Public Transportation in Turkey

 

Yang enjoys a pit stop during our all-night bus ride

Some of our best adventures involved riding the public transportation in Turkey.  To travel from Istanbul to Antalya, we opted for a cross-country bus.  The stop was a hellish tram ride to the outskirts of Istanbul.  No one spoke English, but by pointing and asking, "Antalya?  Antalya?"  We managed to make our destination reasonably clear.  At 7:00pm we boarded a large van and were driven to another station on the Asian side of Istanbul where we upgraded to a very big bus.  This coach was deluxe-- comfy seats, bathroom underneath, television in the seatbacks (Turkish only-- so many shows about weddings!) and a cute little steward wearing a bow tie and serving tea and snacks.

Buses in Turkey have single-sex seating, so Yang and Ryan sat together and I ended up with a Turkish grandma.  She didn't speak English I don't speak Turkish, but she still spent a long time chatting with me.  The quality of sleep in moving vehicles is never great, but I was surprised not to be too exhausted when we reached Antalya.

On our second day in Antalya we decided to trek out to the ancient ruins of Olympos.  One of the hotel staff told us to go back to the main bus terminal and catch a bus there.  Again, no one spoke English, but by asking "Olympos?   Olympos?"  We were pointed to a very old van.  The van slowly filled and left the station.  We drove around for 30 or so minutes, dropping off and picking up in the middle of highways and busy roads, or sometimes in the middle of nowhere.  We drove on and on, and Ryan finally raised his voice above the Turkish music to ask "Olympos?"  The driver nodded and drove on.  We stopped again, Ryan asked "Olympos?"  The driver shook his head.  The next stop, a small convenience store in a very inconvenient location of nowhere, the driver said "Olympos!"  and let us out.  We walked into the store.  It was part 7/11 and part living room.  A large group of headscarved women sat around a long table with ancient bubbling pots.  Ryan asked the clerk, "Olympos?"  The clerk turned and spoke to an old man, then replied, "20 minutes."  We went outside to eat a small picnic.  Chickens clucked around our feet.  We looked down at the forested valley below the convenience store.  Eventually the old man emerged from the store and spoke to us in Turkish.  "Olympos?"  We asked.  He opened his van door. 

We bumped our way down some dirt roads, over dry river beds, past what appeared to be a hippie commune.  After 20 minutes or so the driver stopped, said something to us in Turkish and got out.  He came back with a young man.  "You need accommodation?"  He asked.  We told him no, and the old man shook his head and drove onward until we reached a very official looking park gate.  Three young men sat at the gate and asked us what time we wanted to be picked up.  Then they spoke to our driver and told him to come back at 5:00.  There was much gesturing of "five" with our fingers until he seemed satisfied and drove off.

One of the surprising things in Turkey is that everything somehow works, despite a complete lack of schedules.  The buses seem to operate completely by chance, and yet we never once got lost.  Our entire bus ride from Istanbul to Antalya cost about 20 Euros per person (or, about E 1.67/hour).  Our entire transport from Antalya station to Olympos' gates cost 6 euros.  I guess this is the triumph of capitalism?  Wherever there's a tourist who needs to go somewhere, an enterprising Turkish person will appear with a 40 year old van to make it happen.

Turkish Cafe Culture

our favorite cafe in Istanbul

When I thought of cafes, I used to think primarily of Paris and Rome-- quaint sidewalk affairs with croissant and cappuccino and let's say a man dressed like a mime smoking a cigarette.  But Turkey has a cafe culture all its own.  Perhaps because alcohol isn't such an important drink in Turkey (as my elusive hunt for drinkable wine would suggest) Turkish coffee and tea has pride of place.  Tea is seemingly drunk at all times and was much better than any German/French/Italian cafe could muster.  Ryan and Yang seemed to mostly enjoy the coffee, though they do not recommend drinking the muddy sludge at the bottom.

The Turkish cafe is about more than drinking coffee, though.  You can smoke a nargile (hookah), though we generally saw only tourists like ourselves doing this; but the real deal is backgammon.  This is a seemingly simple game with endless combinations of strategy and luck.  It also can draw quite an audience, as we discovered.  Bored waiters seemed to relish the opportunity to walk past Ryan and Yang's game to mutter things like "Close the door!"  "No, no, here!  Pieces here!"

I was a late comer to backgammon and chose not to involve myself in the blood battle between Ryan and Yang.  I sat writing postcards, my pens and stamps spread across the table.  A waiter came and complimented my pens.  One of them asked if we could "change" pens.  He handed me his pen, I feigned skepticism.  "Does it work?" I asked.

"Of course it works!"  The waiter replied, "look at it-- very nice pen, very good color!"  I weighed it in my hand, wrote with it, and told him that it was okay for a trade.  He happily took my pen and went about his business.  I thought this was funny but found it even funnier 15 minutes later when another waiter came over to trade for the pen I'd just received from the first waiter.  We repeated the same charade, and the waiter seemed very happy.  This happened a few more times, and looking at my pens now, I have one that I originally took with me, and two from Turkish waiters.  I sat out of backgammon, but I seemed to have been drawn into a cafe game of my own.

The Best Way to Stop a Tourist in Her Tracks

For years I've wanted to travel to Istanbul.  The name conjures up images of veiled belly dancers, hookah pipes, sultans in turbans, and open air bazaars.  Now that I'm back I can say it is and it isn't exactly what you'd expect.

One of Ryan's best friends, Yang Yang, joined us for this adventure.  He is a fun travel partner, always up for eating weird foods and climbing ruins.  He's also very outgoing, which is an asset in Turkey.  I forget, having lived in Germany for almost 3 years, that in many parts of the world, it's okay to talk to strangers.  One of the first things we noticed about Turkey was how friendly the Turkish people are.  I expected as much in the touristy areas where Americans are often viewed as dollar signs, but throughout Turkey we constantly met people who just wanted to chat with us.

In Istanbul we stayed in a quaint little place called "Hotel Peninsula."  It is run by the super helpful Rohat, who we spent a lot of time chatting with and taking advice from.  The hotel was in an enclave of backpacker hotels and cheap restaurants, as well as souvenir shops galore.  The employees of these shops and restaurants stand on the road and try to entice tourists to come in.  We heard many lines, and the line "Hello, I am here!"  became a running gag amongst us.  But there were many other creative and interesting lines:

"Hello lady!  Who is the boss?  I want to give you informations!"
"Hello!  How can I help you spend your money?"
"Hello!  Spend some money for your honey!"
"Hello!  It my job to say 'hello!'"
"Hello!  Do you have money?"
"Hello!  Come buy here!  You not buy?  That's ok, I still love you!"

And on the way to the beach one morning, when I was wearing a bathing suit cover up rather than long pants, I heard the line "Hello!  Is your dad a terrorist?  You are da bomb!"  We laughed and wondered if these lines actually worked on tourists, and we realized that at some level they do, because on our last night in Turkey, after much persuasion from a short man called Ounos, we ate at his little restaurant. It was low season in Antalya, and Ounos treated us right with large dishes of mixed curries.  Then he sat down to play backgammon with us.  He moved his pieces with concentration, and then got up from the table to chat up tourists, usually striking out.  I lost the backgammon, but it was an entertaining evening nonetheless, watching charming Turk trying to entice tourists.

Breaking news...French Car Company Kills Knut!

We received the above postcard from our Peugeot dealer a few weeks ago.  As you can clearly see from the poorly photo-shopped flower, it is spring time, which means discounts on oil changes.  It also means AGONY FOR POLAR BEARS.

For those of you who haven't heard, Berlin Zoo's beloved Knut (that's kuh-noot for you non-German speakers) passed away last week.  He was a troubled young polar bear, rejected by his mother and raised by a zookeeper named Thomas.  Last year Thomas died and Knut went through a rough period, rejecting sexy female polar bears, and-- this is my favorite Knut story-- after a misguided person jumped into his habitat, he donned the human's sweater over his head and wore it, we can only assume, to taunt the jumper.

Various news outlets are now reporting that Knut died from a brain injury, but isn't it interesting how I received this flyer from Main/Taunus Peugeot dealership two weeks before his untimely death?  Is my Peugeot dealer psychic?  Or, was Peugeot able to predict Knut's demise because they had a hand in it?!? 

Naked Time...German Style!

One thing I've never gotten used to whilst living in Germany is Germans' ease with nudity. There are naked parks, naked beaches, naked saunas, and naked-only areas in fitness clubs. My friend and I were once kicked out of a jacuzzi in a posh fitness club by a bunch of old naked men because we were wearing bathing suits.

But in honor of Valentine's Day, and me not doing half bad on my GREs, Ryan and I made the trip to Baden-Baden (literal translation: bath-bath) to partake in its legendary spa.

Baden-Baden is a famous old resort town in the Black Forest. Many came and still come to be healed in it's natural hot springs. Clutching my copy of Rick Steves' Germany, Ryan and I entered into our designated sides of the spa (it was a non-mixed day). Rick says to enter a changing room, strip, place all belongings in a locker, take a towel, and head into the spa. From there one goes through 14 steps, from steam room, to hot pools, soap massage, cooler pools, cold dunk, and finally being wrapped in a cocoon of sheets and taking a nice nap.

I got undressed and stowed my things in a locker. There wasn't a towel in the locker. I peeked around the edge of the lockers...I saw a woman in a bathrobe talking to a woman dressed in white. "Oh no!" I thought, "I'm supposed to have a bathrobe!" I hunted through the locker, and then in the dressing room-- nothing. I stood there in a naked panic, trying to decide what the least embarrassing option was. I opted for peeking around the edge of the locker and calling to the attendant that I needed a towel. But as I looked around the edge of the lockers, I saw a large, dimpled bottom. Never in my life was I so relieved. She was leaning casually against the wall. I decided to follow her lead, and stood behind her in a naked lady queue. The attendant came for us and exclaimed, "Oh, you don't have towels!"

The large-bottomed lady said, "Clearly not."

After that, I realized that there is no embarrassment behind the doors of the German spa. The naked ladies did all sorts of swimming, walking, lying around in steam rooms, and I was amazed by how quickly I got used to seeing naked people.

Germans always laugh at how prudish Americans are about nudity and sex. And I think they have a point. Going to a spa in Germany you shed a lot of hang-ups when you strip down. Maybe Americans would be a little more relaxed if they spent more time hanging out naked in hot springs. At any rate, whether you want to relax, ogle, or be healed by the magic minerals, Baden-Baden gets a big thumbs up.

No Good, Rotten, Very Bad Week

Ryan and I have been thinking for the last few months that we want to move back to the U.S. We miss our families, our culture, and the opportunity to feel like we're a part of the community. I kept thinking as I learned German that once I was fluent, I would finally know what everyone was talking about. But I've come to the conclusion that while I know things about German culture, I will never understand it as an insider.

So we've been looking into options for moving back. Specifically I've been looking into Masters of Education programs at various universities. I have a handful of friends who have gotten an M.Ed. after studying another subject, and are now teaching in American public schools. After much hemming and hawing, Ryan thinks it would be easiest for him to transfer to Vancouver, Canada. So I've been chasing down email addresses and making contact at various universities. Finally this week I've gotten some answers, and they are of the French variety: "Non! Impossible!" Apparently because I don't have an undergrad in teaching, there is no possibility for me to get a masters. One school does have a one year teacher certification program, but not in the subjects I was hoping to teach. Also I might not qualify because I haven't taken any courses on Canadian history. I should have known that Canada would try to sabotage me. We've always been enemies.

On top of all that, I've been studying my @*$ off for the GREs, which I'm taking on the 18th. Monday I took a practice test: I scored 700 on my verbal section, but my math score was actually lower than the first diagnostic test I took. My score was so bad, I can't even bring myself to say it; but let's just say I think I now qualify for the "special" math class.

When I first moved to England with Ryan I had no idea what I would do for a job. At the time I narrowed it down to bar wench, historical reenactor, and American-to-English translator. Perhaps I should revive these options? I could now add to the list desperate housewife, real housewife of Vancouver, and aspiring novelist. (I think the latter just means sitting in Starbucks with a laptop and using an inflated vocabulary- right?)

So let's take a vote, what should I do with my life?

Weihnachtsmarkt Review

I know I haven't updated the blog since September...the thing is that this blog started as an Expat Chronicle, but I've lived abroad for such a long time it's starting to feel like old hat.  Ryan and I are just used to the oddities of living abroad; the endless rules, regulations, and bureaucracy, as well as the more charming aspects like the holidays.

I'm enjoying my third Christmas season in Germany, and as a veteran of the traditions (which you can read about here) I feel inclined to offer an American perspective on Christmas Markets.  Our giant Frankfurt Christmas Market opened last week and Ryan and I took the opportunity to visit the Frankfurt Market as well as a smaller one in Bad Homburg, about 20 minutes north of Frankfurt.  In the past I've also visited several Christmas markets in Munich, Berlin, and the famous Nuremberg market, so I'm basically an expert.

Your first experience in a Christmas market is definitely magical.  Here are row after row of tiny cabins purveying all manner of German handicraft, good cheap food, and most importantly hot mulled wine.  The lights, choir concerts, and nativity scenes warm the cold night.  That is the epitome of the Christmas market experience, and if you're lucky enough, you could probably experience it several times.  But there is a downside of Christmas markets: freezing temperatures, insane crowds, horribly schlocky booths, and worst of all-- wet feet.

This year we prepared ourselves.  We donned long underwear, several shirts, and generally as many layers as possible, as well as water-proof hiking boots.  But my main weakness is always the crowds.  I don't know if this is because I come from the land of open spaces, where our nearest neighbors were several acres away, or if it indicates a deeper psychological problem, but I hate crowds.  I hate slow people walking in front of me, I hate people bumping into me; basically crowds drive me into an illogical rage..or if not rage, then definitely a grump.  So Saturday afternoon was pretty much the worst time we could've picked for visiting the Frankfurt market.  We managed to cross a few gifts off our list, but it was a bit of a headache.  Even my Nutella-covered waffle was cold!

Now Ryan is a genuine Christmas market fiend.  When he suggested heading out to another market after our Frankfurt experience, I thought he was crazy.  But we drove up to Bad Homburg early Sunday afternoon and had quite a different experience.  The market is much smaller, and located in a castle.  There are fewer booths, but everything was very high quality, and we found things we hadn't seen in Frankfurt or at any other Christmas market.  We also enjoyed a walk around Bad Homburg, including the castle grounds and the gigantic neo-Byzantine/neo-Romanesque church.  I have to say, I think this is my favorite Christmas market of all.

And I'm glad to know that after all this time, Germany can still surprise.  I don't know how much longer we'll stay here, but as long as we do I'll try to keep looking for new discoveries.

Scotland the Brave

Our favorite part of the vacation was our stay in the Scottish Highlands. There are so many gorgeous places, but due to our interests in whisky and wilderness, we chose to stay in Speyside-- an area along the river Spey. This is the malt whisky capital of Scotland due to its good water. Its also nestled in some beautiful countryside, right next to Cairngorms National Park.

Hiking in the Cairngorms

One of the highlights for me was our first whisky distillery tour and tasting. There are so many distilleries in this area, and many of them offer a free tour, but I really recommend springing for the Aberlour Warehouse No. 1 tour if you're planning on Speyside. Our guide was hilarious and we learned about the different factors that make whisky taste the way it does. When you do a tasting, they typically give you a place mat with several small glasses of different whiskies, but our first glass had a clear liquid in it. Our guide, Dennis, explained that he wanted us to taste the pure spring water that went into the whisky. We all tossed it back, only to discover that it was actually the super-strong "wine" part of the whisky before it is aged in the casks. Dennis was very funny.

Another great part of the trip was the village we stayed in, Dufftown. We were right on the main square of this busy little town. Its very well set-up for tourists, although there were hardly any. All the restaurants around the square were super, including a very interesting Scottish/French fusion place. Dufftown has events many nights of the week, so tourists will find plenty to do. Our favorite was the Stramash, a gathering of local musicians in the British Legion Hall. We had a drink and chat with some locals and enjoyed wonderful music all night. We had to leave early the next day, but found ourselves saying "one more song, then we'll go" several times before it stuck.

the clock tower on Dufftown's main square

We wrapped up our trip with a visit to Edinburgh for The Fringe Festival, and popped down to London to visit my friend, Bonnie. We saw lots of theater and enjoyed catching up. I typically think of my ideal vacation involving beaches and drinks with umbrellas, but despite a certain chilliness and no pool boys, Ireland and Scotland made a wonderful vacation. Writing about it all now makes me want to go back soon. I would definitely recommend it, Speyside especially.

Belfast

We wrapped up our stay in Ireland Ireland and crossed the border to Northern Ireland's capital.  Belfast is a pretty Victorian town, with a downtown picturesque enough to make one forget about the city's darker side.  Belfast's night life is considerably quieter than Dublin's, but we enjoyed a nice tour of the city's historic pubs.

The Crown Bar-- beautiful old bar, complete with walled booths for the discreet drinker

 One of the most interesting things in Belfast are the murals, some painted in peacetime, others a reminder that tensions still exist between the two communities: Catholic vs. Protestant, Unionist vs. Republicans. 

"Peace cannot be kept by force, it can only be achieved by understanding."

The masked gunman's eyes seem to follow you no matter where you are.

 

 

 

Belfast has the feeling of many middle-sized towns in the UK, which is quite cozy.  Despite the "Troubles", the city is very friendly and lovely.  I was surprised that Dublin felt much rougher than it's norther counterpart. 

Western Ireland

The west coast of Ireland is rugged and rainy due to the pounding Atlantic Ocean. We only had a few days and wanted to spend time exploring the rugged landscape. Although the Dingle Peninsula was highly recommended to us by both Rick Steves and a few friends, we opted for Doolin in County Clare. Doolin is a tiny village known for good live music and located on the coast near The Burren national park.

Doolin

Apparently, we weren't the only ones who heard about Doolin's music scene. The four local pubs got mobbed with tourist buses (the bane of my existence) every night. Not only that, but the music wasn't as good as what we'd heard in Dublin. But we made the most of it by chatting with some visiting Germans. It was a very funny situation. Two other couples and we were crowded at a table together, when the Irish couple asked the Germans where they were from. The Irish couple replied, "Wirklich? Wir haben in der Schweiz gewohnt." To which I replied, "Also, alle in Doolin sprechen Deutsch." ("Really? We lived in Switzerland." "Apparently everyone in Doolin speaks German.") The German couple were quite surprised that the Irish people and the Americans sitting with them could all speak German, and we had a very nice conversation, and the German couple were nice enough to give us a lift back to our hostel. (It was pouring by then.)

We drove along the coast and hiked in the Burren. The landscape was unbelievably rocky; I can't imagine trying to farm this land. The Burren was unfortunately very touristy, but we did have one nice hike away from the crowds.

atop a huge hill in the Burren

The main draw of the Burren are the neolithic sites. We managed to see a few-- the frustration was a lack of trails, which made me hesitant to wander too far away from the car, there aren't exactly a ton of landmarks on this kind of terrain. But maybe with better organization, one could see more of the neolithic sites away from the crowds. Here is a very visited tomb entrance that was pretty cool.

All in all, western Ireland is very cool, but if I were to go back, I'd probably pick a different place to stay.

Dublin

We got back from our vacation a few days ago, and I have so much to write about I don't know where to start.  I guess I'll start with the beginning, a very good place to start.  On the flight over we were magically upgraded to first class.  I'd never flown first class before, and although our flight was only an hour and a half,  I decided to take full advantage of my privileges, by ordering many beverages and eating a fancy salad although it was 4pm and not anywhere near actual meal time.

Dublin is not a beautiful city.  Its roughness was illustrated within our first hour as we witnessed the end of a vicious bar fight.  Despite its roughness, or perhaps because of it, there is a certain charm to it.  While there are prettied up, touristy bits, the city at large seems rather indifferent to tourists.  Maybe it sounds strange, but I like it.  Some places you visit are so keen on selling you the "real" experience that the town starts to feel more like Disneyland than a place where people actually live. 

But disregard all that, and let me hypocritically point out that my highlight of Dublin was The Guinness Experience.  Much like Swarovski Kristallwelt in Innsbruck, Austria, some of these corporate "museums" take themselves so seriously you just have to laugh.  A lot.  Did you know that the five ingredients of Guinness are water, yeast, barley, hops, and Arthur Guinness? (Not literally, I hope.)  But Guinness did include a pint with a view, whereas Swarovski didn't give me any crystal thingies as part of admission.

The main attraction of Dublin is the night life.  Many bars have live music, and it ended up being the best we heard in Ireland.  Try not to get obsessed with this song, I dare you.  Half the places we went were also engraved with quotes from James Joyce's Ulysses, which I've always been to intimidated to tackle, but at this point my curiosity might get the better of me.

Our stay in Dublin was brief, but satisfying.  Stay tuned for the next blog: "Driving around Ireland in the Rain"....or something like that.

I Wanna Go Home....

I suppose its fairly normal in the expat community to have weeks (or in some cases months, years...) where you loathe your adopted homeland and long for the sanity of your own country.  Last week was one of those weeks, officially an "I Hate Germany Week."

The feeling came upon me last week that I never have respite from dealing with the bureaucracy of living, working, and moving around in Germany.  There is always something to be done.  Some error at the bank, an issue with my paycheck, insurance, Ryan's HR department being unreasonable.  But the last straw was an unwelcome visit from the GEZ.

I should explain.  In the United States we have public television, which is so-so, and funded by selling tote bags during semi-annual "pledge weeks."  I have never bought one.  In the UK and Germany public television is funded by a TV tax.  This is not a tax when you buy a TV, but rather a tax on owning a TV that you are supposed to self-report and pay monthly.  I loved the BBC when we lived in the UK but never paid this tax, despite threatening letters describing the Licensing Agency's heat-detection systems that could find any hidden TV without even entering your front door.  (Seriously.)

German public television is pretty bad, and it has commercials, so it beats me as to why I should have to pay for it.  I tossed the warning letters on the grounds that if they wanted people to pay this stupid tax they should make it more enforceable-- their problem, not mine.  Several friends had advised me that agents from the GEZ could come and search your house for TVs, radios, and computers, but only if you let them in, which legally you are not obligated to do.  So that was the game plan.  Until last Thursday.

I was actually home cooking dinner around 6pm, instead of at school, as usual.  The buzzer rang and since it was after working hours, I figured it must be Ryan lugging a crate of beer.  He does that sometimes when he doesn't want to set the crate down to hunt for his keys.  So I buzzed him in.  Then I opened the apartment door and sure enough he came up the stairs a minute later, but with an older lady.  She asked "did you buzz me in?" and I told her yes, not letting her in the door, but talking to her in the hall.  Too late.  She flashed her GEZ badge and could apparently see the TV from some bizarre angle standing in the doorway.  I was so irritated I asked Ryan to deal with her while I finished cooking.  He  confessed to everything; not following the rules makes Ryan anxious.

So now we owe the stupid Licensing Agency something like 170 Euros.  Its enough to make me throw up my hands and say "To hell with this country!"  I'm still quite irritated, although having a great neighborhood festival this weekend somewhat makes up for it.  All I'm saying is, Germany better appreciate me, or I will leave and then won't it be sorry!

Socialized Medicine

One of my Dad's lessons when I was a teenager was "how to deal with health insurance."  I'm sure when I was 16 I found it an occasion for eye-rolling, but today I was very grateful for that lesson.

Upon our move to Berlin last year, Ryan and I became enrolled in the German public health care system.  This is government-mandated health insurance run by private insurance companies.  The insurance companies in the public system cover mostly the same things and have the same fee structures.  There are small differences to each, but it didn't seem like choosing amongst them was particularly important.  Ryan paid 7.5% of his income, which his employer matched, and we paid 10 Euro a quarter to visit a doctor.  Both of us were covered and life was pretty good.

Last March, when I started working full-time, I was disappointed to discover that I, too, was expected to pay into this scheme.  The problem is that my income varies quite widely from month to month.  After much back and forth with the insurance company, it was decided that I would pay 316.00 Euros per month.  On a good month that's about 15% of my income, but on a bad month, that's 33% of it.  I told the insurance company that it was "bullhockey" (to quote Dad) that our premiums would basically double and we would receive no extra benefit.  But that's the German law.  (I guess I'm just supposed to stay home and have babies.)

So I started looking for private health insurance (not subject to the German mandates).  If you have a regular job, you can only qualify for this if you have earned over 4000 Euros a month (w/out dependents) for the last three years or more.  But freelancers and business owners can also qualify for private without this minimum income.

I've had meetings with two health insurance agents so far, and the process is pretty confusing.  Private health insurance is more similar to the American system, with a few exceptions.  The standard beginning for the conversation is the same "How much do you weigh?  Do you have AIDS?" etc, and I was surprised to see that companies can choose to exclude you based on certain factors, (i.e. those times I visited the student counseling center in college, apparently I'm uninsure-able by certain companies) but mostly they just charge you extra for each "pre-existing condition."  The nice thing about the public system is that you don't have to answer private health questions and pay extra for these things.  Also, the benefits in the private scheme vary so widely that they're pretty much impossible to figure out without an agent to help you.  Luckily, on my second try, I found a very helpful agent.  We spent nearly two hours today going over every detail of private health insurance, fee structures, etc.  The most bizarre thing is that some companies don't cover mental health, or teeth cleanings, but all of them cover alternative medicines and acupuncture.  Just what I need.  Maybe they can cure depression by rubbing crystals on one's forehead?

But at last, I've chosen a company.  Soon I'll see whether they accept me, and then I will have to see whether this private system is all that it's cracked up to be.  I know that if I were a true socialist, I would stay in the public system no matter what, but I guess I'm only socialist up to the point that it gets too expensive.  Is that my American upbringing?  Maybe so.  But lest I excite the ghost of Ayn Rand too much, I am happy to live in a country where everyone has access to health care.  And no, it's not cheap.  But I'm glad that Germany puts a priority on the health of it's citizens, and I hope that the U.S. will do likewise.  (I will still probably buy cheap health insurance, though.)

Serbia

"Welcome to the third world."  Zoran greeted us as we deplaned in Belgrade.  Ryan's coworker had invited us to his yearly cook-out at his cabin in southern Serbia.  There would be swimming, lamb roasting, good wine, and good cheer.

I had figured that Serbia wasn't such a big country, but it took over three hours to drive from the airport to Lake Bor.  From our first few minutes' driving we noticed the stark contrasts of this country.  It was very common to see abandoned broken-down houses next to tacky mini-mansions.  The highways were as good as any in western Europe, while the local roads were nausea-inducing in their bumpiness.

I always expect that poorer countries will be dreary and sad all over.  As if the people will be shabby and worn-down, the sky grey, the landscape brown and half-dead.  But, as I learned in Tijuana several years ago, and in Serbia recently, people do what they always do: survive and try to enjoy life.  The countryside was beautiful.  Despite the hardships of people, trees grow, flowers bloom, and the sun shines indifferently.  Many parts of Serbia look like my native Montana.  But then I would see a large rocket shell in someone's front yard, and be reminded we weren't in Kansas anymore.

Serbia is a mixture of the old and new.  On Saturday we were treated to a traditionally-roasted lamb on a spit, after spending the day at a trendy beach bar.  Zoran's family and friends were so kind and welcoming to us, and we really enjoyed our stay.  Serbia is definitely wilder than western Europe.  Every time you forget about its recent history of war, and the tensions that still lurk under the surface, something pops up to remind you.  Even at the barbecue, one of the children was walking around with a large toy machine gun.  It was funny but also creepy.

When I travel I try to use the experience to learn about a new history and culture.  But I think our trip to Serbia was too short to have a handle on any part of it.  What I do know is that Serbians, like all other people, have worked to overcome their past.  I'd like to go back and see more of Belgrade, but for now I'll have to leave you with my initial impressions of this exotic country.

World Cupdate

I know I've complained about the World Cup A LOT, (and trust me, most of it is super boring) but there are some good points to it. Germany has advanced through every round so far and plays tonight against Spain, a grudge match since Spain beat Germany in the Euro Cup two years ago. And soccer can be exciting when you're really into a certain team. Last weekend we went down to the "public viewing" area, and despite sweating off about 5 gallons, it was really fun to be in the crowd when Germany mopped up Argentina 4-0.

The best part of World Cup is definitely its mass appeal. I was trying to think of a comparison in the U.S. and decided its like having a month-long Super Bowl. But another difference is that most people watch World Cup in cafes, public viewing areas, etc, while most Americans watch the Super Bowl at home. Its more exciting to watch with a huge crowd, I think.

Last night I met my tandem partner for language practice at a cafe. Like every cafe and restaurant in this country, it was showing the Cup (Netherlands vs. Uruguay). I left around 9:00 to bike home. On the way I passed over a dozen cafes, and could check the score every few minutes. Not that I needed to. In these big games, when someone scores, you hear it.

By some bizarre twist of fate, I'm currently in 4th place on our office bracket. This is definitely dumb luck because I mostly chose teams based on how many people I know from that country. I think I'm the only one in the top positions who picked Germany to win the whole thing-- so as long as Paul the Psychic Octopus is wrong, that 25 Euro bookstore gift card is all mine!!

Destination mmmmm......

There are many chains of grocery stores in Germany, from cheaper, disorganized ones like Penny Markt, to upscale organic ones. I usually shop at Rewe, because they offer local produce, meats, and eggs, but I often hear about the mysterious Aldi.

Aldi is a little chaotic for me, and the lines are always long. But they do offer short-term amazing deals on non-grocery items, like home decor, computers, and even camping equipment. All of these offers last just a few days, so word of mouth is key. On Friday my friend, Grace, told me that Aldi was hosting "American Week" so I rushed over yesterday and was not disappointed.

There was a barrage of items you can't find in Germany, like marshmallows, plus plenty of items you usually only find for much higher prices, like tortillas (normally 2-3 euros, at Aldi this week for 99 cents). So I stocked up, and have been stuffing myself ever since. I bought popcorn shrimp, marshmallows, tortillas, some very weird scones, and these fried onion things that claim to be American, although I've only ever seen them sprinkled in Thai food or on top of German Kaese Spaetzle. They also had things like jelly beans and bagels. I might have to buy some more later. It's sad to think American food week only comes once a year!

Here is the Aldi link if you're curious as to what's available here.  I didn't see the ice cream and pecans yesterday, I hope they're not sold out!!

Vacation planning

This August Ryan and I are using our generous European vacation allowance (the German legal minimum is 24 days) to visit Ireland and Scotland, with a quick stop over in London. We've chosen to forgo our beloved Rick Steves this time around, even though we love his books, because of the crowds at his recommended sites. The plan is to fly into Dublin for a few days, then hit the west coast of Ireland, drive over to Belfast, take a ferry to Scotland, visit the highlands, hit Edinburgh for the theater festival, and then train to London, visit our friend Bonnie, and then fly back to Frankfurt. This amounts to a lot of planning.

While scouring the internets, Rough Guides, and Lonely Planet, I've discovered a few travel tips I thought I'd share.

Car rental: Stranraer, the Scottish village at the end of our ferry ride, only has a Hertz rental car. I originally used the English website (with the ".co.uk" ending) and got a reasonable price. But when I tried to order the car, I had to enter my country of residence (Germany) it took me to the German website and doubled the price! I emailed tech support thinking this had to be a mistake. But no, apparently they hate German people. (My interpretation, not theirs). Luckily I found which is a US-based consolidator. They got me a much lower price from that same Hertz rental in Stranraer. (And they are Rick Steves-approved.)

My second travel tip is this interesting article from The Boston Globe about what makes a vacation enjoyable. The findings are rather surprising. A short, novelty-filled vacay is better than a month long expedition. Maybe Americans are on the right track after all with the two-week vacation? Not that I'm trading in any of my days...

Die Jungs

Day 8 of the World Cup...everywhere I go....soccer. Yesterday I saw a woman walking around in a soccer ball bra...can't take much more of this...everyone is talking incessantly about "die Jungs" (the boys)....Die Jungs in South Africa....did you see die Jungs?...At least the coach of the German team is kind of attractive. Jogi, take me away from all this soccer, once and for all....

As they say, "Jogi hat die schönste Frisur" (Jogi has the best haircut). P.S. Joachim= Jogi's full name.

Little Children and Pregnant Women Should Not Watch

Wow. I never thought about teaching my students to swear. Maybe I should be taking notes.

World Cup Fieber

our local cafe displays some flags

The World Cup kicked off last Friday afternoon in South Africa. I, like the vast majority of Americans, have never paid much attention to the World Cup, but in Germany it is very hard to ignore. Games are played daily at 1:30, 4:00, and 8:30, and its being shown everywhere. There is a huge public viewing screen on the square near my office, and every cafe (even the tiny wurst stand near our house) has a flat screen TV. This is also the only time you see the German flag. Europeans aren't really "patriotic" in the American sense of the word. Most of the time the cities are flagless, but when World Cup comes around, they sure make up for it. Windows, cars, doorways, everything is draped in flags. And we are representing as well, with a flag on our car, one on our balcony, and several extras for decoration. I mentioned to some German friends that the patriotic atmosphere is rather like the Olympics, and one replied, "No, its not. The world cup is much more important!"

Until last week I didn't know much about soccer, but my soccer-loving husband helped me fill out a bracket for work and explained the various rounds and rules, which turned out to be very helpful professionally. All my students wanted to know the English terms like "group phase" and every class wanted to discuss the teams. I put Germany as the winner in my bracket, and expected a few brownie points for this, but all the Germans I've talked to were reserved about their own odds, many betting on the Netherlands, Argentina, or Brazil. There was also a fair amount of trash-talking the US, but after our amazing tie on Saturday, that's quieted down a bit.

For now the World Cup has taken over our lives. Ryan is in heaven....I am trying to muster enthusiasm. We'll see how that works out.