10 on 10

I still haven't taught my first class yet. They're starting a new session on Monday, so I'm jumping in head first with 32 hours next week! But in the meantime, here's "10 on 10", an idea I borrowed from my friend Bonnie. The idea is on the 10th of the month to take 1 photo an hour for 10 hours. So instead of my usual verbose self, I'll let some pictures do the talking.

Training Daze

Today was the last day of my training for my new job. Starting tomorrow I'm available to teach, and will find out soon what my first class is. All pretty nerve wracking! Last week was spent doing practice lessons, which I felt very comfortable with. But today I was given orientation in our Frankfurt school and sat in on a difficult grammar lesson...and now I'm feeling pretty nervous! The teacher was explaining "reported speech" i.e. "He said he was going to the doctor tomorrow." or "the secretary informed me that he was out of the office." I've never thought about all the verb tenses in a sentence like that, but soon I could be teaching that very lesson!

To my American friends, cross your fingers. To my German friends, hold your thumbs. Maybe between all that we can drum up enough good luck for some smooth sailing through the first few classes.

Opa Patrol

Today was my first day of work, well training really, and it went well. Its a bit dry at the moment, mostly going over the "principles" of the school, which are not to be confused with the "language learning conditions" or the "learning cycle." We did get an example lesson in Russian, which was kind of fun. I can now say the colors in Russian, but can't spell them, so you'll just have to trust me on that one.

BUT what was really odd today was the Opa (grandpa) patrol. I must explain. When my parents lived in Germany 20-something years ago, my mother was continually harassed as she pushed my brother and I in the pram by German Omas (grandmothers). We were not dressed warmly enough, or not wrapped properly, or simply too skinny!

Perhaps because I don't have children, I haven't encountered the Oma patrol. Though if I'm ever in the grocery store, I find asking old ladies about the various foods to be quite helpful. Do you want to know the difference between the red and white sauerkraut? Ask an old lady. (But be prepared for a 20 minute answer.)

What I do find is that old men like to give me unsolicited advice. Usually its about general safety or cost effectiveness. The other week an old gent told me I shouldn't buy the crate of beer, but rather take all the beer bottles out of the crate and carry them individually, as there is a deposit on the crate. Right. Normally I just smile and say "Thank you, I will think about that in the future." But today an Opa really got on my nerves.

I was weaving through the crowded supermarket after work, just stopping in for a bottle of wine, when I felt a jab in my back. An old man was poking me quite hard and saying, "HALLO! You must hold your bag closed! A thief will steal your wallet!" I was pretty annoyed, jerked my bag away from him, and walked off. He called after me "THANK YOU!" in that voice that meant I should be the one saying it.

I simply rolled my eyes and kept walking. But I'm starting to think I should really say something to all this undesired advice. I don't want to be rude, but I would like to let them know that their advice is un-asked for and undesired. So here's what I've come up with:

1. Thank you, but I'm 25 years old, not 15, and I can look after myself just fine.
2. I'm sorry, do we know each other? Then why are you telling me this?
3. Dad? Is that you? You look so different!

No offense to my dad, of course. But he's the only man that can give me such advice without receiving a quite exaggerated eye roll. Leave a comment and let me know what you would say to such advice.

Ah Bureaucracy....

I've been stressing for a couple weeks, trying to get all my paperwork together for my new job. Our "Aufenthaltserlaubnis" (residence permission) expired the 11th of February. We went in to reapply on the 1st, and were told that we should've come MUCH earlier. She issued us a temporary visa until the end of April while Ryan's work permit was reviewed.

Two weeks later I was offered a job, on the condition that I had residence permission, to start at the beginning of March. So the last few weeks I've been calling and calling the Ausländerbehörde (foreigners' office) only to find out that no one knows anything about the progress of our visas. Then today my boss called because she's nervous that none of my paperwork is done yet. I explained the situation and she recommended persistence.

So I called again, and spoke to the woman who's in charge of our case. After giving a myriad of personal information a light went on.
"Kat-a-reen-a Sh-tr-ah-n-guh. Didn't you call yesterday?!"
"Uh, maybe a few days ago."
"Yes, and I told you it will take perhaps 4 weeks."
"Uh, yes, well the thing is..."
"Call back in a few weeks."
"I will call you again next week." Silence.
"Wait a minute. Your husband is R-oo-an Sh-tr-an-guh? Yes. Your papers are ready."

So the squeaky wheel triumphs again. I can pick up my job offer letter tonight, and if all the stars align, I can go in tomorrow and get my Aufenthaltserlaubnis and Arbeitserlaubnis (work permission) all in one go. No, that's probably completely unrealistic. But cross your fingers for me anyway!

Fasching 2010

Even more festive than Germany's beautiful Christmas markets is Fasching. This is known as the "fifth season" in the Rhein/Main region (the region where the Rhein River and Main River meet, a.k.a. here). Last year our friends, Simon and Sarah, introduced us to German Mardi Gras; and this year we decided to pass on our limited knowledge to our friends, Justin and Marisa.

Cologne is the most famous town for Fasching, but we'd also heard that Mainz, which is much closer, knows how to throw down. So we bought some costumes and hopped on the train to Mainz.

It did not disappoint. Everyone was decked out in various bizarre costumes. Ryan found a costume called "Mexican" at Woolworth's and thought it bizarre enough to buy, but there were actually a lot of "Mexicans" at the brewery party we went to. I dressed as a strawberry. There was a costume contest, first prize went to a group of animal/cave people. (Fasching costumes are much less literal than Halloween costumes.)
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Ryan, Marisa, and Justin also enjoyed some "beer towers" delivered to our table. They each contained 3 liters. I stuck to girly drinks.

Fasching parties always include crazy German music, very silly dancing, and bizarre costumes. But this year I'm learning they also involve mildly disturbing cake men.

Is this what America is doing while I'm gone?

The other week I heard this hilarious interview on BBC: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/8485559.stm?ls Its about a grocery store in the UK banning people in pajamas. And when I listened I'll admit I felt a bit superior.

But today I saw this on the blogosphere, and nearly had a nervous breakdown. PAJAMA JEANS!!!?????!!!! WTF???!!!!???? I especially got a kick out of their "European Styling." During all my living/traveling on the continent, I have never seen a woman enter a grocery store in pajamas, sweatpants, or workout clothes. (The UK is another story)

Ryan and I played a game once in Paris. It was called "spot the American." And it was depressingly easy. Lots of women I know wish they could look like a sophisticated French woman. Let me give a hint. Step one: pajamas are for sleeping. When you wake up, put on other pants.

Update!

By the way, I've ended my German lessons for the time being and will start a NEW JOB in March. I will be teaching English to bankers.

I will miss my German classes, not only have I made friends, but at least once every class I laughed so hard that I couldn't breathe. But don't worry, I'm sure the cultural mishaps will continue to provide me with plenty of things to write about.