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.
Monday, February 8, 2010
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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