Sächsische...Silly!

19. Mai 2011

On occasion I have been known to be silly. Silly mixed with a healthy dose of the comic events that seem to saunter along in my wake. Combined with the fact that I'm super busy and a little stressed at the moment, a good friend of mine, my salsa buddy from university (and current penpal), T, is coming to visit me in Germany this week, and I'm so excited I'm practically spinning. All this crazy energy has certainly made for an interesting past week or so.


I shouldn't be allowed a bike.

 It all started two weekends ago when the inevitable happened. I finally fell off my bike. I can't really explain it any other way than by saying this: I have no fear. And on my bike, if you know me at all, you know that I SHOULD have fear. But apparently not. Here is the inner monologue I had with myself in the five or so seconds prior to crashing:

"Gee, look at that car parked half way in the bike lane. It's pretty narrow. Can I fit there? Sure, why not? Well, maybe not, but I could take that curb, right? Um, bad call. AHHHHHHHHHH!"

In my attempt not to look stupid by having to do the awkward hop-run off my bike, I effectively willing rode into a seven inch curb, resulting in a stunning display of my side-hopping abilibes as my bike rebounded off the curb into me before I took it over with me into the rock bed surrounding a tree. Fantastic. I landed on my hands, knees ricochetting painfully off bike bars. Somehow my knees and my dignity were the only parts that came out bruised. I guess I wasn't going that fast. In what world did hitting a curb seem like a good idea? No fear, I tell you.

Come to think of it, this isn't the only recent bike disaster of mine. A week or so prior to the curb incident, I inadvertently let all the air out of my tire when I was trying to pump it up five mintues before I needed to head to Wernigerode. It came rushing out at record speed, which I wasn't expecting, and I really wondered how it could be so hard to pump up a bike tire. Granted I did end up having a flat, so I wasn't totally to blame, but it still added insult to incompetency. It turned out to be lucky that I went forth sans bike because, aside from the fact that my tire probably would've died on my trip, my train to Dessau was so late that I had to run two flights of stairs to change platforms, which I never could've managed while lugging my bike.



Hiking in the Sächsische Schweiz
The Bastei

 Last weekend was spent with a fellow ETA, Emily, in Leipzig because we wanted to visit the Saechsische Schweiz for a hike. We got out at Kurort Rathen and took the ferry over the river to climb the hundreds of stairs up to the Bastei. The view was magnificent over the blue-skied, fertile valley and the fresh air and enticingly eerie magic specific to German forests gave me the getaway I'd been craving. ä



You can probs see the Czech Rep.
from here



To get back to my main point, though, my mind works in mysterious

ways, linking from one thing to the next at the speed of light, and in part because she thinks this way as well, Emily and I are epic conversationalists. When she and I get together or talk on the phone, you can guarantee that no work will actually get done as we bounce from topic to topic, with each one increasing the nerdiness quotient of the conversation, the longer we talk. Usually we subject bounce



Literally right out of
Caspar David Friedrich



simultaneously, but it has been proven that we are NOT indeed telepathic. In a rare silent moment as we descended scores of metal squares on the Schwedenloecher (Swedish holes) Trail, my energetic frenzy helped me take about ten gigantic mental steps away from the previous conversation we'd had before saying, "There are a lot of German verbs that start with 'e'," in a quippy yet contemplative tone. Emily just laughed. I would've too, honestly.

The night of the Castle season finale was not better...it was perhaps the so-called icing on the cake, in fact. The particularly wrenching finish to the third season did not help make me any calmer, and post-Castle that evening I was pouring my energy into my favorite new activity: travel enabling. I got on g-chat to enable Emily.

Me: We have to go through Leipzig on the way to Weimar. You should come with T and me.

E: Well, I'd like to, but I have to see about money.

Me: We all go on a Sachsen-Anhalt Ticket, then it's 10 Euros each.

E: Oh, well I should be able to handle 10 Euros.

We proceeded through a variety of tangents before landing on the topic of if getting to Croatia in July is feasible. WE were discussing potentially flying with EasyJet from Hamburg.

Me: I'm trying to figure out where they fly...It looks like they fly to Zagreb from Hamburg on EasyJet.

E: but we'd have to get to hamburg

Me: Querdurch ticket.

Emily: ah, right. i feel like that's just your comeback now

Me: :)

E: i could make a "your mom" joke and you would find a logical way to say "querdurch ticket."
 
At least my energy's being put to good use. And that brings me to today, Monday, where I am sitting antsily in school, waiting for the moment when I can throw the 80s tunes on now my Ipod and suppress the urge to dance down the street (I should be banned from the 80s when I'm excited...they don't do anything to help that situation!), so I can get home to pack a bag and then hop on a train to the Berlin airport, where at 21:30 this evening, if all goes as planned, I can start putting all my frenetic energy into being a good hostess!!

Deine,
N*

Extraordinary Day

16. November 2010

Saturday night I stayed up late at Alina and her cousin’s goodbye party. (Alina is the intern at the newspaper who did my interview for the paper…if you want to see the article, let me know and I can send you the link…anyways, we ended up becoming friends after that.). As we made our way groggily out the front door the next morning, we blinked in surprise at the bright, blue sunny sky and fluffy wisps of clouds. It had been rainy for days, but the lack of moisture wasn’t the only difference – it was warm. “What is this? It’s like Spring!” we exclaimed. It was the middle of November, and we were astonished.

The day was so nice that I couldn’t not be outside, so I went out on my bike. (I know, it’s surprising.) The Elbe was calm and deep as I pedaled across the bridge and coasted down the ramp onto the path on the flood plain. Soft gusts of wind purred across the path and filled the sails of several kites floating overhead. “What a day!” I thought vaguely as I let my mind wander and my feet spin. Legs burning, I raced across the level plain and felt as thought I might take off at any moment. Entering the forest, I paused for half a second before pedaling pell-mell down a dappled path to my right, wet leaves making an odd swish-squishing under my whirring wheels. Navigation was slightly trickier through the mud and puddles, which still lingered on the leaf-strewn paths, but I relished the slight thrill of not knowing quite where my wheels would land. After a final hill, I coasted down towards the bridge that marked the opening of the Luisium. Even at 3:30 P.M., the sun was sinking lower and lower in the sky, so I just took a leisurely tour of the bike paths around the square-looking castle, leaf-bare trees and the lake – now barely recognizable, so covered over was it with the debris of autumn.

As I made my way back, I was consumed by my own pensive thoughts and veered left towards home at the fork in the path. As I continued, the leaves covering the ground got stickier with mud, and finally I had to stop altogether when my front wheel lodged itself in a sinkhole. Only then, with a panicky flutter in the pit of my stomach, did I realize I didn’t recognize the path. It was getting dusky and I didn’t want to be caught in the forest after dark. Wild pigs are native to the area, and it’s also full of hunting stands, not to mention the pitch black that would surely descend here far from the glow of street lights. I turned back towards the main path and was plagued by nightmarish images of all the things that could happen to me in the forest after dark. At the crossroads once again, I paused for a moment and had the epiphany that maybe I’d turned too early, that I actually needed to go further away from the main road to connect with the path that would lead me back to it. This did indeed turn out to be true and my bike burst from the forest into the open meadow. The church tower of Roßlau appearing in the distance restored my previous feeling of euphoria, and my intense relief at being found again fueled my furious pedaling towards home.

Deine,
N*

The Bicycle Love-Hate Binary

Ever since I learned to ride a bike, I’ve had a bizarre relationship with the activity. I learned how to ride a two-wheeler when I was five or six, and I loved riding fast...all speed, little good judgment otherwise. Most of the time things would start out fine, but by the end of almost every ride, I’d fallen off at least once. Considering how well-honed my sense of balance is in just about every other athletic activity I do, this bike-tipping propensity doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.

Sensible or not, I have diligently avoided bike riding whenever possible ever since a certain *ahem* incident in 4th grade. Yes, I do own a bike, but it’s probably been about four years since the last time I even took it around the block. I knew that coming to Germany probably meant embracing the bicycle, but believe me, it wasn’t a prospect I relished.

Sure enough two weeks after I got here, I “wanted” to ride my bike. I’ll do a lot for independent transportation, and I have to say that it’s nice to be able to go into Dessau when I want to without depending on someone else or having to pay for the bus. H, J and I practiced bike-riding, and honestly, it’s not the actual riding that is the problem, rather starting and stopping because my bike is a little too tall for me. I’ve finally managed bike riding with some grace, even if I spent the first couple of weeks looking fairly (read: completely) ridiculous because I’d hop off my bike at almost every stop light and walk with it across the road before awkwardly wavering back and forth when I’d try to start back up.

Thankfully I usually get a ride to school and only have to bike to the city when I want to because my one bike ride to school this year (early on in the bike-riding saga) was a complete disaster. How bad can it really have been?...monumentally bad. It commenced with me getting the heel of my shoe stuck in the pedal, so that the ride ended abruptly with me awkwardly hopping off on one foot before I even really got a chance to get started! “Ok, nobody saw that,” I thought to myself and tried again. After that the ride was fine again...up until when I got to the city. My bag somehow lodged itself in my wheel, and once I dislodged it, my bike began screeching. Not just a little squeak. I mean loud, obnoxious, fingernails-on-chalkboard screeching. Of course it was right then that I ran into one of my students. Embarrassing. I half-rode, half-walked the rest of the way to school and arrived there soaked in sweat (I had to leave my sweater on in class, that’s how bad it was) and about fifteen minutes later than I intended. Lucky for me, H always plans for us to be there early. I explained to her that my bike was making an odd noise, but I couldn’t bring myself to own up to the real reason why. Hadn’t I already lost enough of my dignity between 6:30 and 7:30 A.M.? Luckily J fixed my bike with little hassle, and I’m happy to report that the return trip was mercifully uneventful. Since then, my skills have improved immensely. If I can just learn to keep myself up by holding onto the walk-signal boxes at the intersections, I just might pass for a German.

Although I can honestly say that I’ve felt the most culture frustration in the last four weeks while I was on a bicycle (anything else that’s ruffled my feathers seems to be intensified by my bike “hate”), I can also say that during my last few bike trips, I’ve experienced some of my greatest elation. There’s nothing quite like pedaling up the hill to the bridge and seeing the church towers of Roßlau across the Elbe river, and feeling astounded and warmed by the idea that this is the place I’m calling home. At these times, my capacity for love overcomes my bike “hate”, and I pedal furiously forward with a kind of reckless abandon. The situation becomes a metaphor for the way in which I can start to see the good in many foreign experiences that I found disarming at first, as well as a clue to why I’ve always been prone to falling off my bike.

Deine,
N*