Real Quotes by Real Students – Everything but the Kitchen Sink

Ever since my first day teaching, my students have said some pretty unpredictable, strange or just downright hilarious things. In class you learn to expected the unexpected, and I’ve found that a either snappy reaction to turn a comment on its head or good acting skills are my best friends in the classroom when put in a situation that leaves the classroom precariously on the edge of disorder. Funny, awkward or otherwise, these moments in class never cease to make me remember why I adore working with each and every one of my students (although sometimes the situation is not funny until afterwards) and having the chance to get to know them and their vibrant personalities.


As such, I’d like to share these snippets with you. I’ve been keeping track of them, and I’ll post them from time to time. Of course, they are all anonymous for the protection of the innocent. Here we go.

Dessau has a good-sized Vietnamese population, and the parents of these families very often run shops that are full of just about anything you can imagine, from scarves to thread to tablecloths to cards to tools. One of the 8th grader’s parents has such a shop, and during the unit about jobs, he was trying to describe the store.

He said, “My parents store sells EVERYTHING…clothes, garden…Dingen…”

“Ding” is akin to “thing” in English. And this was one of those perfect situations where Dinglish* (no pun intended) came to the rescue perfectly.

Deine,
N*

*For those of you who don’t know, “Dinglish” refers fondly to situations where German (Deutsch) and English are mixed together.

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*

Real Quotes by Real Students – Spot On

Ever since my first day teaching, my students have said some pretty unpredictable, strange or just downright hilarious things. In class you learn to expected the unexpected, and I’ve found that a either snappy reaction to turn a comment on its head or good acting skills are my best friends in the classroom when put in a situation that leaves the classroom precariously on the edge of disorder. Funny, awkward or otherwise, these moments in class never cease to make me remember why I adore working with each and every one of my students (although sometimes the situation is not funny until afterwards) and having the chance to get to know them and their vibrant personalities.

To give you an idea of real life in the classroom (and hopefully a laugh or two) I’d like to share these snippets of conversation with you. I’ve been keeping track of them, and I’ll post them from time to time. Of course, they are all anonymous for the protection of the innocent. Here we go.

I was not privy to this conversation, which actually took place in German, but H told me about it later. It took place during in the 5th grade class, while H was spending a month observing the student teacher and I was just observing, rather than assisting for that time. There were often a lot of problems during the class; needless to say, it was not my favorite time of day. Apparently this was more obvious (at least to my seatmate – a highly perceptive…and sometimes disruptive…young man) than I thought.

“Richard”: Mrs. H, I think N* likes me.

H: What makes you think that?

R: Well, sometimes she smiles at me, but she doesn’t smile at Mrs. Student Teacher.”

Zing. In my defense, let me just say that none of the other teachers smile at “Mrs. Student Teacher” while she’s teaching either.

Deine,
N*

Always Check the Parking Space

19. März 2011

“Did you check the parking space?” my sister screams almost frenetically as we leave every location on family trips. Someone always answers that of course they have, even if they haven’t and then looks guiltily back to make sure karma doesn’t have her way with them for it. This frenzy of my sister’s stems back to our family’s first camping trip when she was four and I was nine. On such trips, our family station wagon is always packed so full that just opening a door leaves you in danger of having something tumble out. In that case, an Eeyore baseball cap belonging to my sister was the offending item. We replaced it later, but even 13 years afterwards, she’s never forgotten the incident. So that’s the rule: No matter what, you check the parking space.

Perhaps you are wondering what exactly this has to do with Germany. Well, now comes the part of the story where N* is stupid…very stupid…twice. Towards the end of our stay in Dresden, Michelle’s wisdom teeth started acting up. Badly. Now as I am prone to losing things, being careless and generally “not thinking” about all things common sense related, I can by no means say that what happened next was a result of that situation, but I can guess that having worry as a distraction did not play in my favor. Something had to give. And so I broke the rule: I did not pass go, I did not collect $200, and I definitely did not check the “parking space”.

About 30 minutes after leaving the train station, I noticed that I did not have my gift bag – a cause for great concern, since all my purchases from the trip were in it. I had already felt a little guilty, worrying that I had spent too much, so of course my first thought was that this was karma “getting me”. My second thought was accompanied by an empty ache because aside from at the Christmas markets, I haven’t really bought myself much in Germany, and the items I purchased in Dresden were effectively irreplaceable. My third thought was, “Please God, don’t let anything happen to my camera.” (If you missed that story, you can catch up on it here).

By some stroke of luck, the conductor had seen my poor abandoned bag all lonely and yellow on the platform, and it was still there when someone came up to fetch it. She gave me a number to call, and I managed to arrange to have my belongings sent back to me. For the nominal fee of (drum roll please…) €20, of course. Way to add insult to injury, but at least I received everything back intact yesterday. So please don’t pull an N* and leave things on train platforms, but of you should…ASK! The Deutsche Bahn just might have put its exacting efficiency into play and rescued your abandoned belongings.

Now this really should have been enough, but apparently it was just that kind of day. On our way to Berlin, we spent a couple of hours in Roßlau so I could grab some groceries since everything would be closed on Sunday when I cam back. While I was shopping, I was also on the phone with my Mom, talking about what was going on with Michelle. As we have just seen, distractions and I do not mix. As far as I can figure out, I must have forgotten to take my German debit card back out of the reader, or I accidentally dropped it on my way back. Either way, I didn’t need it in Berlin, so I didn’t notice it was gone until I was trying to buy my train ticket back to Roßlau.

Of course by the time I managed to change the €50 bill I luckily had with me into smaller bills, I had missed the only direct train to Roßlau for two hours and had to take one via Wittenberg, thus undergoing a three-hour trip while worrying about identity theft, rather than an hour and a half one. I was able to call the bank hotline and lock my card, and on Monday I called the bank and ordered a new one (there goes another €10). Like my package, I also received that yesterday.

While the whole situation was incredibly frustrating and stressful, at least my debit card was protected by a pin number and I didn’t lose any money, and I did get everything back, even if I had to pay (literally) for my carelessness. So as I continue on my travels, I will try to return to the decent track record I had held of not losing things in Germany up until last weekend, and I will always, ALWAYS check the parking space.

Deine,
N*

In Which I Experience a Small Flood

11. März 2011

When I wrote about my students a while back, I mentioned Lena, one of my 9th graders. Since I’ve met her, she has continued writing e-mails to me, working hard in English and generally being interested in the U.S. She’s actually going to be able to go to the U.S. with our school’s month-long exchange program to Texas in the fall. She was a bit unsure about going at first, but when a spot opened up, she really took the initiative, so I’m incredibly proud of her.

One day we ended up talking about food, and she told me about “Grießbrei”, which they often eat for dessert in her family. Of course with my dessert project in full swing, I wanted to know how to make it. Well, Lena went home, asked her Mom about the recipe and sent me an e-mail with instructions, but then suggested we make it together sometime. And that’s how I ended up inviting her over to cook it and watch a movie with me.

Of course, the day before this, I became obsessed with the idea of Eierschecke – a three-layer cake typically found in Saxony, and especially in the city of Dresden, and decided to give it a go. However, round one was not to be because the yeast dough recipe I had ended up being faulty; I tried it twice with horrendous, rock-like results. After further research, I decided to try out a more cake-like bottom layer the next day. This was more successful, but ended up seeming a bit like my snicker doodle cookie dough, but I went ahead and greased the pan anyways. The dough looked like it might not stretch enough to fill the whole baking dish, so I decided to use only part of it and proceeded to fashion a wall out of tin foil. Don’t ask. It seemed like a good idea at the time.


Quark filling...and the wall!





 About an hour and a half before Lena was set to arrive, I was busy mixing the thick, quark filling. Quark is sort of like a mix between yogurt and cream cheese, so this filling could be compared in a way with American cheesecake. The result when it is cooked is a bit more fluid and slightly stickier, yet it somehow retains a fairly firm taste and texture. Finally I began composing the custard top, complete with separating egg yolks and egg whites. Whipping the egg whites was certainly an adventure, as I didn’t anticipate just how much they’d expand and it was necessary to transfer them to a larger bowl partway through. All in all, I felt proud of my egg-related efforts for the afternoon.

Just as I finished cooling the custard made from the egg yolks and whipping the egg whites, Lena called me. Through some miscommunication (on my part) about directions (because somehow I apparently still can’t adequately describe where I live), her Dad had brought her to the wrong house, but eventually she arrived with a box of chocolates, the Grieß and a glass jar of cherries we would later heat for the topping. I warned her about the highly experimental nature of my cake, and went about mixing the top layer. As I was pouring the egg custard over the top, I could see that there wasn’t really room for it. Just as I was sincerely regretting not rolling the bottom layer out to cover the entire pan, a flood of egg custard broke the aluminum dam and flowed as though molten across the open third of the pan.


The Grießbrei

 “That’s not supposed to happen, is it?” remarked Lena in her slightly Germanized and completely adorable British accent. Of course I replied in the negative, but decided to put the cake in the oven regardless.

In the meantime, Lena and I started in on making the Grießbrei. She told me that her Mom makes it so often that she doesn’t even have to measure the Grieß, which looked a bit like sand, anymore. While we put the cherries on to heat, we guesstimated the proper amount and cooked it. The result can best be compared to Southern grits, I think, but we’d put in a bit too much Grieß, so our version turned into large cakes of grainy stuff, much like polenta, as it cooled. It was still tasty, though.


Finished in the oven!





By then the cake was done, and by some miracle, none of it was burnt, despite the lack of uniformity in the composition. While waiting for the cake to cool, Lena and I watched The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants in English – a movie based on one of my most-read series of books and which also had a good level of English for Lena. I think she enjoyed it, and afterwards we also enjoyed the cake, which turned out to be perfectly moist and delectable, even if the aesthetic was a little unusual. I had to transfer part of the top layer so it was allocated properly across the cake.



Masterpiece

 All in all, I’d deem it a success…the cake and the evening. I’m consistently impressed with my students’ abilities in English, and the chance to interact bears innumerable opportunities for intercultural exchange. Unfortunately having my students over also means they are prone to be exposed to some of my crazy cooking/crafting ideas that are constantly underfoot in my apartment, but hey, life’s not fun without a little crazy!

Bis bald!

Deine,
N*

P.S.  If you'd like to try out the Eierschecke recipe...I used this one for the dough and this one for the top two layers, minus the lemon zest and raisins.  The only problem might be getting quark in the U.S., but I've been told that some World Markets actually carry it.

Whirlwind

2. März 2011

In February, Erin and I traveled to Lisbon over our Winter Break. The trip really started in Greece, though. Well, at least the idea did. We thought we’d go somewhere warm for our February winter break, but it turns it turns out that winter in Greece actually is winter and not the mild temperatures we were seeking. Plus many places are closed in the off-season. With some German directions, we settled on “Lissabon” without actually knowing a lot about it. The trip was simultaneously one of the most thrilling, albeit it one of the must frustrating culturally I have yet to encounter. 



Gateway by dusk



Neither Erin nor I spoke a word of Portuguese prior to the trip, although I can understand a substantial amount of the written language. Portuguese is the ultimate language mash-up, so my varied amounts of background knowledge in Italian, French and Spanish served me well for reading. The problem is that the spoken word often sounds much different than you’d think because, as I was told, all of Portugal’s many colonial holdings during the empire have shaped the vocabulary and pronunciation of the language, so really speaking any Portuguese in a way that wasn’t completely degrading the language or my pride was a lost cause. We settled for being able to say “thank you” – “obrigado(a).” If you can only say one word in a language, I think that’s a pretty good choice.

“Pastéis de Nata”



Trying to find decent meals was difficult with a vegetarian in tow, so from that standpoint, our experience with authentic food was not fantastic, although the pizzeria next to our hotel had an unbelievable spinach and mushroom pizza. The pastries were out of this world, though. Lisbon is filled with little cafés where locals go in the late afternoon to enjoy coffee and pastries, often while standing right at the counter. We tried square-shaped doughnuts, flaky spiral breads and something made from quince among others, but perhaps the most sensational were the “Pastéis de Nata” which we abstained from getting until the last day, so we could eat them at their place of origin, the “Pastéis de Belém”. There you can enjoy these custard-filled tarts, still hot from the oven, outside with a view of the water. The day was warm at about 60° Fahrenheit, and we basked coatless, thus securing our image as tourists, while the creamy custard and crusty crunch of the tart cups was a perfect compliment to the weather.



Typical mosaic ground



That day wrapped up a whirlwind of sightseeing encompassing the main sights of the mosaic-sidewalked city, as well as a day trip to the cities of Sintra and Cascais, with a stop at the Cabo da Roca – the westernmost point in Europe. The countryside was a veritable jungle of verdant trees, bushes and flowers, which was juxtaposed with the indescribable turquoise depths changing to roiling white breakers which graced the still-green coastline. In Cascais I narrowly escaped a sneaker wave as it rushed in suddenly to engulf my legs to the knees, above which rested the blissfully dry inside-out edges of the jeans I had so fashionable folded up over themselves to the thigh mere seconds before. It was a lucky break indeed to be wading in the Atlantic in February with relative comfort.

   

Jerónimos Monastery



The mild temperatures allowed us to roam the ruins of a Moorish castle in Sintra and the Castello de San Jorge in Lisbon itself. Both were full of giant stairs, parapets paralleling those I had only read about in books as a child, and picturesque panoramas. The latter was also filled with cats and peacocks. The National Palace in Sintra was a lavish meshing of colorful patterned tiles, paintings and regal-looking furniture, complete with the most enormous kitchen I’ve ever seen in my life. Each gigantic pot had room underneath it for a decent-sized blaze, and one of the ovens was like a giant closet! The architectural feats in Lisbon are bolder and more varied than I’ve ever seen, in main part due to the fact that the city is so old that something from nearly every time period and from many cultures – Moors, Romans, Visigoths, etc. (we saw a real aquaduct!) can be found. The famous Belém Tower and Jerónimos Monastery are actually quite young in comparison with many sites, but they are no less spectacular; both are feats of grandeur with ornate stone decorations that we can only dream about in the U.S.



Typical mosaic tiling





Belém Tower



Cathedral Memorial



A 3 hour turned 5 hour tour with our guide and just one other Italian man allowed us more glimpses of the city’s spectacular diversity. In 1755 an earthquake destroyed most of the city and along with its resulting tsunami caused the deaths of a large percentage of the population. The city regenerated quickly with the first earthquake-proof housing, leaving the towering, crooked vertebrae of a ruined church as a remembrance, and allowinga new, modern layer of the city to be born. Most buildings were ravaged, but the parts of the city build on bedrock such as the Alfama Quarter remained virtually untouched. Walking here was like entering a completely different world where laundry is left unattended and no one locks their doors. It only takes ten minutes to reach the city center on foot, but somehow this world of quaint houses, public baths and Fado restaurants has maintained a spirit of its own.



View into Alfama



I was fascinated to learn how people from all economic backgrounds coexisted in Alfama. Life there seems to be about LIVING. This tolerance for differences carries out into the city’s easy multiculturalism as well. I had noticed how culturally diverse the city was, but I was surprised to hear how, unlike other diverse cities, there was no “Chinatown” or “Little Italy” there. Our tour guide, an immigrant himself, explained that this integration is something else that stems back to colonial times. When the Portuguese were trying to build their empire, each soldier sent to a foreign land was required to take a wife as a way to gain rapport with the people and make their holdings more stable. As a result when people from these colonies came back to Portugal, they were already integrated into society via their Portuguese family members, so there was no need to move into a separate area of the city. There wasn’t any pressure to do so anyways because so many people had foreign family members themselves. Ironically, out of the country’s efforts to colonize – something that usually involves taking someone cultural else’s identity and pushing your own upon them – the Portuguese immersed their own people in multiculturalism. This has given birth to an immeasurable spirit of tolerance in the city. “We have our problems,” our guide told us, “but racism isn’t one of them.” Hearing this from the lips of an immigrant, who feels able to identify in part as Portuguese, gave me so faith in humanity. I’d like to live somewhere where people are seen first as people, rather than as colors, religions or countries.



Elevator!



We invested in a Lisboa (name for Lisbon in Portuguese) Card – a wise choice since it afforded us numerous discounts and free entries to museums and monuments in addition to unlimited use of all public transportation systems in the city. This included buses, the metro system, street cars, old-fashioned San Francisco-like trams, as well as the elevators. You could ride up several stories and climb to a panoramic view of the city, but at first I was a bit confused as to why they were considered a mode of transport. This is until I realized hat high up on the back side was an aerial pathway connecting the towering structure with the hill behind it. We tried it once, and although the line took about 20 minutes, the trip in the giant wrought-iron encased box was a much-needed escape fro the winding uphill path through the streets we would have otherwise taken. It was a shame I didn’t have my pedometer, but based on previous experience I can tell you we probably walked 6-8 miles (and sometimes more) each day.

Our last night in Lisbon was dampened by our unsuccessful pursuit of food, as we sort of ended up in the middle of a feud between two restaurants hosts. Hindsight is twenty-twenty, and we should have chosen neither establishment, but we were so hungry and frustrated that we caved. To top it all off, we ended up missing our bus-stop at the airport because the bus stopped at only one of the three that were advertised (you probably have to know when to press the button to tell the bus you want to get out there), and we ended up trekking our bags the half mile back to the airport. Oy. This curbed our mood significantly on the return trip, but once we were back in Dessau for the weekend, it was easy to remember the overall positive feeling of our time there as we scrolled through hundreds of fantastic photos!

With that, I will leave you with one final anecdote that illustrates just how crazy some aspects of the trip became. Erin and I needed stamps, as several of the postcards she was sending were headed for Germany, so she couldn’t just send them when we returned. Unfortunately, she ended up with stamps for Europe on all of her postcards and some needed to go to the U.S. in Portugal you have to take a number and get in line at the post office because the Portuguese like to be able to enjoy coffee if it’s going to be a long wait. So, when Erin came over to the counter where I was still being helped, the attendant noticed the error, removed the stamps and replaced them with new ones, telling us in broken English that she couldn’t resell them, but we could give them away.

We didn’t want the stamps to go to waste, so we decided to try to give them to people who we saw were mailing postcards. Our first victims were an older man and woman. Unfortunately their English wasn’t so good, but when they said they were sending the card to Italy, I jumped in without thinking, “Parla italiano, Lei?” After they replied in the affirmative, I finally managed to explain about the stamps and how they were free because we couldn’t use them. That worked with some minor language hang-ups on my part (my Italian is a bit rusty, and I’ve never had the chance to speak to a lot of native speakers), but then the postmaster came over and started telling us (in Italian!) that it was illegal to sell stamps, which we explained wasn’t what we were trying to do, as did the couple. He still looked angry, so we left a “free stamps” in Portuguese with the help of our dictionary and made our exit. We’re pretty sure the postmaster probably took the stamps away as soon as we were gone, but at least we tried.

I caught Erin completely off guard with my quick transition into Italian, and the two of us laughed about the incident later, although while it was happened, it wasn’t so amusing. And with that, I shall close the door on Lisbon and wait for the next adventure!

Deine,

N*

Columns on Belém Tower

Moorish Castle ruins

Westernmost Point in Europe

       

Somersault

16. Januar 2011

Day #2 on the slopes: Blaue Piste: erledigt. Rote Piste: erledigt. Schwarze Piste: überlebt. On my second day, I was able to manage the blue and red ski runs well, but I would consider my execution on the black run an act of mere survival. We continued to practice technique, and starting in the morning was rough, but at least it got better. Maintaining parallel skis is now at least a possibility, and when I can do so, turning goes much better. The problem is that even though I can, sometimes I don’t, and that’s when interesting things start to happen. Especially when it’s steep, and I’m a little nervous some very interesting things start to happen. Like sliding 50 feet down a black slope, getting turned around and ending with my head downhill and my skis over my head. The only way out was a back somersault. But really, most of the time, I’m feeling more and more confident, and loving the chance to learn so intensively. We’re skiing about 4-5 hours each day, and we work with the ski instructor (one of the teachers from our school in Dessau) for most of the time, so at the end of the day, we’re all spent.

At least I’m less tired today. However, I’m not any less hungry, which is good because you really need to be hungry to eat dinner here. The house where we’re staying is owned by a family, and every night they prepare dinner for us. It is perhaps some of the most fantastic food I’ve ever eaten in my life. Being veggie is not a problem; last night I even got cheese spaetzle made just for me. Needless to say, we are being fed well after a strenuous day. And dinner is in ten minutes…score!

Deine,
N*

Ein Ausflug nach Werni

16. December 2010

The car strained up the incline, wheels alternately whirring and grinding as they slipped, gained purchase and slipped again. Being native to an area often blessed with copious amounts of snow in the winter, less-than-ideal conditions are nothing out of the ordinary, but this snow-covered sloped was nothing short of ghastly. The snow shone eerily in front of us, lit only by the outdoor lamps shining dimly through the mist from the adjacent buildings.

“I’m going to try to find the reception,” H finally decided, and she climbed out of the car and trekked crunchily up the hill in front of us. J and I sat in silence, chilled by the sharp blast of freezing wind and the prospect of attempting the incline again.

“This can’t be the entrance,” J mused and began backing down the road. The car fishtailed wobbily and he cursed worriedly under his breath. We cleared the tree and turned back onto the main road. And this was the start of my weekend in Wernigerode. Thankfully, this first grueling episode didn’t translate into a grim tone for the rest of the weekend.

In fact, it was quite the contrary. I left H and J with their family and met my friend, Erin, who also works as a teaching assistant. We took refuge from the wind and she cooked a fragrant tortellini soup in her cozy apartment. Between soup and lots of tea that we cooked whenever we came in from the cold, we had no problem staying thawed.

The next day the shopping activities revolved around cookies – the sugar kind with icing. Unfortunately, there was a minimal selection of sprinkles, and there were no red hots to be found. Erin’s apartment has a kitchen, but no oven, so we had to use the kitchen in the WG (Wohngemeinschaft – shared apartment) next to her apartment. Mixing the ingredients posed the challenge of converting everything in the recipe to metric, and then I proceeded to mix away as one of the WG guys watched curiously.

While the dough chilled, Erin and I braved the cold once again to visit the Weihnachtsmarkt. A giant Pyramid spun in the main square, and we perused the wares. I completed my Christmas shopping and treated myself to melt-in-your moth Creppelchen, which are called “Schmalzkuchen” in Werni. Then we saw something odd.

“Puf-fer-fies,” we stuttered, “What’s that?”

“I think we have to try it,” Erin decided.

I agreed. Pufferfies turned out to be like little pancakes with a hollow center. They are made on a griddle with rows of round indents by pouring batter into each indent and then flipping it when it’s halfway done to create the aforementioned hollow inside. We tried some with Eierlikor (literally translated: egg liquor…but I’m still not 100% sure exactly what it is), which was odd, although the Pufferfies were very tasty.

On our way home, we also purchased a Schneeballchen (like pie crust remnants formed into a ball, baked and then coated in almost anything to can imagine) because it was just one of those “have to try it” kind of days. Hmmm…possibly we enable each other…

Cookie time was quite a success, although we have a small disaster trying to boil sugar in water to make a corn syrup substitute. As in the common German Christmas song, “In der Weihnachtsbäckerei” (In the Christmas bakery): Gebrannt! (burned). Then WG guy had a lot of fun stirring up a new batch and using it to “thicken” our green frosting. Really, I think he just wanted to experiment with his concoction. It was funny, though. I wish he and I would’ve had Erin’s saintly cookie decorating patience; sadly, our contributions were rather haphazard. But they tasted good.

Riding home on the train the next day, I felt utterly content. Sometimes going away for a few days really helps you put a different perspective on things.

Bis bald!

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*

London Lights

8. November 2010

Our tour guide told us that 11-16 million people are in London on any given day. I never thought that such a big and bustling city could still have a certain charm, or that I would like it so well. After a 14-hour bus ride complete with a ferry trip from Calais to Dover, we arrived in London. I was still really tired, but 48 hours is not such a long time, and there was no way I was wasting more time sleeping than I had to.

The group set right out to sightsee, and I can’t believe how much we did manage in the time we were there: Trafalgar Square, Westminster/the changing of the guard, St. Paul’s, the Globe Theatre… One of our events was a presentation in the Globe, and it was all about what plays and attending a play was like in Shakespeare’s time. Id’ studied a lot of it in my English classses before, but the actor who led our presentation was super cynical, and it was interesting to watching how the students reacted to the information and his attitude.

I also visited three museums: The British Tate, The Tate Modern and the National Gallery. Many of the museums in London are free, which was really convenient because it allowed me to at least take a look inside, even if I didn’t have a lot of time. The British Tate has a lot of Turner and Pre-Raphaelite art, which I enjoy, but they’re currently redoing some of their exhibits, so some of the works I most wanted to see weren’t on display. (Excuse to go back?)

At the Tate Modern there was a piece, “The Unilever Series” by Ai Weiwei, in the large exhibition hall made up entirely of millions of hand-painted porcelain sunflower seeds. When it first opened, you were allowed to walk on/play in the seeds, but they stopped letting people because too much porcelain dust was getting tracked around the museum. It’s really a shame that you can’t do it anymore because I think the interactive nature of the exhibit and being able to turn the visible enormity of the work into a more tangible (literally) enormity would add an element of relatable empathy to the artists’ meaning for the piece. The main exhibition at the Tate Modern was also grand. I love the movement of Braque and Picasso’s works as they pushed artistic boundaries towards abstraction. There is something so poetic and oddly musical about the way some pieces of the subject are visibly discernible and how the subjects of the painting, when juxtaposed, create a visually stimulating, unsolvable, yet somehow coherent puzzle. And I saw works by Rineke Dijkstra live. I find that her photos really capture the subjects’ essences. They are stripped bare (sometimes literally), raw and in your face. I like art that brings true emotion (the way I see it anyways) right up to the surface, so that it’s undeniable and unavoidable. In short: Tate Modern is definitely worth a visit.

My favorite place, possibly of the whole trip, was the National Gallery. It’s ginormous, and there is some well-known work of art hanging almost everywhere you look. As I entered the gallery through the high-arching doorway, my pulse began to race, and I felt vaguely dizzy. So much art…so little time. I think I wandered around with my eyes glazed over in a state of catatonic art shock for about five minutes before I was able to pull myself together. I managed to view most of the art from the 1800s as well as the Impressionist collection. I also made a brief foray into the medieval art to view the “Arnolfini Wedding Portrait”! I hate “fame jumping” in galleries, but sometimes it can’t be helped.

Very impressive. Seeing all these works that I’ve studied over the past four years lends a whole new dimension to the lectures I’ve attended. Sure I’ve seen the slides, but there’s just no way to emulate the barely-visible, yet illuminating brush-stroked details and their heart-stopping delicacy, which unite themselves into a coherent, monumental piece of work. Mmmm, it makes me a little giddy just thinking about it. Someday I hope I will be able to help others see art in a way that moves them this tremendously.

I also met with two long-time friends – one from high school, who I’ve known forever, and one from Britain, who was one of my closest friends in middle school. We always said we’d see each other when I came to England one day, but I never thought it might actually happen. Both nights involved good food (I have yet to be disappointed by a restaurant in Europe), great company and strolling past the fantastic London lights. So far European cities are taking the cake for nighttime brilliance.

Sunday morning I suggested an early-morning walk in Hyde Park before we had to board the bus to head back to Germany. Since I was going out at 6 A.M., I was surprised when not only the teacher I was with joined me, but also two of the students on the trip. It was dark when we set out, and seeing the sky lighten as we strolled through the park was sublime. It was slightly nippy – you know, that funny not-quite-cold temperature, where your breath nearly freezes in the air before you? – but perfect. To top the morning off, I spent the whole ferry ride, rain and all, watching the white cliffs of Dover evaporate into the mist and the green countryside of Calais emerge across the channel. One of the students, Mark, also braved the rain outside with me, and we agreed it was the perfect ending to the England portion of our trip

The bus ride to Bremen took all day, but it felt faster. I finally finished Les Miserables, and I made significant progress on my knitting project. The students spent a lot of the trip playing add-a-line story games together. They all came from different cities in the state of Saxony-Anhalt, and seeing how well they got on and laughed together made me smile. It’s really heartening to see that even in our technologically driven age, some young people are still able to use simply things like words, laughter and good company to pass the time.

We arrived in Bremen too late that night to see anything, but four of us – Mark, Lexi, Jean and I – agreed to stay a little longer the next morning. Mark had visited Bremen before, so he showed us some of the Old Town and Downtown areas. The central part of the city is very historic; it’s nice to look at, and I’m certain I’d like to learn something else about the town besides the Bremen Town Musicians connection. We did see the Bremen stacked animal statue, though.

The train ride home was rather eventful. Jean and I got to hang out with Mark and Lexi longer than we expected. The four of us took the same train. Mark and Lexi were supposed to switch trains in Hannover, while Jean and I were to ride the whole way to Magdeburg, where she lives, and I would switch trains. We said goodbye to Mark and Lexi in Hannover, but ten minutes later, we were greeted by peals of laughter. They had failed to notice that the train they needed to take from Hannover was the one we were already on. Just wait, it gets better. By the time we got to their real stop, the train was running about ten minutes late. Mark and Lexi took their sweet time getting off the train, which shouldn’t have been a problem because we were scheduled to stop for several minutes. Well, because of the delay, the train didn’t stop for as long as it should’ve and Mark and Lexi were stuck on the train! Secretly, this is something I’ve always worried about having happen to me, so I was sympathetic, but it was also kind of funny (sorry, Mark!) The whole train car knew this was the second time they’d come back, too. Oops. Now watch something like that happen to me next time now. I’ve probably gone and jinxed myself.

Our little group REALLY said goodbye in Magdeburg, which was sad because the trip was so unreal that actually realizing I was headed home was a harsh jolt back to reality. We want to meet again, though, so hopefully this won’t be the last time I’ll relate you stores about the adventures of the fantastic four. I’m sure they’ll be interesting.

Deine,
N*

P.S.  Remember me telling you about "Janchen"?...He was on this trip too...that story still makes me laugh.

Nashledanou Praha

20. Oktober 2010

My train didn’t leave until 12:30 today so I decided to stow my bags at the train station and visit the library at the Strahov Cloister. I found my way easily and even used the streetcar for the first time, but my happy mood was punctuated by the cashier who failed to give me the 50 crowns change back after I bought my ticket. I didn’t realize it right away and about 30 seconds later (literally) when I asked her about it, she insisted she had given me my change and tried to tell me that the 50 crown bill already in my wallet was it…even though a second before she said she gave me a coin. Hmmmm… I’m one hundred percent sure that I didn’t get my change because last night I counted my money and calculated everything for today down to the last penny. I don’t know what made me the angriest: the loss of the 50 crowns (about 2 Euros), which I was going to use and was the last of my Czech money, the fact that she couldn’t admit she was wrong, or the way she looked at me like I was some kind of criminal. It was humiliating. I was on the verge of tears for the next half hour because I was so frustrated. Oh well. Worse things happen in life.

The Cloister’s library was magnificent, though. Unfortunately the Philosophical Hall was being renovated, so the books were all covered by sheets of plastic, but you could still see the majestic frescoes on the vaulted ceilings. The books made a ring about the room, often stacked two deep on the shelves, and the second story aisleway left both floors open to the heavenly ceiling. What a place to philosophize! I wonder if rooms like that affected the people who used them every day as dramatically as they do me now. I like to think so. The other room was the Theological Hall, where there were over 18,000 leather-bound tomes in Latin and German. There is also a copy of the oldest book in the collection – a highly decorated Evangelical Bible from the 9th century, which is too delicate to be kept on display. The room also features a reading wheel used by translators so they could have several versions of the Bible, for example, open for consultation at the same time. Then all the translator would have to do was turn the wheel to bring another book to the front. Super cool! I can think of some times when that would’ve been mighty convenient for writing papers. There were also lots globes, one of which does not show Australia because it wasn’t discovered yet. Imagine that!

Before heading back to the train station, I took a final stroll over the Charles Bridge to bid the city farewell. I couldn’t have asked for better weather; it was nippy (40s), but I had mostly blue skies and only a smattering of rain on the trip. Nashledanou Praha, hope to see you again!

Deine,
N*

The Pied Piper of Prague

17. Oktober 2010

I started my first trip to a foreign country other than Germany with a half an hour of sleep and an hour-earlier-than-anticipated start. Being the brilliant individual that I am, I booked my train ticket from Dessau instead of Roßlau. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, but until yesterday (of course, the last day), the bridge between the two parts of the city has been under construction, so you have to take a bus. Naturally, that bus runs less often on Saturdays, resulting in said unforeseen early departure. It’s 4:15 A.M.; do you know where your passport is?


  

Landscape from the train



The train ride was uneventful. I slept most of the way, even though I tried desperately to keep opening my eyes because the countryside between Dresden and Prague is heartrendingly picturesque. The only other thing of note during the trip there was that I couldn’t sit in MY reserved seat because a Czech man, who looked like Severus Snape from Harry Potter, kept waving his arms at me, said who knows what in Czech and absolutely refused to move even when I showed him the ticket. In the end I gave up because there were other seats, and frankly I was just too tired to put up a fight. I seem to have really bad luck with reserved seats. I’m strongly considering not getting them anymore, no matter how much the Germans swear by it.

When I arrived in Prague, I got cash, bought train tickets and found the metro with relative ease. Finding the hotel was a different story. My instructions were to exit the metro station, turn right and go up the hill. Well, it sounds simply enough, but it turns out that depending upon which way you exit the metro station, there are about three ways that could be correct. Guess who chose the wrong two first? After the second attempt, I tried asking for directions from a cute, little old lady. Unfortunately she only spoke Czech and also had no idea where the hotel was. She kept trying to tell me things in Czech and looked at me questioningly to see if somehow I understood. I didn’t. Finally she hailed a little old Czech man over. He also didn’t speak English, but once he had donned his glasses, it turned out he did know where the hotel was. He started trying to explain it to me slowly in Czech, but thankfully right at that moment, two middle-aged ladies, who spoke English AND knew where the hotel was walked by and took over. Once I found out where to go, I also found out that there isn’t really a great way to get there by foot. There are many paths, but none of them are direct, and several are dirt trails through a wooded area – pretty, but inconvenient when you’re carrying your luggage.


View of Charles Bridge and castle

After checking into the hotel, I went into the city to explore. As easy as I find the metro to navigate is how difficult I find the street directions here. I have a poor internal compass without mountains as a reference point, and in a city with winding ways like Prague, well, I spent a lot of time finding out exactly where I'd gotten myself. Oy with the poodles already! I managed to find myself from the Wenceslas Square (too many people and touristy/mall shops!) to the Charles Bridge. Wow. Prague is known for its bridges for a reason. The view over to Lesser Town and Prague Castle accentuated by the river and bridge is unforgettably classic. I strolled over the Charles Bridge and “window shopped” by the open air vendors selling handmade jewelry and artwork. I will certainly be doing some shopping there before I leave. As I finished crossing the bridge, it started to drizzle, so I opted to head to the museum I particularly wanted to visit.



National Gallery



By the time I reached the National Gallery in the Messe Palace – the location where 19th and 20th century

art is housed – there wasn’t a ton of time before closing (I got lost), but there was enough time for the “Monet to Warhol” exhibit visiting from the Albertina Museum in Austria. Fine by me. I thoroughly enjoyed the exhibit and then stopped by an Italin restaurant for pizza on my way back. I had the waiter teach me to order in Czech, but I forgot by the time I got home...I wanted to write it down too - oops.



Charles Bridge and castle by night

 Cue, the night gets a little more interesting. The Germans have continually reassured me that it’s safe to walk around at night ever since I’ve gotten to Europe, so I decided to take the metro to the Charles Bridge to view the magnificence of the night lights. All was well until I was about three fourths of the way across the bridge, when a girl about my age with a guitar on her back started talking to me in Czech. When I was unresponsive, she asked me if I spoke English. My first mistake was acknowledging that I did and my second was probably letting her keep talking at all. She wanted me to come to the end of the bridge with her for something that she wouldn’t or couldn’t tell me and gave me this green branch that had been in the flowers she’d sold. She was with a boy who’d also been playing guitar a few minutes before, and she said they were living on the streets, but doing this was better than doing something else. Whether by design or because she just couldn’t say what she wanted to in English, the whole conversation was very convoluted. Needless to say, I didn’t feel good about it. Why was she so insistent and why me in particular? Her ambiguity and the boy’s music all had a Pied Piper type feel, so I pretended to follow them and then I turned around and left the green branch on the bridge in case it was some sort of a gang sign (…yes, that’s where my mind went). Maybe her intentions were honest, and if they were I’m truly sorry for doubting her, but I can’t exactly afford blind trust alone in a country where I don’t speak the language. Honestly the whole thing creeped me out…there was just something “off” about it. In self-defense I learned that if your gut senses that, it’s usually right, so I went back to the hotel as quickly and unobtrusively as I could. I was worried about being followed then, so unfortunately my otherwise great day ended with a bit of a negative spin.

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*