Ryan and I are doing pretty well in our German these days. Someone told me my German is as fast as my English the other day, which was exciting. But little problems still remain. For example, when we were visiting friends in Berlin last weekend Ryan tried to order a "Kaninchen" of coffee. The waiter was very confused. Then Ryan remembered that he wanted a "Kännchen" (pot) not a "Kaninchen" (rabbit). We had a good laugh.
Another issue is whether to use the formal or informal "you." I wonder if native speakers of languages where there are two versions of "you" have an instinct for this? There are lots of support staff at the school where I work-- an army of schedulers, receptionists, etc. I like to speak German to them, to keep from getting rusty. In many German offices, co-workers use "du", the informal you. But not all. And older people can call younger people "du" but not always vice-versa. There are a few coworkers my age who I have "duzen"-ed with. (They asked me, "We can use 'du', right?" and of course I agreed.) The head receptionist of the school is a very nice older lady, and she always calls me "du" but I didn't know if I could call her "du" or "Sie." I always stuck to "Sie" to be on the safe side.
But yesterday as we were walking through the courtyard, she grabbed my bare leg and said "You're not wearing pantyhose, you must be freezing!" It was a little strange, but I've decided this is a sign that I can "duzen" her. What do you think? Are we friends now? We never have this problem in English!
Showing posts with label Berlin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Berlin. Show all posts
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Ich hab noch einen Koffer in Berlin
The sun rises earlier in Berlin than in Frankfurt. I was there yesterday to give back the keys to our old apartment, and stayed the night with friends. Early this morning I caught the bus M85 towards the train station. It was a double-decker, and I snagged the front seat on the top. The sun was just rising as the bus wound its way through the haphazard capital streets.
"Nächste Halt: Bülowstrasse." announced the recorded voice. I tried to remember, how do I know Bülowstrasse? As we passed it I saw, of course, the train bridge held up by stony maidens, leading right past my old church. How could I forget so soon the train station we used to take every Sunday to the American Church of Berlin? I saw in the early light the missing turret and the stones black from bomb damage. The Pastor always assured us of its "solid foundations."
We drove on, and on the left passed what looked like a palace flanked by armies of columns. I had never seen it before. That's how Berlin is, I suppose. I heard a story about the last Czar of Russia. After his family was arrested he told his wife and daughters to sew jewels and money into their corsets and undergarments, and then to dress like paupers. I don't know if that's true, but its always reminded me of Berlin.
The sun next reached the fan-like roof of the Sony Center, which reflected its rays over Potsdamer Platz. I thought about the Platz's old glory, the years of destruction and division by the wall, and finally of its rebuilding. It seemed to symbolize resurrection better than the church.
The bus lurched and occasionally tree branches smacked the upper deck. I felt a bit like a Maharajah astride an elephant, surveying my former kingdom. Ahead I saw the Reichstag's cupola and four flags rising out of the trees. To the right was the Brandenburger Tor, with the goddess of Victory charging towards the rising sun. We turned and passed the Kanzleramt, and I told Angie I would see her on TV.
We made a final turn east, and before me was the whole skyline, the Reichstag and Fernsehturm gray against the brilliant sun. At last the bus stopped before the Hauptbahnhof and I left Berlin.
"Sehnsucht" means longing or craving, but to me it always takes another meaning from its sound; sounding like the words "sehen" and "suchen" which mean to see and to search. Its like searching after something you can only see in your mind. Marlene Dietrich sings about her Sehnsucht for Berlin, and I couldn't agree more.
"Nächste Halt: Bülowstrasse." announced the recorded voice. I tried to remember, how do I know Bülowstrasse? As we passed it I saw, of course, the train bridge held up by stony maidens, leading right past my old church. How could I forget so soon the train station we used to take every Sunday to the American Church of Berlin? I saw in the early light the missing turret and the stones black from bomb damage. The Pastor always assured us of its "solid foundations."
We drove on, and on the left passed what looked like a palace flanked by armies of columns. I had never seen it before. That's how Berlin is, I suppose. I heard a story about the last Czar of Russia. After his family was arrested he told his wife and daughters to sew jewels and money into their corsets and undergarments, and then to dress like paupers. I don't know if that's true, but its always reminded me of Berlin.
The sun next reached the fan-like roof of the Sony Center, which reflected its rays over Potsdamer Platz. I thought about the Platz's old glory, the years of destruction and division by the wall, and finally of its rebuilding. It seemed to symbolize resurrection better than the church.
The bus lurched and occasionally tree branches smacked the upper deck. I felt a bit like a Maharajah astride an elephant, surveying my former kingdom. Ahead I saw the Reichstag's cupola and four flags rising out of the trees. To the right was the Brandenburger Tor, with the goddess of Victory charging towards the rising sun. We turned and passed the Kanzleramt, and I told Angie I would see her on TV.
We made a final turn east, and before me was the whole skyline, the Reichstag and Fernsehturm gray against the brilliant sun. At last the bus stopped before the Hauptbahnhof and I left Berlin.
"Sehnsucht" means longing or craving, but to me it always takes another meaning from its sound; sounding like the words "sehen" and "suchen" which mean to see and to search. Its like searching after something you can only see in your mind. Marlene Dietrich sings about her Sehnsucht for Berlin, and I couldn't agree more.
Monday, July 13, 2009
There's No Summer Break in the Real World
....but I'm taking one anyway. Just a quick update on the current situation, before I update on Strange Family Reunion '09. Last week we were in Frankfurt. Ryan's started work in the new office while I spent my days apartment hunting and enjoying the luxury of crappy business accommodation. Where's the kitchenette, you ask? Its in the wardrobe, of course.
We found a small place on the east side near a pedestrian zone and not too far from the subway. After fending off the weird agent's rantings about "gypsies" we managed to get the paperwork sorted and the lease starts Wednesday.
BUT Ryan is working in Passau again this week, so I've decided to hang out in Berlin where my friends and furniture are. Ryan's company has arranged for a moving company (hallelujah, 6 flights of stairs in Berlin and 4 in Frankfurt, not my problem!) but they can't schedule us until the 23rd. Apparently we've picked the opportune moment to move-- all the schools are getting out for summer and everyone with kids is moving now. So we'll get our keys next Monday morning and our furniture next Friday. In between I'll be making lots of trips between Berlin and Frankfurt. Oh well. At least I'm not spending this week in Frankfurt alone and furnitureless. I've had enough of that for one year!
We found a small place on the east side near a pedestrian zone and not too far from the subway. After fending off the weird agent's rantings about "gypsies" we managed to get the paperwork sorted and the lease starts Wednesday.
BUT Ryan is working in Passau again this week, so I've decided to hang out in Berlin where my friends and furniture are. Ryan's company has arranged for a moving company (hallelujah, 6 flights of stairs in Berlin and 4 in Frankfurt, not my problem!) but they can't schedule us until the 23rd. Apparently we've picked the opportune moment to move-- all the schools are getting out for summer and everyone with kids is moving now. So we'll get our keys next Monday morning and our furniture next Friday. In between I'll be making lots of trips between Berlin and Frankfurt. Oh well. At least I'm not spending this week in Frankfurt alone and furnitureless. I've had enough of that for one year!
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Acheiving Excellence in Lawn Maintenance Report, 2009
I volunteered to cut the grass at church again this week. Its a good excuse to get outside, and after the mental gymnastics of German class I enjoy accomplishing something that won't end up covered in red pen.
The last time I did this job I split it with another lady, and we spent a good two hours on a quiet Saturday morning. This time I thought it easier to come in on Friday, when the church is already unlocked for the "Laib und Seele" group that distributes food to needy people.
We have only a rickety old electric mower whose cord must be transferred around the church. As I finished the first 1/3 I moved toward the front of the church and began hunting a suitable outlet. As I scavenged the Narthex a volunteer woman approached me and offered to help. Her accent sounded like some sort of Cockney crossed with a cleft palate. She took one end of the extension cord and found an outlet. It didn't work. We tried a second outlet, and that didn't work. Now a group of elderly volunteer men began to gather and confer what the problem with the mower could be. I was pretty sure it was the extension cord, but the group decided to fuss with the mower.
I explained that I would get another cord, but then one man piped up "You're mowing the lawn, alone?!" I responded yes. He asked why I was mowing the lawn and I tried to explain that I was working for the church and we had a rotation set up, blah blah blah. The woman jabbed him in the ribs and told him "Speak English- she don't know no German" which was weird because we had been speaking German. The man asked me what my first name was (very odd in German culture) and I stared at him for a moment. The woman snapped at me "Name, what's your name?" I told them, and now they wanted my email address, I asked why. I told them I wasn't aware that me mowing the lawn on that day was a problem. The woman replied, "Well you can't be out here mowing by yourself, its too dangerous."
I tried to assure her that I had received training and had permission from the church to mow. She said "Our insurance doesn't cover you out here, not if you're alone or a woman." I found this very odd and reassured her that the Pastor had said it was ok. I thanked her for her concern, but she blocked my way.
"I won't have you out here alone. What if something happens? It doesn't look right, a woman mowing by'erself!" I made the mistake of playing into her illogical argument "Its really ok. In America even children cut the grass."
"But we're not in America, darling!"
Luckily, at that moment Angie arrived, who'd been scheduled to mow with me. "Look, I'm not alone, I have a helper." Angie apologized for being 90 minutes late by hugging me and offering rolls. She also brought her daughter who squealed "Katy!!!!!" and handed me a small flower. They gleefully picked up rubbish as I mowed. I was just getting into a rhythm when the mower suddenly stopped working. I tinkered with the power supply, emptied the grass clippings, and fussed about. No luck. I was considering getting out the screw driver and taking it apart when I heard a thunder crackle. A downpour ensued, and so I put the mower and cords away and left, lawn half-mowed. The old woman fussed at me for putting the mower away by myself and for not bringing a jacket or umbrella. At this point I wanted to sock her, but instead said "thank you." Its important to say thank you to people, especially if they are really unhelpful.
This morning I was embarrassed to show my face at church, having left the lawn 1/2 mowed and unable to get through to anybody else on our rotation about lawn mower repair. But the Pastor's wife, Margit, approached and thanked me for mowing. I blushed and tried to explain but she just laughed "This volunteer called me up Friday and said 'There's some woman mowing the lawn!'" Margit found it hilarious. I should follow her example. What's that famous quote? "Comedy is tragedy that happens to other people."-Angela Carter
The last time I did this job I split it with another lady, and we spent a good two hours on a quiet Saturday morning. This time I thought it easier to come in on Friday, when the church is already unlocked for the "Laib und Seele" group that distributes food to needy people.
We have only a rickety old electric mower whose cord must be transferred around the church. As I finished the first 1/3 I moved toward the front of the church and began hunting a suitable outlet. As I scavenged the Narthex a volunteer woman approached me and offered to help. Her accent sounded like some sort of Cockney crossed with a cleft palate. She took one end of the extension cord and found an outlet. It didn't work. We tried a second outlet, and that didn't work. Now a group of elderly volunteer men began to gather and confer what the problem with the mower could be. I was pretty sure it was the extension cord, but the group decided to fuss with the mower.
I explained that I would get another cord, but then one man piped up "You're mowing the lawn, alone?!" I responded yes. He asked why I was mowing the lawn and I tried to explain that I was working for the church and we had a rotation set up, blah blah blah. The woman jabbed him in the ribs and told him "Speak English- she don't know no German" which was weird because we had been speaking German. The man asked me what my first name was (very odd in German culture) and I stared at him for a moment. The woman snapped at me "Name, what's your name?" I told them, and now they wanted my email address, I asked why. I told them I wasn't aware that me mowing the lawn on that day was a problem. The woman replied, "Well you can't be out here mowing by yourself, its too dangerous."
I tried to assure her that I had received training and had permission from the church to mow. She said "Our insurance doesn't cover you out here, not if you're alone or a woman." I found this very odd and reassured her that the Pastor had said it was ok. I thanked her for her concern, but she blocked my way.
"I won't have you out here alone. What if something happens? It doesn't look right, a woman mowing by'erself!" I made the mistake of playing into her illogical argument "Its really ok. In America even children cut the grass."
"But we're not in America, darling!"
Luckily, at that moment Angie arrived, who'd been scheduled to mow with me. "Look, I'm not alone, I have a helper." Angie apologized for being 90 minutes late by hugging me and offering rolls. She also brought her daughter who squealed "Katy!!!!!" and handed me a small flower. They gleefully picked up rubbish as I mowed. I was just getting into a rhythm when the mower suddenly stopped working. I tinkered with the power supply, emptied the grass clippings, and fussed about. No luck. I was considering getting out the screw driver and taking it apart when I heard a thunder crackle. A downpour ensued, and so I put the mower and cords away and left, lawn half-mowed. The old woman fussed at me for putting the mower away by myself and for not bringing a jacket or umbrella. At this point I wanted to sock her, but instead said "thank you." Its important to say thank you to people, especially if they are really unhelpful.
This morning I was embarrassed to show my face at church, having left the lawn 1/2 mowed and unable to get through to anybody else on our rotation about lawn mower repair. But the Pastor's wife, Margit, approached and thanked me for mowing. I blushed and tried to explain but she just laughed "This volunteer called me up Friday and said 'There's some woman mowing the lawn!'" Margit found it hilarious. I should follow her example. What's that famous quote? "Comedy is tragedy that happens to other people."-Angela Carter
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Flusspferden
This Saturday we went to the zoo. I love the zoo, but I have to say I do feel kinda like a creep going there without children. The place is swarming with children and exhausted adults, whereas Ryan and I just go to enjoy the animals. Or rather I go to enjoy the animals and Ryan goes to laugh at my hippo giddiness.
I do really like hippos, and the Berlin zoo lets you watch their feeding. I'd never watched a hippo feeding and assumed that this would involve a trainer hauling some hay or vegetables into their enclosure. But no! Instead they spray a hose at them, and when they get bored they fire bread at them. I swear they had some kind of bread cannon, but Ryan thinks someone was just throwing it from above. But they got good distance, and have you ever tried to throw a loaf of German bread? Its about the weight and consistency of a small bundle of bricks. Clearly, some sort of bread projectile system was in use. And when the loaves hit the water they made a huge bang, and I jumped and Ryan laughed at me more.
The German words for hippo are "Flusspferden" and "Nilpferden." (River horse and Nile horse.) That's just how German works.
I've come to realize that I no longer remember how to spell hippopotamus. I just spell checked that 3 times. I used to be a good speller until I learned another language. Apparently you don't so much become bilingual as advance in one language whilst simultaneously declining in another. Plus Ryan and I mostly speak "Denglish" to each other now, sticking to one or the other takes some concentrating.
In other news I'm getting more used to Ulrike's brusqueness, Ryan is back from France, and we're planning a trip to Frankfurt this weekend for apartment hunting! So I've been pretty busy and thus remiss in my blogging. Hopefully I'll have more interesting stuff to report in the next couple days. Bis später, I mean until then...
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Boot Camp
Its been positively ages since I blogged! A brief update: Gwendolyn, our Georgian friend, came to visit. After she left Ryan came back, but this morning he left again on a fire-extinguishing visit to a problematic solar field near the French Riviera.
And I started a new German class. A course here is about 8 weeks, and having completed A2, I have been promoted to B1. Not only that, but the teachers decided to divide us into a "fast" and "slow" class. So I went from sleeping through a normal class to sweating through the fast class.
On Monday a posted list directed me to the top floor of the building. It was 2 minutes past, but the room was still dark and empty. A moment later I was joined by a black-clad, multiply pierced girl. Normal Friedrichshain morning. Then a taller girl entered, also dressed in black and topped off with loud clomping boots and a green military jacket. I scooted in so she could come sit by us, but instead she went to the front. This was our new teacher.
Corinna, my last teacher, was lanky and quiet. Her voice was the type that should read stories to children as they drift off to sleep. My new teacher, Ulrike, (funny side note, the night before Ryan and I watched "Der Baader-Meinhof Complex" a movie about a 1970s German terrorist organization with a leader called Ulrike Meinhof) is to Corinna as Che Guevara is to Snow White.
Every morning her voice booms "what is the proper case for this? And this? Explain why! No, incorrect! You, explain!" After the first 3 days my brain feels like its been through a blender. In my old class I wrote maybe 3-8 vocabulary words in my notebook every day, these days its more like 20.
Two of my classmates from my former class have joined me. Tony, a hilarious Catalan who, although often lost, always manages a joke; and Sara, also Spanish, who only periodically pops out of the fog she seems to live in. I don't want to sound harsh, she's very nice, but every morning she walks in and asks "What day is today?" and often seems genuinely surprised by the answer. "Tuesday? Really? But wasn't yesterday Thursday?"
The rest of our class is Ulrike's former class, 1 Spanish, 1 Peruvian, and 2 Italians, plus a brand new Dane. Up until last month I'd never met a Danish person and now I know four. Its a strange shift to be the only native English speaker in the class, and when things can't be explained in German they are often rattled off in Spanish, sending me diving after my dictionary.
But tomorrow I'm looking forward to a little respite. Ulrike is teaching our class 3 days a week, and Martin, one of my former teachers, is taking Thursday and Friday. His style is more relaxed, and usually slower. So hopefully we'll get some of that, not Martin sped up and drilling.
Friday, April 17, 2009
Friday Night in Berlin
Ryan is gone again on business and I've been spending more time with my classmates, which has been nice. Yesterday Carmen and I spent a few hours in a cafe and then drove a saleslady crazy trying on all the shoes in a local boutique. Today she and April wanted to go out for a beer and told me they'd call "around 4:00" which in Spanish time means somewhere between 6:30 and 8:00.
At 7:30 I didn't feel like waiting around the house anymore so I decided to see a movie. The main English-version movie theater in Berlin is in glamorous Potsdamer Platz. I practiced my supermodel walk through the glittery plaza.
I saw "Slumdog Millionaire." I was probably the last English-speaking person on the planet to see this movie, but if you haven't seen it, I'd recommend it. Its very intense, and as my German teacher would say "brutal", but it's beautifully done. The conditions of the slums in this film were absolutely heart-wrenching. I left the theater awash with guilt that my own comfortable existence could coincide unknowingly with such poverty and despair.
As I climbed aboard the U-Bahn, I passed a gangly young man dead asleep on a bench with a beer bottle in one hand and a huge book in the other. The American in me was shocked and passed by quickly. I climbed on the waiting train and watched him. Everyone else walked past, shaking their heads, some glaring at the boy. Then one man tapped him on the knee and pointed toward the idling train. The boy gathered himself and bumbled on board. He sat down between a trio of 18-year old girls making nervous faces and disgusted older man. Of course, upon sitting he immediately fell asleep, and started leaning dangerously close to one of the girls, who was eating a fruit cup. Others got up and moved away from him.
My time in England witnessed a lot of drunks. Its not unusual to see someone passed out in their own vomit in the middle of the sidewalk. But the English aren't phased, and quite used to picking each other up and putting them on the right bus.
I knew this guy was going to sleep through his station. And to be honest, I've been that drunk once or twice (never alone mind you, but anyway). So I sat down across from him and mustered my best German. I tapped him on the knee and said "You must wake up. What is your station?" I repeated myself once more and he muttered "Kottbusser Tor. You tell me when it's Kottbusser Tor. Danke." Then fell asleep again. He dropped his massive book. It was Star Trek. He started leaning again toward the young girl, and we all started laughing. Everyone in the car was now watching him, slumping to the side with a large string of drool out of his mouth. Two less drunk guys got on the train and were making fun of him, trying to impress the girls. At this point I thought "why see a movie, I can get all the entertainment of Berlin just riding the U-1."
At Kottbusser Tor I shook him awake and told him to go "schnell! Straight home, no more drinking!" He caught the eyes of the guys making fun of him, and for a minute I thought they would fight. But he lumbered off the train. The doors closed and we all laughed again. Then he banged on the window. I thought he was mad at the other boys, but instead he flashed a big smile and waved to me. The man sitting next to me said something to the effect of "Some boyfriend you have." And I couldn't answer, I was giggling too much.
So, today's German will be "blau sein." Literally, "to be blue" but it actually means drunk. For example "Ich bin nicht blau. Du, du bist blau!"
At 7:30 I didn't feel like waiting around the house anymore so I decided to see a movie. The main English-version movie theater in Berlin is in glamorous Potsdamer Platz. I practiced my supermodel walk through the glittery plaza.
I saw "Slumdog Millionaire." I was probably the last English-speaking person on the planet to see this movie, but if you haven't seen it, I'd recommend it. Its very intense, and as my German teacher would say "brutal", but it's beautifully done. The conditions of the slums in this film were absolutely heart-wrenching. I left the theater awash with guilt that my own comfortable existence could coincide unknowingly with such poverty and despair.
As I climbed aboard the U-Bahn, I passed a gangly young man dead asleep on a bench with a beer bottle in one hand and a huge book in the other. The American in me was shocked and passed by quickly. I climbed on the waiting train and watched him. Everyone else walked past, shaking their heads, some glaring at the boy. Then one man tapped him on the knee and pointed toward the idling train. The boy gathered himself and bumbled on board. He sat down between a trio of 18-year old girls making nervous faces and disgusted older man. Of course, upon sitting he immediately fell asleep, and started leaning dangerously close to one of the girls, who was eating a fruit cup. Others got up and moved away from him.
My time in England witnessed a lot of drunks. Its not unusual to see someone passed out in their own vomit in the middle of the sidewalk. But the English aren't phased, and quite used to picking each other up and putting them on the right bus.
I knew this guy was going to sleep through his station. And to be honest, I've been that drunk once or twice (never alone mind you, but anyway). So I sat down across from him and mustered my best German. I tapped him on the knee and said "You must wake up. What is your station?" I repeated myself once more and he muttered "Kottbusser Tor. You tell me when it's Kottbusser Tor. Danke." Then fell asleep again. He dropped his massive book. It was Star Trek. He started leaning again toward the young girl, and we all started laughing. Everyone in the car was now watching him, slumping to the side with a large string of drool out of his mouth. Two less drunk guys got on the train and were making fun of him, trying to impress the girls. At this point I thought "why see a movie, I can get all the entertainment of Berlin just riding the U-1."
At Kottbusser Tor I shook him awake and told him to go "schnell! Straight home, no more drinking!" He caught the eyes of the guys making fun of him, and for a minute I thought they would fight. But he lumbered off the train. The doors closed and we all laughed again. Then he banged on the window. I thought he was mad at the other boys, but instead he flashed a big smile and waved to me. The man sitting next to me said something to the effect of "Some boyfriend you have." And I couldn't answer, I was giggling too much.
So, today's German will be "blau sein." Literally, "to be blue" but it actually means drunk. For example "Ich bin nicht blau. Du, du bist blau!"
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Tower of Babble
Because I love paperwork so much I put off changing my last name immediately after marriage so I could fill out endless forms in not one but two different countries. If you thought filing for taxes in two countries was fun, imagine contacting every relevant government agency on both sides of the Atlantic. Anyway, to complete step 1 of 50 I picked up my new passport at the embassy this morning and made it to German class about 20 minutes late.
When I walked in to my classroom I didn't immediately recognize anyone- the class had doubled. At the beginning of the week we often get new students, though this was a lot. But I took my seat and listened to the rest of the introductions/discussions of what we did over Easter break. We gained an Italian, a Portugese-ee (?), two more Spainiards, and an American. The American was a well-dressed older man who introduced himself as Geoffrey, pronounced rather pretentiously (Juh-AHH-free). But everyone seemed nice.
We did a worksheet about Easter traditions and then had a discussion about different traditions in different countries. In Spain apparently they don't do eggs but have town-wide processions "morning noon and night" Carmen said as she rolled her eyes. Then the discussion turned to the US. I suggested that one normally eats ham, there was some debate about whether should include pineapple, and April mentioned hiding eggs. Then Geoffrey said that his family makes a ground beef crucifix, complete with dying Jesus, on Good Friday. He laughed and explained that he and his children were very anti-religion. Corinna said "ah how blasphemous" and instead of agreeing and shutting up he just kept going on and on about how it was his way of celebrating and enjoying his atheism and whatnot. I became pretty annoyed. I generally tolerate people making fun of Christianity, and I understand that the religion is in many ways illogical. But this guy was arguing so obnoxiously, as if we should all bow down to his superior intelligence. I'm of the opinion that if someone really is something, they shouldn't have to proclaim it. Like those t-shirts that say "sexy" on them. If you really were sexy, would you have to wear a shirt that said it? Wouldn't it just be obvious?
Anyway, on break I caught up with April and Carmen and was happy to hear that the other group had joined us temporarily because their teacher is sick. April noticed that Geoffrey had flocked to two of our former classmates who had both moved up a level: Else The Important French Artist, and Alex the Know-it-All New Zealander. They were no doubt patting each other on the back for being so special.
After break things only got worse. We read a passage and the teacher asked us if we had questions about the vocabulary. Usually this goes pretty quickly, but someone asked about the phrase "es hängt...ab" which Corinna explained literally means "it hangs on..." like something hanging on the wall, but in English it's translated "it depends on..." Simple enough. But then Geoffrey wanted to talk about different things that hang and then different things that something could depend on; on and on and on where he was finally asking such things as "in German do you 'hang' a door? What is the word for 'hinges' in German?" I think we managed to cover about 1/3 of our normal coursework today because of the inane interruptions which also included him making a joke about how some word was too simple and needed "an auf or something." He was the only one who laughed, so he felt the need to repeat himself several times.
The last few minutes Corinna gave up and we just played a vocabulary-guessing game. This is a speed game where the team describes a word to an unseeing teammate who guesses and then you must throw up your hands quickly and say something like "she said it! she said it!" There are usually several disputes about points and during one I was arguing that my teammate had been first and Geoffrey told me "You're manipulative, aren't you?" I wanted to say, "Ja, und du bist ein Arschloch" but I didn't. So that will be our German of the day. Das Arschloch = the asshole. Use it in a sentence. "Ja, und du bist ein Arschloch." (Yes, and you are an asshole.)
When I walked in to my classroom I didn't immediately recognize anyone- the class had doubled. At the beginning of the week we often get new students, though this was a lot. But I took my seat and listened to the rest of the introductions/discussions of what we did over Easter break. We gained an Italian, a Portugese-ee (?), two more Spainiards, and an American. The American was a well-dressed older man who introduced himself as Geoffrey, pronounced rather pretentiously (Juh-AHH-free). But everyone seemed nice.
We did a worksheet about Easter traditions and then had a discussion about different traditions in different countries. In Spain apparently they don't do eggs but have town-wide processions "morning noon and night" Carmen said as she rolled her eyes. Then the discussion turned to the US. I suggested that one normally eats ham, there was some debate about whether should include pineapple, and April mentioned hiding eggs. Then Geoffrey said that his family makes a ground beef crucifix, complete with dying Jesus, on Good Friday. He laughed and explained that he and his children were very anti-religion. Corinna said "ah how blasphemous" and instead of agreeing and shutting up he just kept going on and on about how it was his way of celebrating and enjoying his atheism and whatnot. I became pretty annoyed. I generally tolerate people making fun of Christianity, and I understand that the religion is in many ways illogical. But this guy was arguing so obnoxiously, as if we should all bow down to his superior intelligence. I'm of the opinion that if someone really is something, they shouldn't have to proclaim it. Like those t-shirts that say "sexy" on them. If you really were sexy, would you have to wear a shirt that said it? Wouldn't it just be obvious?
Anyway, on break I caught up with April and Carmen and was happy to hear that the other group had joined us temporarily because their teacher is sick. April noticed that Geoffrey had flocked to two of our former classmates who had both moved up a level: Else The Important French Artist, and Alex the Know-it-All New Zealander. They were no doubt patting each other on the back for being so special.
After break things only got worse. We read a passage and the teacher asked us if we had questions about the vocabulary. Usually this goes pretty quickly, but someone asked about the phrase "es hängt...ab" which Corinna explained literally means "it hangs on..." like something hanging on the wall, but in English it's translated "it depends on..." Simple enough. But then Geoffrey wanted to talk about different things that hang and then different things that something could depend on; on and on and on where he was finally asking such things as "in German do you 'hang' a door? What is the word for 'hinges' in German?" I think we managed to cover about 1/3 of our normal coursework today because of the inane interruptions which also included him making a joke about how some word was too simple and needed "an auf or something." He was the only one who laughed, so he felt the need to repeat himself several times.
The last few minutes Corinna gave up and we just played a vocabulary-guessing game. This is a speed game where the team describes a word to an unseeing teammate who guesses and then you must throw up your hands quickly and say something like "she said it! she said it!" There are usually several disputes about points and during one I was arguing that my teammate had been first and Geoffrey told me "You're manipulative, aren't you?" I wanted to say, "Ja, und du bist ein Arschloch" but I didn't. So that will be our German of the day. Das Arschloch = the asshole. Use it in a sentence. "Ja, und du bist ein Arschloch." (Yes, and you are an asshole.)
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Accidental German
Everyday I am thinking more and more in German. I converse more in German and feel pretty comfortable in most circumstances. Today I said "Entschuldigung mein Deutsch ist sehr schlect" (Sorry my German is very bad) for the first time in a month, and it was only to get out of speaking to Jehovah's Witnesses. Unfortunately they also spoke English, so no dice.
I spend a large part of my German class everyday giggling obnoxiously. There are just so many funny things I have never considered. For example, today someone asked what "überaschen" meant. It means surprise. And I asked my teacher "do Germans have surprise parties?" He said yes. I asked "Do you jump out and yell 'überaschen!'" He said yes, and I cracked up. I don't know why this should be funny to me, but it is.
Another example is a strange listening exercise from last week. We were listening to dialogue and had to answer if the speakers used certain polite phrases with each other. The first few were very ordinary, a polite shopkeeper, a rude child, but the third was an elderly lady being helped onto a train by a young man. They both spoke politely, but the funny thing was as she was going up the train steps she made very sexual panting noises. It went on for nearly a minute. We were all laughing and Corrina was beet red.
Something about being embarrassed came up in class and Phil wanted to tell our other teacher this story. But he didn't know any words for "panting" or "moaning" and so he said "sexgeräusche machen" (sex sounds making). Martin thought this was a good made up word, but also taught us the word for "to moan"-- stöhnen. Use it in a sentence! For example "Die Oma hat sehr laut gestöhnt." (The grandma has moaned very loudly.)
I spend a large part of my German class everyday giggling obnoxiously. There are just so many funny things I have never considered. For example, today someone asked what "überaschen" meant. It means surprise. And I asked my teacher "do Germans have surprise parties?" He said yes. I asked "Do you jump out and yell 'überaschen!'" He said yes, and I cracked up. I don't know why this should be funny to me, but it is.
Another example is a strange listening exercise from last week. We were listening to dialogue and had to answer if the speakers used certain polite phrases with each other. The first few were very ordinary, a polite shopkeeper, a rude child, but the third was an elderly lady being helped onto a train by a young man. They both spoke politely, but the funny thing was as she was going up the train steps she made very sexual panting noises. It went on for nearly a minute. We were all laughing and Corrina was beet red.
Something about being embarrassed came up in class and Phil wanted to tell our other teacher this story. But he didn't know any words for "panting" or "moaning" and so he said "sexgeräusche machen" (sex sounds making). Martin thought this was a good made up word, but also taught us the word for "to moan"-- stöhnen. Use it in a sentence! For example "Die Oma hat sehr laut gestöhnt." (The grandma has moaned very loudly.)
Thursday, April 2, 2009
The End of the Dental Saga
I am very happy to finally have clean teeth again. Yesterday I spent an hour wearing a surgical mask over my eyes while a hygienist sprayed some sort of grainy stuff all over my teeth. It was a thoroughly uncomfortable experience, but the results seem better than any teeth cleaning I've had in the States. Perhaps they is just a more dramatic difference, or perhaps I'm more inclined to like it due to discomfort. (Not that I enjoy discomfort, but I learned from my psychology podcast that if you make something expensive/uncomfortable/etc people usually value the outcome more.)
Anyway, that's just to satisfy your curiosity of my dental issues. I'm cleaning the house right now because my friend Bonnie is coming to visit. More about that to come!
Anyway, that's just to satisfy your curiosity of my dental issues. I'm cleaning the house right now because my friend Bonnie is coming to visit. More about that to come!
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Klubbing
Ryan has been gone on a business trip since Wednesday. The first night he was gone I raided the IKEA. The second night I raided the ice cream section of the grocery store. On Friday my classmates were comparing notes on all the hottest underground illegal edgy secret clubs, and they asked me if I go clubbing. I said "Not often" but really meant "never."
All techno music sounds the same to me, I don't really enjoy gyrating in small or large groups, and I'm usually in bed by eleven. But I didn't want my classmates to know how lame I am, and I figured its a good opportunity to socialize; so I took them up on an invite to the latest hottest party venue.
Once I got home from class I realized I have no idea what to wear to a club. I googled the club name and found out that it's the "coolest illegal brewery space in Berlin". Illegal? I've heard of clubs where they have secret passwords, but this whole world is very strange to me.
We met up at 11:00 at Carmen's apartment and hung out drinking red wine. Around 1:00 (!) we left for the club. We weren't asked a secret password, and April even got us in on the guest list. The building is a dilapidated Villa-- gorgeous arches and architecture straight out of the Victorian era. Of course now its plastered in graffiti and gouged with holes.
The entertainment was basically what I expected. We drank and danced around a little circle with our coats in the middle. April's friend was DJing and some of our classmates left to go to another room because the "music" was "better." Obviously I'm no appreciator of this type of stuff, but it was fun hanging out with everyone.
It was already really late but I made a commitment to myself not to be the first to leave. I was counting on my friend's girlfriend who seemed really tired and wasn't drinking, but around 4:00 am I was beat. I cut out and some friends insisted on walking me to the tram. It was nice of them though Berlin really is very safe.
Got home and fell into bed around 5:00; woke up around noon with a pillowcase covered in black eyeshadow. I think I'm too old for this stuff. Luckily Ryan gets home tonight and we can resume our eating-in, watching rental movies, early bedtime lifestyle. Do you think any of my hip classmates could be converted?
All techno music sounds the same to me, I don't really enjoy gyrating in small or large groups, and I'm usually in bed by eleven. But I didn't want my classmates to know how lame I am, and I figured its a good opportunity to socialize; so I took them up on an invite to the latest hottest party venue.
Once I got home from class I realized I have no idea what to wear to a club. I googled the club name and found out that it's the "coolest illegal brewery space in Berlin". Illegal? I've heard of clubs where they have secret passwords, but this whole world is very strange to me.
We met up at 11:00 at Carmen's apartment and hung out drinking red wine. Around 1:00 (!) we left for the club. We weren't asked a secret password, and April even got us in on the guest list. The building is a dilapidated Villa-- gorgeous arches and architecture straight out of the Victorian era. Of course now its plastered in graffiti and gouged with holes.
The entertainment was basically what I expected. We drank and danced around a little circle with our coats in the middle. April's friend was DJing and some of our classmates left to go to another room because the "music" was "better." Obviously I'm no appreciator of this type of stuff, but it was fun hanging out with everyone.
It was already really late but I made a commitment to myself not to be the first to leave. I was counting on my friend's girlfriend who seemed really tired and wasn't drinking, but around 4:00 am I was beat. I cut out and some friends insisted on walking me to the tram. It was nice of them though Berlin really is very safe.
Got home and fell into bed around 5:00; woke up around noon with a pillowcase covered in black eyeshadow. I think I'm too old for this stuff. Luckily Ryan gets home tonight and we can resume our eating-in, watching rental movies, early bedtime lifestyle. Do you think any of my hip classmates could be converted?
The Ongoing Dental Saga....
It has been a month and I still haven't seen a dentist! You will recall that I attempted to see an English-speaking dentist a few weeks ago and got terribly lost but ended up singing Irish drinking songs with an old lady.
Then I canceled that appointment and after much internet searching found a dentist less than a block away from my apartment. Voila! I made an appointment 2 weeks ago and showed up on my appointment day to be told that it was next week. So on Wednesday this week I scrubbed my teeth and braced myself for my first dentist visit in 2 years.
I showed up and filled out forms. A hygienist led me into an exam room where I met the dentist. He is about 7 feet tall in my estimation and as wide as a door. He didn't smile. His name is Jurg. Kinda scary. He asked me what I needed and in my bad German I said something like "I lived in England for 2 years and didn't see a dentist. I think my teeth are very dirty."
He leaned my chair back and the friendly hygienist explained that they were going to make some photos of my teeth. I didn't know if they meant x-rays or what, but he stuck what looked like a pen in my mouth and suddenly there were photos of the yellowest bits of my teeth on a giant computer screen. Lovely.
He then grabbed a chart (luckily labeled in English) and spent about 20 minutes lecturing me on something and gesturing at pictures of rotting teeth. I managed to understand that I have "reversible gingivitis" and need a cleaning. I figured "duh, that's why I'm here." But then he handed me a brochure and the hygienist told me to think about it. I stared at her and said "So you don't clean my teeth today?" They chuckled as if this was some absurd question but told me I could make an appointment for next week.
So next Wednesday, after a month of questing, I may actually have a dentist appointment! Wish me luck.
Then I canceled that appointment and after much internet searching found a dentist less than a block away from my apartment. Voila! I made an appointment 2 weeks ago and showed up on my appointment day to be told that it was next week. So on Wednesday this week I scrubbed my teeth and braced myself for my first dentist visit in 2 years.
I showed up and filled out forms. A hygienist led me into an exam room where I met the dentist. He is about 7 feet tall in my estimation and as wide as a door. He didn't smile. His name is Jurg. Kinda scary. He asked me what I needed and in my bad German I said something like "I lived in England for 2 years and didn't see a dentist. I think my teeth are very dirty."
He leaned my chair back and the friendly hygienist explained that they were going to make some photos of my teeth. I didn't know if they meant x-rays or what, but he stuck what looked like a pen in my mouth and suddenly there were photos of the yellowest bits of my teeth on a giant computer screen. Lovely.
He then grabbed a chart (luckily labeled in English) and spent about 20 minutes lecturing me on something and gesturing at pictures of rotting teeth. I managed to understand that I have "reversible gingivitis" and need a cleaning. I figured "duh, that's why I'm here." But then he handed me a brochure and the hygienist told me to think about it. I stared at her and said "So you don't clean my teeth today?" They chuckled as if this was some absurd question but told me I could make an appointment for next week.
So next Wednesday, after a month of questing, I may actually have a dentist appointment! Wish me luck.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
A Trip to the Dentist
Today was my first dentist appointment in about 2 years. After class I rushed around with a number of small but urgent errands and just barely made the subway. I grabbed a quick lunch at the train station and set off on the walk to find the dentist's office.
(There are quite a number of dentists in my neighborhood, but I selected this dentist off a list from the US Embassy of English-speaking doctors and dentists because I'm afraid that with my bad German I might unwittingly agree to a root canal.)
I was running late and it looked about to rain. Then I saw a strange memorial. There are memorials all over Berlin, even, disturbingly enough, a memorial to citizens killed in a bombing in the IKEA parking lot. But this one caught my eye-- it marked the spot where the first person died attempting to cross the wall. His name was Rudolf Urban. East German soldiers shot him, and West Germans looked on as he bled to death in "no man's land."
As I got closer to the dentist's office I saw many more memorials, including an old guard tower that was left standing in front of what is now an apartment building. A large part of this "no man's land" area is now a graveyard.
It was all very interesting, but I was anxious to find the dentist's office quickly so I'd have time to fill out my medical history in German. I turned onto a small street and found the number. It looked like an apartment building, but I read the names on the buzzers anyway. No Dr. Shulze. I checked the next building's buzzers. Nope. An elderly lady exited the building and I approached her.
"Excuse me, but is this Kielerstrasse 1?"
"Yes." She said as she loaded a package into her bicycle's basket.
"Are there any dentists here?"
"I don't know, many people live here."
"Do you know if there are any dentist's offices here?"
"No no. Just apartments. There are 3 Kielerstrasses in Berlin, you know."
"Oh really? Shoot." I checked my planner and realized I didn't write down the dentist's phone number.
"One minute, I will help you find it." She took her package and went back into the apartment building. I called Ryan and he managed to track down the zip code and phone number for me.
I called the dentist and rescheduled my appointment. I took down the name of their subway station. Then the woman popped out again with her package and a large map book. I told her I made a new appointment and she looked up the postcode of the dentist's office. It was not in central Berlin (as the embassy listed) but rather in Berlin's extreme southwest.
"Where do you live?" She asked.
"In Friedrichshain."
"Why do you want to go to a dentist all the way over there? That's too far for a dentist. Go to a dentist by your house."
"But my German isn't very good, and this dentist speaks English."
"Its not such a problem. Old people can speak English too, you know. I speak English." And then she did.
She told me about traveling to Ireland and made me sing "Molly Malone" with her in the front yard of the apartment building. We talked for a good half hour or so, about her retirement, what I'm doing here, what she'd seen in the states, the progress of computers in the last 30 years, etc. Then she showed me the path through the graveyard and sent me back to the train station.
So my teeth remain covered in tartar for another week or so. But I did get to see a new part of Berlin and practice some German. It feels good to blow off appointments once and a while.
(There are quite a number of dentists in my neighborhood, but I selected this dentist off a list from the US Embassy of English-speaking doctors and dentists because I'm afraid that with my bad German I might unwittingly agree to a root canal.)
I was running late and it looked about to rain. Then I saw a strange memorial. There are memorials all over Berlin, even, disturbingly enough, a memorial to citizens killed in a bombing in the IKEA parking lot. But this one caught my eye-- it marked the spot where the first person died attempting to cross the wall. His name was Rudolf Urban. East German soldiers shot him, and West Germans looked on as he bled to death in "no man's land."
As I got closer to the dentist's office I saw many more memorials, including an old guard tower that was left standing in front of what is now an apartment building. A large part of this "no man's land" area is now a graveyard.
It was all very interesting, but I was anxious to find the dentist's office quickly so I'd have time to fill out my medical history in German. I turned onto a small street and found the number. It looked like an apartment building, but I read the names on the buzzers anyway. No Dr. Shulze. I checked the next building's buzzers. Nope. An elderly lady exited the building and I approached her.
"Excuse me, but is this Kielerstrasse 1?"
"Yes." She said as she loaded a package into her bicycle's basket.
"Are there any dentists here?"
"I don't know, many people live here."
"Do you know if there are any dentist's offices here?"
"No no. Just apartments. There are 3 Kielerstrasses in Berlin, you know."
"Oh really? Shoot." I checked my planner and realized I didn't write down the dentist's phone number.
"One minute, I will help you find it." She took her package and went back into the apartment building. I called Ryan and he managed to track down the zip code and phone number for me.
I called the dentist and rescheduled my appointment. I took down the name of their subway station. Then the woman popped out again with her package and a large map book. I told her I made a new appointment and she looked up the postcode of the dentist's office. It was not in central Berlin (as the embassy listed) but rather in Berlin's extreme southwest.
"Where do you live?" She asked.
"In Friedrichshain."
"Why do you want to go to a dentist all the way over there? That's too far for a dentist. Go to a dentist by your house."
"But my German isn't very good, and this dentist speaks English."
"Its not such a problem. Old people can speak English too, you know. I speak English." And then she did.
She told me about traveling to Ireland and made me sing "Molly Malone" with her in the front yard of the apartment building. We talked for a good half hour or so, about her retirement, what I'm doing here, what she'd seen in the states, the progress of computers in the last 30 years, etc. Then she showed me the path through the graveyard and sent me back to the train station.
So my teeth remain covered in tartar for another week or so. But I did get to see a new part of Berlin and practice some German. It feels good to blow off appointments once and a while.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Practice Makes Perfekt
Martin has been harassing my class that we need to spend more time speaking German outside of class, so last Friday night Ryan and I instituted a half-hour of only German. We lasted about 10 minutes before we both started running into words we only knew in English. We kept it up for the full half hour, but since Friday have failed to initiate another practice session. Then again, on Monday and Wednesday Ryan has evening classes and we only see each other about an hour anyway, and I'd rather not sacrifice valuable catch-up time to sputtering about in German.
But yesterday I practiced with a real German! Normally I don't chat with people when I'm doing laundry or shopping, people are very formal here and don't generally joke with strangers. But yesterday the fridge repairman came (no our fridge wasn't broken, but the fridge light was finicky and our Hausmeister insisted that it run properly! Sorry Bonnie, but that's Germans vs. Brits.) Anyway, he was this heavily-mustached elderly man who puffed and complained the whole way up our 5 flights of stairs. I apologized that we have no elevator, but he just smiled and said "You are young, it is easy for you to go up the stairs."
I showed him to the fridge and explained that the light works sometimes. He said something I didn't understand then gestured flicking a switch, and said "ausmachen" which I just learned in class that morning. I guessed he meant the fuse box, so I took him back downstairs and showed him. He told me to go upstairs and yell when the fridge light went off. I did and he seemed to find the problem quickly. (I always wonder where and what I should be doing when there's a repairman over. I don't want to stand over his shoulder, but is it rude to go into the other room and go about my business?) So I sat at the kitchen table and looked over my homework. He asked me to flick the switch back on, and voila! Fridge light!
He asked me where I came from and I explained the whys and wheres. He said he'd never been to the US before then something I didn't understand and then said "Aussie" and I thought "maybe he's been to Australia?" So I said "Super!" And then he clarified that he's from the east, an "Ossie" not "Aussie" as in behind the wall. I didn't know what to say, so he asked if we intended to stay forever. I said "No, just for 2 or 3 years." And he said "You shouldn't stay here forever. Its no good here. Next year I'm going to retire and move to Norway."
I asked "Isn't the beer in Norway very expensive?"
"I don't smoke and I don't drink!"
"That is not typical."
Then he said something something "abend" which is evening, and then "do you understand?"
"Not really."
Then he said it again I realized he was saying "arme" which means poor. He proceeded to explain "Poor is when someone doesn't have much money. Rich is like a millionaire." Then he laughed and wished me a good day.
When the Hausmeister insisted on getting a repairman to come over I was a little irritated because I hate having to wait around for them, but now I see that I should break the fridge more often. If the fridge repairman came over once a week, my German would improve very quickly.
But yesterday I practiced with a real German! Normally I don't chat with people when I'm doing laundry or shopping, people are very formal here and don't generally joke with strangers. But yesterday the fridge repairman came (no our fridge wasn't broken, but the fridge light was finicky and our Hausmeister insisted that it run properly! Sorry Bonnie, but that's Germans vs. Brits.) Anyway, he was this heavily-mustached elderly man who puffed and complained the whole way up our 5 flights of stairs. I apologized that we have no elevator, but he just smiled and said "You are young, it is easy for you to go up the stairs."
I showed him to the fridge and explained that the light works sometimes. He said something I didn't understand then gestured flicking a switch, and said "ausmachen" which I just learned in class that morning. I guessed he meant the fuse box, so I took him back downstairs and showed him. He told me to go upstairs and yell when the fridge light went off. I did and he seemed to find the problem quickly. (I always wonder where and what I should be doing when there's a repairman over. I don't want to stand over his shoulder, but is it rude to go into the other room and go about my business?) So I sat at the kitchen table and looked over my homework. He asked me to flick the switch back on, and voila! Fridge light!
He asked me where I came from and I explained the whys and wheres. He said he'd never been to the US before then something I didn't understand and then said "Aussie" and I thought "maybe he's been to Australia?" So I said "Super!" And then he clarified that he's from the east, an "Ossie" not "Aussie" as in behind the wall. I didn't know what to say, so he asked if we intended to stay forever. I said "No, just for 2 or 3 years." And he said "You shouldn't stay here forever. Its no good here. Next year I'm going to retire and move to Norway."
I asked "Isn't the beer in Norway very expensive?"
"I don't smoke and I don't drink!"
"That is not typical."
Then he said something something "abend" which is evening, and then "do you understand?"
"Not really."
Then he said it again I realized he was saying "arme" which means poor. He proceeded to explain "Poor is when someone doesn't have much money. Rich is like a millionaire." Then he laughed and wished me a good day.
When the Hausmeister insisted on getting a repairman to come over I was a little irritated because I hate having to wait around for them, but now I see that I should break the fridge more often. If the fridge repairman came over once a week, my German would improve very quickly.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
The Eyes of a Psychopath
Monday through Wednesday my German class is taught by a subdued and bashful lady called Corrina. Thursday introduced us to Martin, her ADHD counterpart. He made us do extended introductions and I came to learn that my classmates are generally all Bohemian artist/musician/designer types. The Japanese student is learning the language primarily so he can read some abstract Austrian philosopher's original works. When my turn came I meekly explained that I am a hausfrau, here because my husband has a job.
Martin doesn't let us speak English. We ended class on Friday with a worksheet about parents and children. We were presented with 3 photographs of children and 3 photographs of parents and had to match them based on short descriptive paragraphs. He questioned us for whom we thought belonged to whom. He asked me about the third parent-child match and I basically had no good reason. But looking at the picture I said, "Well this daughter and mother both have crazy eyes." Martin asked "Why do you think she has crazy eyes?" I had no idea how to explain this in German. I tried to think of the translation for "silly" and then remembered that in German silly=dumb. So I said "I don't know, she has a dumb face?"
Everyone laughed and Martin taught us the word for "to stare." My British classmate passionately disagreed. "The mother has friendly eyes. The mother in the first picture is the one with the eyes of a psychopath!" This devolved into our class arguing about who had psychopathic eyes and what exactly constituted psychopathic eyes.
So, should I have to describe someone to the police, I know how to say "crazy eyes" "dumb face" and "looks like a psychopath." That's real world knowledge. And I was right about the mother and daughter belonging to each other. You can always tell by the eyes.
Martin doesn't let us speak English. We ended class on Friday with a worksheet about parents and children. We were presented with 3 photographs of children and 3 photographs of parents and had to match them based on short descriptive paragraphs. He questioned us for whom we thought belonged to whom. He asked me about the third parent-child match and I basically had no good reason. But looking at the picture I said, "Well this daughter and mother both have crazy eyes." Martin asked "Why do you think she has crazy eyes?" I had no idea how to explain this in German. I tried to think of the translation for "silly" and then remembered that in German silly=dumb. So I said "I don't know, she has a dumb face?"
Everyone laughed and Martin taught us the word for "to stare." My British classmate passionately disagreed. "The mother has friendly eyes. The mother in the first picture is the one with the eyes of a psychopath!" This devolved into our class arguing about who had psychopathic eyes and what exactly constituted psychopathic eyes.
So, should I have to describe someone to the police, I know how to say "crazy eyes" "dumb face" and "looks like a psychopath." That's real world knowledge. And I was right about the mother and daughter belonging to each other. You can always tell by the eyes.
Monday, March 2, 2009
First Day of School!
My German class started this morning. I was pretty nervous about going. This is the first class I've taken, mostly I've been learning by listening to pod casts and through books. I was assigned to level A2, which is the second of five or six levels. Primarily I worried that the class would be way ahead of me grammatically and that I would end up being the token stupid kid.
I showed up 10 minutes early to find my group and classroom. There must be nearly 100 students in the various classes, and they were all milling about chatting with each other. A new fear struck me: would they be so tight-nit that there would be no place for one awkward American chick?
Class started and the teacher started by asking what we did on the weekend and I thought I'd impress by laying out a phrase learned only yesterday, "zu Fuss gehen" which means to go for a walk. She asked me a follow up question and I had no idea what she was talking about. Backfire. I stared at my classmates who were staring back encouragingly, some even making gestures to try and help me. No dice. Only when I got home was I able to look up "spazieren"-to stroll.
On break my two American classmates approached and complained about our teacher. The previous session's teacher was apparently more animated than a cartoon character and cracked a lot of jokes. I think our teacher is pretty nice, but they find her dull. I changed the subject by admitting how shoddy my grammar is, and they admitted they didn't catch much of the morning's grammar lesson either.
"We had to take a grammar test at the end of last session and we all failed." They quipped. I thought 'Maybe its good thing we got a new teacher.'
I'm very happy to have class everyday. I've felt pretty aimless lately. I'm a person who needs to have work, and our small flat is not very much work.
In other news, Ryan's Canadian boss is in town for these next two days and I'm hoping we can get some details about both the whys and hows of our proposed move. They're having dinner tonight, details to follow....
Friday, February 27, 2009
Uggggggg....Blekkkkkkk........Grrrrrrrr!!!!!!!!
A young man walks down the street. Standing inside the door of the bank is his wife. She smiles as she sees his approach. She gathers her folder of documents and opens the door to him.
"I brought you some chocolates." The man smiles meekly. His wife's eyes bulge, her voice drops to a whisper.
"What has happened?"
"Didn't you say you always wanted to live in Frankfurt?"
"WHAT?!" She exclaims too loudly. Others in the bank turn to see the commotion.
That was yesterday evening. Our appointment to switch to Berliner Volksbank was rendered instantly moot. Ryan's company has decided in their infinite wisdom, to move our entire branch to Frankfurt this summer. Keep in mind, some of the Berlin employees haven't even moved in yet! We have been in our apartment for 4 weeks, and had furniture for 1 week. This whole thing is totally bizarre. It was explained as having to do with an argument between the regional manager (whose family is in Frankfurt) and a recently-fired CFO who set us up in Berlin. And so everyone gets to move or be out of a job. For us there is no choice, although we love Berlin and partly chose this position because of its location. But our visas are tied to Ryan's job. Great.
The place we are moving is not even IN Frankfurt, but about 30 minutes southeast by car, which we don't have. Needless to say, we are all pretty pissed. Can I hope for a branch-wide mutiny?
"I brought you some chocolates." The man smiles meekly. His wife's eyes bulge, her voice drops to a whisper.
"What has happened?"
"Didn't you say you always wanted to live in Frankfurt?"
"WHAT?!" She exclaims too loudly. Others in the bank turn to see the commotion.
That was yesterday evening. Our appointment to switch to Berliner Volksbank was rendered instantly moot. Ryan's company has decided in their infinite wisdom, to move our entire branch to Frankfurt this summer. Keep in mind, some of the Berlin employees haven't even moved in yet! We have been in our apartment for 4 weeks, and had furniture for 1 week. This whole thing is totally bizarre. It was explained as having to do with an argument between the regional manager (whose family is in Frankfurt) and a recently-fired CFO who set us up in Berlin. And so everyone gets to move or be out of a job. For us there is no choice, although we love Berlin and partly chose this position because of its location. But our visas are tied to Ryan's job. Great.
The place we are moving is not even IN Frankfurt, but about 30 minutes southeast by car, which we don't have. Needless to say, we are all pretty pissed. Can I hope for a branch-wide mutiny?
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Silly Days for Serious People
In Germany "silly" is synonymous with "stupid" and people maintain dignity at all times. So you can imagine my surprise when we were invited to a Karneval party on Saturday night and met with a night of Germans gone wild.
We had planned to meet up with our friends Simon & Sarah. They decided we must go to a Karneval party. With only an hour or so's notice we scoured the closet and came up with a costume of "American Tourists." We donned our most athletic sneakers, white tube socks, money belts on top of our clothes, sunglasses, and Obama pins. Ryan tucked in a polo shirt and I wore a scarf proclaiming "Paris, France." We looked pretty dumb and I really hoped that we weren't having a prank pulled on us.
But when we got to the party people were dressed much weirder than us, wearing bizarre hats shaped like cakes, flower pots, etc. Faces were painted green, or wearing Elton John-like sunglasses. Some people were dressed like cowboys, but most costumes weren't so literal. And unlike Halloween there weren't any sexy costumes.
The music was very loud and very oompa-pa. Ryan and I didn't know how to dance it; it was more like marching music. But everyone else was going crazy! Simon explained to us that this is the once a year when Germans can dance without worrying about looking undignified. Most of the songs were traditional Karneval songs from Köln (Cologne) and in a very thick dialect. The DJ did play "Country Roads" and "Summer of '69." I was excited to hear a song I knew, and some drunk old business man did a weird dance with me. The dance basically consisted of slow-motion high-fiving. Then the DJ got really excited and took off his pants. His shirt was past his bum, thankfully, because he wasn't wearing any underwear.
Later on we were forcibly abducted into a conga line, I drank too much, and on the way out of the bathroom Sarah and I were hit on by some guys who said they didn't care that we are married. Sarah asked if they would buy drinks for our husbands too, and I almost thought it would work. It was too much for one night, and when I woke up the next morning I decided it was good that Lent started soon.
But one more thing. They played a funny song called "20 Centimeter" which is about, um, male anatomical bragging. Its very catching, and here's a link if you dare. Email me if you want a translation.
We had planned to meet up with our friends Simon & Sarah. They decided we must go to a Karneval party. With only an hour or so's notice we scoured the closet and came up with a costume of "American Tourists." We donned our most athletic sneakers, white tube socks, money belts on top of our clothes, sunglasses, and Obama pins. Ryan tucked in a polo shirt and I wore a scarf proclaiming "Paris, France." We looked pretty dumb and I really hoped that we weren't having a prank pulled on us.
But when we got to the party people were dressed much weirder than us, wearing bizarre hats shaped like cakes, flower pots, etc. Faces were painted green, or wearing Elton John-like sunglasses. Some people were dressed like cowboys, but most costumes weren't so literal. And unlike Halloween there weren't any sexy costumes.
The music was very loud and very oompa-pa. Ryan and I didn't know how to dance it; it was more like marching music. But everyone else was going crazy! Simon explained to us that this is the once a year when Germans can dance without worrying about looking undignified. Most of the songs were traditional Karneval songs from Köln (Cologne) and in a very thick dialect. The DJ did play "Country Roads" and "Summer of '69." I was excited to hear a song I knew, and some drunk old business man did a weird dance with me. The dance basically consisted of slow-motion high-fiving. Then the DJ got really excited and took off his pants. His shirt was past his bum, thankfully, because he wasn't wearing any underwear.
Later on we were forcibly abducted into a conga line, I drank too much, and on the way out of the bathroom Sarah and I were hit on by some guys who said they didn't care that we are married. Sarah asked if they would buy drinks for our husbands too, and I almost thought it would work. It was too much for one night, and when I woke up the next morning I decided it was good that Lent started soon.
But one more thing. They played a funny song called "20 Centimeter" which is about, um, male anatomical bragging. Its very catching, and here's a link if you dare. Email me if you want a translation.
Thursday, February 19, 2009
A Week of Perpetual Incompetence
Two Sundays ago we were invited to a nice dinner with a family and another couple from church. We were all Americans save for one German, and we got on the subject of German professionalism. I complemented the country, pointing out how seriously people take their jobs, and with such pride. German products are generally known for their high quality, which I attribute to the fact that Germans generally have one career for life. There is no waitressing to pay for tuition, no second job to make ends meet. If you are a bank teller or a garbage man, its because you chose that career, trained for it, and will have it for the rest of your life. There is an incentive to be good at what you do.
But that teaches me for stereotyping, even in a positive sense. Ryan and I have been battling a variety of companies this last week who display a stunning array of incompetencies.
Friday we were due a visit from Deutsche Telekom, the company that owns all the internet connections in the country. Although we have our internet from Vodafone, DT has to come and set up the connection. We had to wait 16 days for this appointment, and after the technician left, it didn't work. Several phone calls later, I was given the answer "maybe it will just start working over the weekend." Right. I love it when electronic gadgets fix themselves.
Surprise surprise, still broken on Monday. And meanwhile Ryan's company still hadn't gotten our reimbursements back to us and our bank account was dwindling quickly. Monday Ryan set out to tackle that problem while I spent more time on the phone to Vodafone and Deutsche Telekom, each of whom denied the internet problem was their fault. After going back and forth with them for several hours, I was told to wait until noon on Tuesday, then maybe it would work. The logic here is stunning.
Tuesday afternoon I ring Vodafone again and they promise to send a Vodafone technician...tomorrow. I explain that I've been waiting since Friday and before that for two weeks, but "nothing can be done today." Ryan managed to get the email of his HR person's supervisor in Canada who is very apologetic about his expense report and promises to send the money herself immediately. Then surprisingly, a Vodafone technician shows up at 6pm. He tells me Deutsche Telekom has made a mistake and he will get another technician out tomorrow. He also fixes one of my electrical sockets, which was nice of him.
Wednesday morning the internet miraculously works. HR tells Ryan the money should be in our account today. All is right in the universe!? Not quite. Deutsche Telekom still wants to send a technician out and I spend a few phone calls explaining we don't need a technician anymore. And the money doesn't show up in our bank account. Ryan investigates further and comes to discover that Deutsche Bank has mysteriously removed his name from our account, and that's why we can't receive his salary. I spend some time on the phone with Deutsche Bank, then rush down to the nearest branch (3 subway stops away) and they have just closed, because its Wednesday, and that's the day it arbitrarily closes 2 hours early. Blech.
So today I'm off to correct that situation, as soon as the bank opens at the lazy hour of 10. Its been a bit of a stressful week to say the least, but I'm hoping that these things won't be a problem in the future. I'll probably get a new bank account since this isn't the first time that Deutsche Bank has screwed up our account. And luckily we won't have to deal with Deutsche Telekom or Vodafone much in the future since we are now installed. That is a good incentive not to move. There has been a big row in the finance department at Ryan's company's headquarters over the expense report and that situation has been worked out. So there is hope that our experience with German companies will go back to being smooth and delightful.
But that teaches me for stereotyping, even in a positive sense. Ryan and I have been battling a variety of companies this last week who display a stunning array of incompetencies.
Friday we were due a visit from Deutsche Telekom, the company that owns all the internet connections in the country. Although we have our internet from Vodafone, DT has to come and set up the connection. We had to wait 16 days for this appointment, and after the technician left, it didn't work. Several phone calls later, I was given the answer "maybe it will just start working over the weekend." Right. I love it when electronic gadgets fix themselves.
Surprise surprise, still broken on Monday. And meanwhile Ryan's company still hadn't gotten our reimbursements back to us and our bank account was dwindling quickly. Monday Ryan set out to tackle that problem while I spent more time on the phone to Vodafone and Deutsche Telekom, each of whom denied the internet problem was their fault. After going back and forth with them for several hours, I was told to wait until noon on Tuesday, then maybe it would work. The logic here is stunning.
Tuesday afternoon I ring Vodafone again and they promise to send a Vodafone technician...tomorrow. I explain that I've been waiting since Friday and before that for two weeks, but "nothing can be done today." Ryan managed to get the email of his HR person's supervisor in Canada who is very apologetic about his expense report and promises to send the money herself immediately. Then surprisingly, a Vodafone technician shows up at 6pm. He tells me Deutsche Telekom has made a mistake and he will get another technician out tomorrow. He also fixes one of my electrical sockets, which was nice of him.
Wednesday morning the internet miraculously works. HR tells Ryan the money should be in our account today. All is right in the universe!? Not quite. Deutsche Telekom still wants to send a technician out and I spend a few phone calls explaining we don't need a technician anymore. And the money doesn't show up in our bank account. Ryan investigates further and comes to discover that Deutsche Bank has mysteriously removed his name from our account, and that's why we can't receive his salary. I spend some time on the phone with Deutsche Bank, then rush down to the nearest branch (3 subway stops away) and they have just closed, because its Wednesday, and that's the day it arbitrarily closes 2 hours early. Blech.
So today I'm off to correct that situation, as soon as the bank opens at the lazy hour of 10. Its been a bit of a stressful week to say the least, but I'm hoping that these things won't be a problem in the future. I'll probably get a new bank account since this isn't the first time that Deutsche Bank has screwed up our account. And luckily we won't have to deal with Deutsche Telekom or Vodafone much in the future since we are now installed. That is a good incentive not to move. There has been a big row in the finance department at Ryan's company's headquarters over the expense report and that situation has been worked out. So there is hope that our experience with German companies will go back to being smooth and delightful.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
No furniture? No problem!
Yesterday I was feeling very sorry for myself. Mostly because we don't have any chairs. We have a mattress from IKEA, which is quite nice. And we have some furniture generously given to us by Heide and Armin: a wardrobe, a small cabinet, and a giant heavy table which is in our cellar at the moment. During the original move-in I was so exhausted I couldn't physically carry this massive table top up the stairs, so I convinced Ryan to leave it by the dumpster. But our Hausmeister caught us, so we had to take it and put it in the cellar.
But anyway, we don't have any chairs and I was feeling sorry for myself because I have a very boney butt and it often goes numb sitting on the floor. I have folded up some blankets and pillows to sit on, but its not quite as good as a real chair. So I was sad because it will be at least a month until we get some more furniture, as Ryan's pay isn't due until March 1st.
This wouldn't be a problem in the US, at least not in the Missoula I was raised in. Drive downtown for a few blocks and you can find any number of mostly not disgusting furniture items curbside. But Germans don't toss stuff out like Americans do. And even the giant 4-story 2nd hand shop on the corner has very minimal furniture and offers it at IKEA prices. This is no Value Village where you can buy a futon for $5.00 and get a ride home/delivery from a total stranger.
I'm trying to look on the bright side. For the first time in my life I own a large rectangular room with hardwood floors. That's right, its time to bust out that bellydancing DVD I bought to get in shape for the wedding! This room is big enough to host a whole aerobics class, really. Maybe I should work on that.
But what really cheered me up was going through my old blogs about living in Loughborough.
But anyway, we don't have any chairs and I was feeling sorry for myself because I have a very boney butt and it often goes numb sitting on the floor. I have folded up some blankets and pillows to sit on, but its not quite as good as a real chair. So I was sad because it will be at least a month until we get some more furniture, as Ryan's pay isn't due until March 1st.
This wouldn't be a problem in the US, at least not in the Missoula I was raised in. Drive downtown for a few blocks and you can find any number of mostly not disgusting furniture items curbside. But Germans don't toss stuff out like Americans do. And even the giant 4-story 2nd hand shop on the corner has very minimal furniture and offers it at IKEA prices. This is no Value Village where you can buy a futon for $5.00 and get a ride home/delivery from a total stranger.
I'm trying to look on the bright side. For the first time in my life I own a large rectangular room with hardwood floors. That's right, its time to bust out that bellydancing DVD I bought to get in shape for the wedding! This room is big enough to host a whole aerobics class, really. Maybe I should work on that.
But what really cheered me up was going through my old blogs about living in Loughborough.
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