a little kid. To know that Germany didn't exist just to torture me, but that life under the moon belonged to everyone. That the moon has shone on all humans, on all problems, on all countries for all time. There was a chill in the air and freshness in my lungs. It was a good night for standing under the moon and feeling small.

Spring does these things to me. It makes me want to boogie, it makes me want to smile more, and it makes me want to just high five everyone I come across. I often find myself thinking things like “Well isn't it great to just be alive!”, or “Let's just all sing love songs together!” The sun shines brighter, people start looking less hairy and gray, and in general the world starts living up to its potential.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

Public Transportation Part One

I've decided that it is essential for you to understand my relationship with modes of transportation other than the bike, for they are a fundamental part of my life here. So I have a series of posts prepared to inform you on just how I get around this place.

Transportation in general has always been an issue for me. I can't name the number of times we've had to stop the car on the way to Grandma's so I could barf out the window. I get wheezy when I run, and I am one of the slowest walkers I know. (You guys already get it with the bike situation.) So it is no question that subjecting myself to other modes of transportation that not only depend on my ability to successfully move, but also the coordination of a whole group of people, always results in frustration.

Why the Bus and I aren't friends:

Bus Schedules:

Each bus stop has a chart that is supposed to be catered to humans of normal intelligence. I consider myself a smart person...at least average...but I could stand in front of that stupid post for an hour before I would actually be able to draw some sort of information about WHEN the bus comes. I am reminded of those "Seeing Eye" puzzles, where if you just stand there for a while, the right arrival time will just pop out at you like the hot air balloon in those pictures. I can't even begin to describe how hard it is to find out WHERE the bus is going. That information, I am pretty sure, is given out at secret bus rider meetings that I am obviously not invited to.

Bus Riders:

All of that is not to mention that once you get ON the bus, you have to fight to keep your lunch down among the smelly public and jostling seats. I will not be shy about the fact that I consider myself one of the best-bathed people walking around this place, especially when we're talking about bus riders. I wish it were that my cleanliness would rub off on them, but alas it is their stank that I absorb and take with me wherever I go for the rest of the day.

On top of that, I am usually the only one on the bus who isn't under the assumption that pushing and shoving should be a part of every day life. I feel sometimes as if I've just been through a rock polisher or some other machine that involves lots of jostling and bumping after I get off the bus. (And bad breath is much easier to smell in a confined, bumpy environment.)

Buses:

Have you ever ridden a bus? I am not going to pretend that buses in Germany are worse than anywhere else. Its just that I have to ride these awful dinosaurs so frequently in this country that I am exposed to their flaws much more often. Specifically, the buses in Dinslaken, where I live, must be part of some living museum exhibition they have going on over here. The vehicles are sometimes so dirty that its impossible to see out the window, the seats are taped together with duct tape (the only use for duct tape I have noticed here), and the smell has the potency of, well an ancient bus. I almost have to charge against the force of the thick smell of old polyester seats, diesel, BO, and whatever else you care to imagine is probably on the floor or under the seats.


So in my opinion, the are really only a few reasons why you should ride the bus willingly, and none of them involve transportation: to keep your intellectual ego in check, to feel better about your hygienic status, to feel real human contact (albeit in the form of mild violence), or to feel like a hero after surviving a harrowing experience riding through town.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

This Will Just Hurt a Bit...

I've been scraping cement out of my mouth throughout the day today. This is a consequence of one of the most trying and scary experiences I've had here since my glorious beginning in Germany.

As the result of about 10,000 Haribo gummy bears, 543 Cliff bars, and 50 Schnitznel, my crown came loose and fell off a few weeks ago. I've been avoiding getting it fixed for a few reasons: One, I could just stick it back in there and it would stay, unless I ate gummy bears. Secondly, the dentist is just never a place you search out when in a foreign country.

But I'm just not the kind of girl who would sacrifice gummy bear consumption for the sake of a crown (who is...?) So I had to go, and everything started out easily enough. It was definitely a euro-dentist. A tiny little receiving area with an extremely nice receptionist, then a waiting room with a coat rack and about 50 chairs shoved into the space for 10. I was feeling pretty confident. All of the sounds were familiar to me...shrill drills and chatty Cathies cleaning peoples' teeth. But then I sat in the chair...

The little bib thing they gave me was literally a paper napkin. Like the kind of thing you might see in a local pizza joint. This should have given me warning of what was to come...

The dentist was like a Chevy Chase character. He sat down with a huge grin and a nice golden tan in the German Winter, then he tilted my head back like they do in cartoons. After shoving his hand into my mouth and commenting on the beauty of my “american” teeth, he went straight to work with the drill. He drilled a little everywhere around my missing tooth, just doing a little archeological work, I guess. I was then instructed to “swish”, but NOT “swallow” some concoction that I saw the nurse pour out of the same kind of brown glass container that I pored hydrochloric acid out of in Chem class. (In case you were wondering, “swish”, “swallow”, and “highly poisonous” are not vocab words that are commonly taught in German classes.) This took a few times for me to understand and then finally I was ready for the GLUE.

Right before that, the doctor told me I would feel a coldness in my mouth, then he continued to swab my tooth with a liquid that smelled identical to nail polish remover. He then argued with the nurse a little about whether the glue looked good enough to use, slapped some on my tooth, then threw the crown in there. After a few bite-fittings, he decided that the crown didn't fit so he drilled the hell out of it for about a minute (whoops, there goes 1,500 for a beautiful porcelain crown) and was content with his job. Finally, he took a tube labeled “TOOTH POLISH” in a cartoon-ish red and green and “polished”. After this I had to “swish” the polish for about 5 minutes until my mouth was no longer red.

Now I understand that there are bad dentists everywhere, which is why I insist on going to my one guy in Charlotte who has memory foam pads and Light 104.9 playing while he does his work. But this guy was especially bad...its not a lie, we've got the good ones over the across the pond. Even though you might only be able to get appointments 4 days a week and pay astronomical prices for a cleaning, you can be glad that you don't have to pick tooth glue out of your mouth for days after a simple procedure.

Monday, February 8, 2010

Food for thought (more like Food Poisoning)

Daily life here has been about status quo. I went to an American party at a friend's house this weekend. It was good to see friends and listen to music loudly while dancing. It reminded me of the freedom of spirit I still have somewhere inside.

Otherwise, life is a bit dull from the outside. Little is happening in school...either the predictable Stuhl der Einsamkeit or the nerve-wrecking suicide mission of standing in front of a group of people expecting the worst. It becomes difficult to succeed when everyone is betting against you.

These kind of things make me contemplate my position as an "American ambassador", as Fulbright describes it, here. I was reading through the text book that the 13th grade English teachers teach from. The unit is called "USA Myth and Reality". I am almost at a loss of words. How do I address the ignorance that I am forced to meet every day with a clueless American smile? This tsunami of hatred and disdain for the United States faces me on a daily basis, and the best I can do as a noble "ambassador" is to not respond with the equivalent emotion with which they meet me. The following is a poem published without an author in my book:

The Contrapuntal Civilization*

I have died
in Vietnam
But I have walked
the face of the moon.

I have befouled the waters
and tainted the air of a
magnificent land. But I have
made it safe from disease.

I have flown through the
sky faster than the sun.
But I have idled in the streets
made ugly with traffic.

I have littered the land
with garbage.
But I have built upon it
a hundred million homes.

I have divided schools
with my prejudice
But I have sent armies
to unite them.

I have beat down my enemies
with clubs.
But I have built courtrooms
to keep them free.

I have built a bomb
to destroy the world.
But I have used it
to light a light.

I have outraged my brothers
in the alleys of the ghetto.
But I have transplanted
a human heart.

I have scribbled out
filth and pornography.
But I have elevated
the philosophy of man.

I have watched children
starve from my golden towers.
But I have fed
half the earth.

I was raised
in a grotesque slum.
But I am surfeited by
the silver spoon of opulence.

I live in the greatest country
in the world in the greatest time
in history. But I scorn the ground
I stand upon.

I am ashamed.
But I am proud.
I am an American.

This is just a small sample of the attitude I face on a daily basis here. These kinds of things are part of the state-sanctioned literature for students to read. And I, as an individual, am expected to face this front, to dive into the wave, so to say. I often feel lost and alone in this place. Things like "benefit of the doubt" and "open mindedness" are not expected of the students here. In my experience with my school, I have witnessed the teachings of fear. The teachings that America is a world of contradictions, where we say one thing, but the reality is different. Rather than allowing individual assessment of a culture, a dogma of doubt is on the lesson plan.

I get exhausted after just a few hours of school here. I rarely teach, however I am still constantly standing on a platform like a pig at a county fair. My ability to withstand these types of criticisms without volatile reactions defines my success here. I create connections by defying the types of stereotypes put forth in that poem. I have a whole list of published works to fight against, but it is my hope that simple patience and confidence will allow me to complete my task gracefully.

I can only hope that one day in lives of these students, they will remember the constancy that the Americans who visited here had. That we were able to teach the good and the bad about our country, and that we were able to display confidence in the principles of our nation in the face of a nation of doubt.

*Poem from: The New Summit, published by Schoeningh in 2007.

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Paris Part Two

Now the story of the unsweetened crepe. The sticky, doughy, uneven part of my trip to Paris that was as displeasing as German tacos.

Euro Road Trip:

For us, Paris was an 8 hour trip away. It should have taken only 6 hours, but these people did not know how to road trip. We stopped for a half an hour every hour and a half. Let me start by saying that this was an official school trip, with teachers and rules and permission slips...just like we do. Except, let me tell you, the Americans have the whole "school trip" concept mastered, whereas this school still has some stuff to figure out. The reason we stopped so often was not to use the bathroom, but to let the students who smoke have cigarette breaks. I was completely surprised when I got off the bus to see more than half of the students huddled in a group inhaling smoke, and stinking themselves up before they got back on the bus.

So we finally arrived in Paris and looked for the exit for the hotel for about an hour. The whole time we could see it, but the bus driver didn't know how to get off the highway to get to it. I was wondering why he didn't really know how to get there when this was his job, but then I learned that it was just someone's dad who had learned to drive a bus in his free time. So really, he had no idea what he was doing.

Under the highway and through the trash to the metro station we go...

The hotel was on the edge of Paris, right next to a metro station. Actually, a short walk along the dump (yes, we were right next to a city dump!), past the half destroyed buildings, and over the piles of trash got you to the metro station. Oh, did I mention the club right next to the hotel where I saw at least three men walking away with ladies for whose attention they paid...? Needless to say, the area where we stayed was completely unsafe and not anywhere I would ever recommend for anyone, even on a budget. In fact, I would lend someone money to go to Paris just so they wouldn't have to stay in that hotel.

Public Disturbances:

The kids I went with were all in the 12th grade. They are all around 18 years old, and legally adults in Germany. That being said, the teachers felt that it would be inappropriate to discipline them in any way or expect them to be respectful to the teachers, me, or any Parisians they might come across. This resulted in 40 kids acting shamelessly: yelling at each other in the Metro, pushing old people out of the way on the stairs, and pointing and staring at people who looked differently. These things are real: as I yelled at a boy who pushed an old lady who had trouble walking out of his way on the metro stairs, the female student next to me said "Well that old lady is in the middle of the stairs! If she doesn't want to get pushed, she shouldn't stand in the way!" I had no reply to this; sometimes its better to admit that you've lost the battle. Things like this happened all weekend. People pointed out (like screaming and literally pointing with their fingers) minorities of all types, either simply stating that they are different, or using the diversity in Paris as a reason to call the city dangerous.

I tried my hardest not to be associated with the group, as I saw in the faces of the locals in the subway, museums, and everywhere else that they were as annoyed as I was. The group was excellent at being in the way as much as possible, making random stops at the top of stairs, clogging the way for every other human trying to get through. They also refused to eat the French food, finding themselves at McDonalds often, or eating out of the squirrel's stock of food they had in their bags. Or, if in french restaurants, ordering only a potato, due to their distaste for the rest of the French food (which, of course, they made clear).

Adult Behavior:

The most striking this about this whole trip was the experience I had on Saturday night. The ~30 year old male teacher found a club with a live band that we were able to take the students to. Now, being a super conservative American, I pictured the scene going as follows: two young teachers (me and Tom) take the students to a club, sit in the back and make sure everything goes OK as the students have a few drinks and enjoy the French scene. What really happened? The teacher, Tom, found an old friend, went into a different part of the club with him and left the students completely unattended for three hours. Half of them were completely wasted, like the kind of wasted where you can barely walk, and then Tom appeared from his meeting and said it was time to go home. It took almost an hour to get the kids out of the club, and we had to walk to the metro with 15 completely drunk, rude, loud, and lude kids running through the streets of Paris. Also, during this whole time, I was treated as if I was non-relevant. Anyway, one of the girls got sick on the way home and had to get off the train to throw up. Half of us had to make it home with out Tom (also unable to speak French), and the other half got off to take care of the drunk student. We walked home to that unsafe, nasty hotel and went to bed. The girl, of course, saw no punishment. Well, she is an adult and all.

Now, finally, compare this story to my next story, and then I'm done ranting. Yesterday, a boy was 5 minutes late for a bus. He was publicly humiliated and shamed. The second he walked onto the bus, all three teachers started yelling at him at once. The teachers told him he put all of our lives in danger, called him irresponsible, and the leading teacher actually announced over the loud speakers "Well there's an asshole in every group" as he made his way back to his seat. I guess adults in Germany can do everything they want, except be late for the bus.

Lessons Learned:

I am not sure why I thought that being in a different country with these people would make them easier to be around. I mean, they do run through the school hallways and push people out of the way, expect to get everything they want in class, and treat me like an idiot when in Germany. I am glad I survived the experience, but I am deeply disappointed that my first experience in Paris was dampened by this group of people. I have to say that not every student was openly rude and disrespectful, but I can really only think of one or two people who I wasn't embarrassed to stand beside. I certainly learned some important lessons during this trying adventure. One, firstly, that I will never be embarrassed to be an American tourist again. Even though we are infamous for not knowing languages, I still think we have are considerate of others, would have helped that old lady on the stairs, and are eager to experience new cultures (instead of, for example, refusing to drink or eat anything French.) The other important lesson? Don't be late for the bus.

Paris Part One

I just arrived in Germany again from Paris not 12 hours ago. Oh what stories I have to tell. I have determined it necessary to split this post into two parts for reasons that will become obvious. Just a warning, if you care to keep your romantic ideals of Paris as the city of lights, love, and shopping, then I suggest you read this post only, as Part 2 of the Parisian saga has much less sugar on it.

Ohh the joys of living in Europe! It was only a 8 hour road trip down to one of the most famous cities in the world for us; when I think about it, it takes me 8 hours to get to Denison from North Carolina...these lucky ducks over here. We had only an extended weekend in the city of lights, but I was able to see most of the sights. The most wonderful, amazing part of this trip was the fact that I actually saw all of those things that you hear about existing. I honestly never predicted that I would be running around that city, looking at the real Eiffel Tower, gazing deeply into Mona Lisa's eyes, and finding myself lost in a sea of Monet's lilies. It was magical!

My favorite part of the city, location wise, must have been Montmarte, a hilly part of Paris that used to be its own little village. The cobblestone roads that wind and curve around the contours of the land made me feel safe and secure as I looked out on the vista of Paris at night. There were plenty of places to eat, buy clothes, and simply be in Paris. This area had quite a few tourists, but I felt that it was here that Paris simply existed, versus other parts of the city where Paris jumped and screamed to make itself known (for example, Champs Elysees.)

I was also overjoyed to see the type of diversity that I am used to seeing in the United States. I don't exactly come from the most diverse part of the world, however, in my town in Germany, diversity means wearing black pants instead of jeans. Otherwise everyone looks and dresses just alike and is just fine with that. (Please reference the post about schools, where the German kids were completely flabbergasted that Parisian students had to attend school with immigrants.) There were all sorts of people in Paris! And everyone had interesting outfits, lots of fur, and REALLY cute bags. I also felt at home as I saw the colors red, white, and blue everywhere. The French fly their flag with pride all over the city. And, in my mind, they really do have something to be proud of!

Finally, the food. We actually didn't really have a chance to eat like Americans do on their vacas. I was expecting the typical three meals a day...but I forgot that Germans only eat like one real meal a day and then have bread for the rest of it. (By the way, all of the Germans brought their own water...like 4 liters or more!...and their own snacks for the entire 4 days) But when I did eat, it was so yummy! The mashed potatoes I had...just imagine the best you've ever had in the US, then add a cup of butter (eat your heart out, Paula Deen!). And, oh wow! Have you ever had an eclair?? Have you ever had one in Paris from an amazing bakery!?!? I was just in heaven eating that thing.

My favorite memory from the trip is my short time alone as I went from dinner to the Eiffel tower. I rode the metro and saw the cafes and shops lit from inside. Passing through the city, I watched the tower grow larger and larger, just as my anticipation did. I jumped off the metro and almost skipped to a crepe stand where I got chocolate and banana. All the way to the tower I was beaming almost as bright as the tower was, eating my dessert with eyes aglow in the lights of the city. Despite the hawkers that are almost as annoying as mosquitoes in a North Carolina summer, standing under the structure was like no other feeling I've ever had. Just to understand the height of the thing, the way it reaches towards the sky like a hopeful beacon. I could have stayed there all night.

I already miss the city. It is almost like I was never there. I took tons of pictures, so I will be sure to post those within a year or so. It was hard to be there without friends or family to walk with through the streets, but I forgot I was alone sometimes, as I stood under the watchful gaze of Van Gogh and next to Degas' ballerinas. Those Parisians sure do know how to have a good time.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Cruisin'

It's been snowing here for the past 24 hours or so and I can see the cold sitting in the sky like a heavy cloud of smoke. I've been riding my bike through this thickness for days now, trying to stay upright as I slide along the ice and snow. Last night was the precipice of punishment when it comes to bike riding in Germany: 20 degrees, dark, hoodlums left and right, ice instead of pavement, and to top it off a BROKEN LIGHT.

To give you a better visual, I thought it might be helpful to first illustrate the kinds of things I accomplish with the two-wheeled devil machine. Well, that list includes pretty much everything that you probably do with a car: grocery store trips, driving to the airport/train station for a trip, driving to school with books and computer...and I've had to take all of the goodies you need for those trips along with me. Some of the things I've carried on my bike (no basket, people!) include:
--a yoga mat with groceries and an overnight bag
--a rug, among other household supplies
--a week's worth of groceries (this may seem an impossible feat at first, but imagine...shopping bags hanging from handle bars, shoulders, neck...)
--two week's worth of clothes in a duffel bag
--and most recently a violin (this one was scary, if Mr. Fear, my orchestra teacher saw that, he would probably rip off his normal human costume and turn into the Batman villain that his name implies).

The rules of biking in Germany are strict, mainly I think because there are so many of us (that's right, Germany, you have to claim me as one of your bikers for the next few months!!) There are bike paths everywhere, as many as—if not more than—sidewalks. Now, seeing as I am a really cute and charming American girl, I figured that the rules don't apply to me. This is not true. Last week I was stopped by the police for having a light out and riding on the wrong side of the road. I was totally stunned. One, because I am pretty sure that I have already caused a few nearly-fatal crashes that have gone unnoticed, and two, because its the POLICE! The police officer was nice, but needless to say I walked that baby the rest of the way to school, and took the next day as a personal day to get the lights fixed. (In case you were wondering, the lights are broken again.)

By the way, a great way to learn the rules is to just ride your bike around. The citizens here would be just pleased as punch to tell you everything you might be doing wrong on your bike. I commonly get such comments as “HEY-NO headphones allowed!” or “The rules say no riding on this sidewalk!” Being the rebel rider that I am, I pay no heed.

I am pretty sure that all of Dinslaken has an alert out for me: the girl with the oversize black coat on, who can commonly be seen weaving around with broken lights and can be heard from a mile away, as her bike wizz-wooshes along the sidewalk. If they listen closely enough, the can also hear the sharp American tongue, putting all sorts of hexes and curses on the man/woman who failed to mention that living in Germany really just means a lot of freaking bike riding.

We do have our arguments, but that sorry excuse for transportation has never failed to get me to my destination. I want to be extremely clear that I hate that thing more than should be described in a public forum. It's awful...I can't wear cute clothes, I can't buy tons of crap and throw it in my trunk to take home, and I clearly have no real clue about what I should really be doing with it. Lets be honest, its a miracle that I haven't been taken to bike jail yet. But it is from this plastic and metal throne that I spend most of my time. With the needles of wind hitting my face and the squeaking of my seat and wheels, I can at least gain some comfort in the fact that I am on my way somewhere.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Onomatopoeia

The day to day in Germany has become a mostly familiar thing for me by now. You can see pictures of the beautiful vistas and read this blog in order to hear my side of the story. But, living here I have more senses that are constantly being battered with either the new or the newly familiar. I've always been sensitive to smell, I may get that from the Orlowski side of the family, all of whom are allergic to any substance that can enter through the nasal cavity. But I think it would be quite rude to go into detail about the smells I experience on a daily basis (EXCEPT for the bakery...mmm pretzels!)
So I will try my best to add a bang to this post and take you through my day with your blindfolds on and your ears ready for something new and different.
Early in the morning, the air turns metallic and the ears are battered with clinking and clanging. The people are pulling up their blinds: metal sheets on the outside of houses that guard the windows each night, protecting the families from nighttime terrors. There is a wizz wizz of the ropes that keep them in place, and then a bang-clank-bang-clank until they are ALL finally rolled up on top of the windows. If you didn't have the benefit of waking up to the usually beep beep of an alarm, this is the sound that greets you in the mornings. There have been many a times during peaceful morning runs that I have honestly thought some angry robot was running after me, but after a moment of contemplation, realized that it was those damned blinds.

So then its off to school, after a battle with a fridge that sounds like an airplane engine and a asthmatic coffee maker. For some reason, there is a rooster on my way to school. I am not the only one who has a rooster in her town, either. Picture a quite ride through the woods, past the refugee camp, with the proud morning soloist, the German rooster. My new route to school also involves a bumpy ride over the train tracks and sometimes waiting for a train. This is nothing but noise! Pure agitation fills my head as I try to at least reduce the amount of data entering my brain. Its a low boom boom, rumbling the ground from far away. But when a cargo train passes, watch out! It's like in those razor commercials, a sonic boom where there are ripples in the air and your hat blows off your head.

If you're not awake yet, let me take you through a collection of noises through out the school day. The school bell is actually quite nice: an electronic church bell...ding dong ding...like a fancy doorbell. But mix that in with children, little ones, running through the halls, throwing things, and LIGHTING FIREWORKS!! I seem to be the only person in the school who seems to think that this is not a noise appropriate for school, so all I can do is my best to avoid them. (At least we know its not guns going of, right?...Germans have GREAT gun control...)

Oh, and I must insert here the most important and abundant sound you may ever hear in Germany. The kling kilng of a bike bell is the only defense you may have against the dreaded biker. The bike in Germany is a force that can not be reckoned with. You must move out of the way, and you must never WALK in the BIKE lane. Luckily, I am usually the one doing the klinging on my way to school, and I must confess that I take full advantage of this power. Klinging left and right, making innocent people jump out of my way for the sake of their lives!

On my way home, I usually see another train (take cover!), hear that rooster, and then reach the safety of my apartment. It is here where things get predictable. Dinner, pots and pans, the low purr (or growl if its a bad day) of the fridge. At the fall of darkness comes the other parenthesis to conclude another day in Dinslaken. The bang-clash-bang-clash is the cue to settle in against a cold January night, turn down the lights, and appreciate the notes that you contribute to the score.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

You Might be German If...

Some of you might be confused about why it is so special that I am over here living like a German. You might say, "Well Sadie, I am not sure you're justified in presenting your experience as exotic. You're in a first world country with educated people...bla bla bla!". Well first of all, if you're saying that, then you haven't been paying attention to a THING I've been saying so far (time travel, Stuhl der Einsamkeit, broken bikes...). Secondly, I can understand why you might still insist that humans are humans, and despite everything living in Germany shouldn't be so different. To really get my point across, I'll outline a few things that make Germans sooo...German. You may be well aware of most of these differences, but I would like you to take a minute and assess your own life. Are you German? Would you fit in over here? If so, as always, I say come on over! We can bike to school together in the freezing cold then come back and watch some bad German TV until we pass out on my couch/bed full of chocolate and beer.

You might be German if...
1. in order to park in your garage, you must first turn your car off, open your garage door, start the car and drive in, then climb out through the sunroof due to the maxium garage width of ~8 feet.

2. your house or place of work is either as cold as or colder than it is outside.

3. your windows open in a minimum of three ways (tipped, wide open, both wide open, open from the top...), and have a minimum open time of 5 hours per day.

4. your shower head points out towards the direction that the shower is the most shallow, so that your bathroom floor is a small wading pool by the end of the shower. or the other option...

5. your shower head is broken

6. you never learned the horrible implications of breaking in line in elementary school, therefore you commonly use your shopping cart as a weapon in the grocery store and your elbows as crowbars in department stores in order to be the first in line.

7. your concept of up and coming techonology is the Internet

8. you've never drawn a line without using a ruler

9. you have at least one trash can per type of disposable material, including: paper, plastic, paper with plastic on it, trash, biodegradable.

10. you think dating the boy/girl down the street is a long distance relationship

11. your grasp of the english language includes the words "f*ck", "Bush sucks", and "Barack Obama"

12. you have an incomprehensible love for Cowboys and Indians

13. you and your boyfriend/girlfriend wear the same cologne and/or have the same haircut

14. You think placing the item divider after your stuff on the belt at the grocery store is one of the most important things you could do for your well being and you will stop at NOTHING in order to put it there.


So read through these carefully, and decide for yourself if you're living in the right country. You may be happier in the land of beer and potatoes. It is different over here. I have come to embrace some things, while others I still have trouble with (breaking in line is NEVER ok!). To say the least, I am glad to get to know where I stand as an American, and I am glad the Germans are willing to share their way of life with me.

Thursday, January 7, 2010

Time Travel

OhhhhK. So, the past few weeks:
Last week in Germany before Christmas. Nothing much happened, so lets just move on already.
My time at home was short and sweet, but not without the initial awkwardness of returning home...like stepping into a canoe before you sit down. Time change always gets me. It is due to the jet lag that I have slept a total of 6 hours in the past two days. And it was due to jet lag that I spent the first half of my Christmas vacation waking up at 5 or 6, ready to go. I got some good runs in around Strawberry Hill before the birds got up. I also explored the world of yoga with my sister, which has become an essential ingredient in the recipe for Happiness in Germany. I would love to tell you all sorts of stories about the wonders of Charlotte, North Carolina, but I think we are all here for tales of adventures of a far away place, so lets go there now...

I am currently sitting in my new apartment, glued to the computer, as usual. I will put up pictures as soon as I figure out how to utilize the internet properly.

There are some secrets that I have been keeping from you, readers, and one of them is about to be revealed. -->Living in Germany is like living in another time!<-- I have a wonderful new apartment with a beautiful natural wood ceiling, furniture that IS NOT from Ikea, and a TV with a satellite that gets all sorts of interesting English channels (including Al Jazera). But there is no internet. In fact, there is no internet in this whole area of town (in the prospective pictures of my area that you may possibly see, you will notice satellite dishes on everyone's houses.) I have a nifty little 3g stick (cell phone internet that can plug into your computer) that occassionally allows me access to Gmail's simple version of email and that sometimes, albeit reluctantly, relents to give me access to AIM or Skype. But otherwise during my first four days back, I have been adjusting to living in the equivalent of the stone ages.

As testiment to my time spent in the olden days, I can honestly say that I had to go to school, two miles, in the snow, up hill. Except instead of walking barefoot, I rode my bike. Virgin snow is pretty; road snow is gross, dirty, and not something you want all over you when you arrive jet lagged at school. But luckily, I had it all over me this morning, and I am able to brag about it here now. I do realize that most Germans have cars that they drive in the snow, but my personal experience here is one that is especially ancient.

I took a beautiful run along the ice cold river near my new home. All bundled up, it was quite a treat to see vistas of fields covered in snow, to breathe in crisp air, and most importantly to have a warm aparment to look forward to. But time did seem to reverse for a few moments as I saw such sights as a little old lady walking alone through a field of snow on her way to her little house in the middle of the country. And also, Germans don't seem to have to modern concept of snow plowing in thier full graps, either. (This aspect is supported by another's experience, way up in Muenster, where the roads are pretty much dense sheets of snow/ice at this point).

Living here really does feel like living in a different time. There are a lot of technological conveniences that I take for granted in the United States. Germans don't really do credit cards for reasons of tradition more than anything. Classrooms are without computers or projectors, and most of the tv's I've seen around here are the same size of most of the cars I've seen around here...(big old tube TV's...) So, if you squint your eyes and use your imagination, its like being in a magical land. Where the time passes a little more slowly, and the people are very suspicious of new things.