Tara in Bamberg

Being in the middle of my own sort of “Euro-trip,” I don’t have much time to write, but I did want to update my blog a bit. The German academic-year works on Winter-Summer terms, not Fall-Spring like The States, so I am currently on my 2 month break before the summer semester starts late April and have been using the time to travel and see as much as I can while I am over here. So far, I have spent five days in Northern Italy, including one in Venice, 4 days in Paris, 2 days in Brussels, 3 days in Amsterdam, have spent the last 7 days here in Ireland and will be flying to England tomorrow to spend a week there as well before I fly back to Germany. If I could sum it up in one American descriptive word I would say “AMAZING,” one English word would be “BRILLIANT,” and the Irish would say “DEADLY” (or Gorgeous, it is a tie with them . There have been so many high points, but for times sake, I will do a quick one sentence sum up of the places below, with fuller descriptions to come.

Paris: The Musee d’Orsay in Paris is a must for everyone, art-lovers and haters alike, and the people are not near as snobby as they are made out to be, especially when you add in a smile and a wink

Brussels: Beautiful “Grand Place” city center with amazing fruit beer and “chips.”

Amsterdam: Way more than its reputation with lovely canals, great cheese, cafes where you can’t buy Space Cake or other Dutch specialties, and full of interesting people from all over the world.

Ireland (Dublin, Galway, Connemara, Glendelough…etc): The people are the best I’ve met in all my travels with a culture that is so inviting and friendly and a landscape that will leave you breathless at times.

England…to be continued!

Having just written my last exam oh about…4 hours ago, I believe it is now high time I update my blog site. With that said, let me start with one of the craziest experiences I have had since I last wrote. Wanting to truly capture the full insanity of that day I feel it would be unjust if I did not go straight to the source where I write down all thoughts, completely unveiled. That said, welcome to my private world known only by my diary. But don’t make yourself comfortable, this one-time portal is only available for entries from the god-forsaken day called Friday the 13^th.

Well, when I called the Consulate yesterday to inquire about how to go about getting a new passport, in the course of that conversation they explained costs and whatnot, and then told me that it takes about two weeks for the new one to be delivered. I asked if there was any way to receive it earlier as I was supposed to go to Italy on Monday (and this was the Thursday before). The man on the other end of the line kindly told me that they did have something called an “emergency issued” passport, but it had to be a medical emergency where you had the possibility of dying if you did not leave the country to seek help….hmm, thankfully I didn’t fit that category. As I walked into the Consulate (not really like “waltzing” into the consulate, more like passing through a million metal detectors and going by several men with multiple guns after surrendering over most personal belongings), I had to explain how I lost mine again and in doing so I mentioned that I had had plans to go to Italy and could not even sign up for classes for next semester without my passport. The nice lady there, obviously taking pity on my pathetic appearance, said that my Italy trip did not qualify as emergency status, and then a soft smile crept over her lips as she went on “But, your not being able to sign up for classes, now that is rather serious.” So, she gave me one!!! Ahhh! Italy, here I come! But that is in a few days, right now, its shopping for me .

So, those are the happenings of my crazy Friday the 13^th. My day was finished with a lovely café, great shopping and a return trip of home complete exhaustion. Italy experiences will be blogged next with beautiful pictures to boot! The portal is now closed with no chance of revisiting. Hope you enjoyed the peek into my diary!

So, I should be studying right now. I should be studying right now. Nope, the hypnosis is not working, I might as well get this out before I forget every…lovely, detail. Almost 2 weeks ago I went to a dainty little town in Germany called Bad Tölz, which is situated on the border between Germany and Austria and contains part of the Alpine Range. Let me just say, I was expecting to find it beautiful, but I figured the Alps were probably a little overrated. To make sure I am exquisitely clear, the Alps are in NO WAY overrated. I witnessed one of the most beautiful sites of my life, and every so often I would just stop in my tracks and look at all that surrounded me in utter astonishment. Granted, I have not been to Colorado to ski, but as far as I know, we don’t have mountains like that!

So, back to my hoity-toity “skiing in the Alps” story. Doesn’t it just sound so posh and chic? Well, I happen to always bring my own flavor to situations, and it just so happened that “posh and elegance” were not to be found in my cupboard this weekend. Before going any further, let me state that T-Bar lifts are of the devil. Having only been skiing a few times in my life, and all those times being day trips to some small mountain range either in North Carolina or Virginia, I cannot say with certitude that T-bars do not exist in the States. However, I am certain that if they do exist, they are much less common than in Bad Tölz! For those unfamiliar with this dastardly contraption, a T-bar lift is an alternate form of a chair ski-lift. Much like the name indicates, a T-bar lift is in the shape of a T, and as opposed to one sitting down and actually resting their legs before heading down another mountain slope, a T-bar gives one the opportunity to uncomfortably be pulled along by placing one side of the T behind your bum (as pictured by the lovely European Skier-man below).

One particularly horrid aspect of this devil’s device is its ability to swivel around. The “T” is much like a tape measure in that it unwinds when being pulled upon (most often done by the bum of some person, but other options are possible as we will get to later). The string which unwinds upon pressure is the part which swivels, allowing for easier exit upon reaching the top of a slope. One simply pulls back on the “T” and turns it vertically therefore allowing the practiced skier to go on their marry way and not continue to be carried into the woods (as can easily to occur, I assure you). Upon entry, however, this “swiveling” function can prove treacherous as the T can rotate before you get in front of it, leaving you behind to wait for the next one…or much, much worse.

So, day 1 we only had around two hours to ski because much of it was spent traveling to our lovely destination and the lifts closed as early as 4 pm. I spent most of my time that weekend with Sarah, a crazy and very British friend of mine. The first day Sarah and I somehow managed to be waiting for someone in the same area that the skiing instructor was grouping together his class. Our waiting was misunderstood to be participation, and the little old German man made all attempts at escape useless. We therefore ended up spending our 2 hours on the bunny slope having to stop every 40 feet or so to be told not to have our arms so close to our bodies. Upon trying to catch a ski-lift to go higher up the mountain this funny little German first told us that it was too late in the afternoon, although it was only 3:45…then we were passed by two others getting in line to go up and he came back with “they live up there.” Yes Mr. Ski-instructor, they live up there. They travel there every day in all their ski gear and have to be in bed by 4 in the afternoon because after that time the lifts don’t run anymore. He later admitted to one that he knew our group had been on a bus for 5 hours that day and did not want to be responsible for anyone getting hurt due to stiff limbs.

So that left day two to tackle the rest of the Alps. I had familiarized myself a little with the “T-bar” the day before, but traveling on it for three minutes at an incline of 20 degrees does not truly count. So, having successfully ditched the ski-teacher, Sarah and I went with a group of some other more experienced skiers to tackle our first true lift up the mountain. I was at the end of the group and watched everyone mount the T-bar alone with no problems. When I got up to the front of the line however, things did not go so smoothly. I twisted around to try to grab the T-bar, only to grab it with it faced in a vertical position and already partly in front of me! Not one to give up so easy, I held on with all my might gripping the T with my hands. This was a BAD idea. Now, instead of resting with the T behind my legs pulling me as I was supposed to do, I was doing the snow version of water-skiing and being pulled behind the bar. This may sound easy, just embarrassing, but it is not. It is both extremely hard and embarrassing. Not having gone any farther up the mountain until this point, my only experience with T-lifts were with very small hills, weak inclines and short rides. This was none of those. Sarah, who was in front of me, was laughing all the way, and between thinking that my arms were killing me, I couldn’t help but chuckle myself.

At the start, I figured I could hold on to the top, but as the incline became steeper and the minutes dragged on, I realized my feeble arms were not up to the challenge. I was going to have to improvise. I had seen the snowboarders ride these T-bars by placing the bar in between their legs and being pulled that way. I knew I wasn’t strong enough to pull the T back sufficiently to get both legs behind it, but I thought I could manage one. In the pain I was experiencing from my arms, apparently my mind found it difficult to function and I did not consider the fact that unlike the snowboarders, my skis would then be turned horizontally, not exactly allowing me to pulled through the snow. This actually did not turn out to be a problem however, as disaster struck before this theoretical difficulty could be realized.

Going forward with my ingenious plan, I attempted to pull the T-bar back enough to place it between my legs and in doing so lost my balance completely. I fell to the ground and was literally being dragged along at this point. Oh but I was not to give up yet! Trifles my friend, trifles! I thought I could get myself back upright, but with these plastic sticks strapped to my feet in combination with the speed of the lift, that was out of the question. I called out to Sarah, who was now completely hysterical, saying we would have to catch up later as I was definitely not making it to the top and I finally did what I should have done a long time ago. I let go.

Unfortunately, my dire account does not end there. It had not snowed in Bad Tölz for about 2 weeks, so some of the slopes that were not properly maintained were therefore off limits due to the ice and even grass to be found in spots. While still being pulled behind the T “water-ski” style, Sarah and I had joked about the slope we were passing to our right as it obviously fell in this category and was in horrendous shape. This slope that did not deserve to be part of my posh winter Alps. This slope, that I now had to ski down since falling off the T-bar. About a half hour, and many shots to my now non-existent pride, later I made it back to the starting point of this whole mess. Luckily I was able to find my friends on the gigantic mountain a short while later and the rest of the weekend went off without a hitch. I never really got away from the incident though, for any time a lift would stall, a clever friend of mine would chirp “Where’s Tara! Did she fall again?” I wanted to answer back, “No, It wasn’t me! The lift never stopped for me, for if it had, none of that would have happened!” …but I didn’t as my laughing at the recollection never really allowed me to utter anything intelligible at all.

So most of you reading this will have known that I went home for Christmas. The song rang true when it said there was no place like home for the holidays. I soaked up every moment I could to spend with my family. There has always been something in me that has given me a sense of restlessness. I would wither up if I had to stay in one place too long…either that or go insane and make life for those around me impossible. How much would be lost by not taking opportunities to go and see all this amazing world has to offer. And when opportunities falter, how much would be lost by not prying open the window yourself? I remember an acquaintance of mine once said she wanted to grow up, marry and die in the same town she was born. I must say, I did not care for this girl at all, I thought she was rather vain and somewhat of a twit, but her saying that stirred such deep emotion in me it made me want to cry. The thought of someone never truly leaving the town of their birth, and even more despairing, the lack of desire to do so, was more tragic to me than Juliet drinking the poison. After all, Juliet was a rather temperamental thing anyways and probably would not have had a long life to boot.

All that is to say, I was surprised at the depth of joy I had at being home again. The simple problems that were likened to Hurricane Katrina-type horrors in the minds of those in a small town made me smile and be glad that I could revel in them for a while, even while sometimes hiding a smug grin. In the past, I would be so goaded by the “small-town-mindset” of some there, now it held a sort of quaint attraction for me. I enjoyed being able to come back and take part in it as an outsider who grew up in some big city never could. I truly valued every moment I had at home as I knew how valuable it was. I was able to appreciate my time there more than ever before because of the long spell that I had spent away.

Not all the nights were spent in a “small-town” type of way however. My best-friend and I, who by providence is also my sister, went out to Charlotte several times during my stay and had some truly great times…and some rather humorous/awkward ones as well. They all make for great memories though. From Salsa-dancing to watching a Panthers game in a sports bar to seeing a good high school friend on a street corner and attending a Charlotte 49’s B-ball game with my Uncle and younger cousin, we packed in a lot of fun.

Christmas was spent just the way it should have been, with my whole family over at my Mammaw’s house. She cooked us an amazing Christmas dinner (which means lunch for those outside of the south) after which we played games and even went and picked some pecans outside from under two of her huge pecan trees.

Pecans only come every two years, and this second year there were more than ever. You start out by picking all those that have already dropped to the ground but eventually you get someone to go up and “shake” the tree. That means you hoist a person up and they go out on different limbs and jump/move around all they can while being as cautious as possible, or in many cases, necessary. The point is to get more pecans to wrench free and fall to the ground. My sister and I were in the middle of a mancala game when cousin Justin ran in to tell us that we were wanted outside to help pick pecans. Like any good daughter, we both said no and continued playing, although we knew we would be forced outside within the next little bit. We were holding our breath that we could finish the game first though. Unbeknownst to me, my mom wanted us out there so that one of us could scale the tree and give its branches a proper “shake.” Never being known as a patient woman, instead of waiting for us to make our way out there, she took it upon herself to get on up there and do it herself. While my mom is capable in many areas, she has an uncanny ability to hurt herself, and depending on location, hurt those around her as well. She persuaded my Uncle Lance to give her a push up so that she could grab onto a limb, and before anyone could step in to offer unheaded advice, she had fallen back down on top of him and landed on her neck. Thankfully she did not seriously hurt herself this time although she did have a rather painful neck and body ache for a few days.

I managed to come outside after this little upset and took it upon my young-bodied self to handle the task. With the help of the same uncle who was almost taken out by my unpredictable and slightly uncoordinated mom, I got up the tree and shook for all I was worth. That small part of my Christmas day afternoon could basically sum up my time at home. It was spent with family and was as everyday as pickin’ pecans. That fact made it the best Christmas I’ve ever had.

This is no special post. I do not include some funny story or the happenings of some European adventure. It is just that in 6 hours I will be leaving for the states to spend Christmas there. It is what I have been looking forward to for more than a week. I had nothing but anticipation about leaving. 

Tonight we went out with a few friends and ate at a wonderful restaurant called Gasthaus zum Domreiter. It was my second time being there and I absolutely love it. There are a million feathers hanging from the ceiling and chandeliers made out of small wine glasses, which sounds rather funny, but comes together beautifully. The service is painstakingly slow but the food is so good, the atmosphere and surroundings so beautiful, that it more than makes up for it all. At the end you even get a hot towel for your hands and a small piece of fruit that I don’t know the name of. It is covered in sweet goodness that is some combination of corn-flakes and white chocolate and tops off whatever great meal you just ate. We had a really good time just being with one another and there was great conversation around the table.

With Christmas being so near, and most of us in the group at the bar being exchange students, the common question was when and how you were going home for Christmas. I even had one ask me if I was taking a train to the states (there aren’t only silly people in the US, believe it or not!). Every time when I would tell someone that I was going home on…well now today, I would say how excited I was too see my family, drive my car, go someplace at 9 pm and it be open…etc. Yet I then began to look around and see what I would be missing as well. I am still so excited to go, but I have now realized it is not such a simple journey. I am leaving something behind as well. I can only be thankful that I will be coming back to spend another 8 months here with people I have fun with and a few that I’m getting to truly know and care about. This goodbye is much easier because it will soon be followed with hello.

That said, I still can’t wait to see my sister and the rest of my family…and yes, I even enjoy the plane ride because there are so many movies to choose from and I can watch them in whatever language I want! Last time I watched “What Happens In Vegas.” First I saw it in English so that I’d know what was going on, and then in German, so I might learn something. Nerdy, I know, but I won’t deny being a nerd at times (no comments concerning that Telly!). This time, I am going to try out the German first and see how much I’ve picked up the last three months . Oh the little joys in life! Well, I should try to get some sleep before my long journey, so I wish you all a very Merry Christmas and hope that time with everyone’s family and loved ones is well spent and appreciated,

Tara

My two lovely friends, Gosia and Szandra

  

So, I have a lovely Irish friend here whose name is Julie. She is absolutely adorable and as sweet as can be. Coming right from Dublin, she has a rather strong accent and fits about every Irish stereotype (the good ones that is). She loves to talk, eats more potatoes than I thought was possible, and naturally has a fancy for a good beer, on top of which she has fair skin and auburn hair! She is basically a slightly larger version of a leprechaun…which of course she dressed up as for Halloween. Julie will drop by my room on a regular occasion just to chat and half the time when she is going off about one thing or another I have to stop her mid sentence saying “Julie, slow down chica, and would you please translate the Irish for me?” You would think two native English speakers would have no trouble conversing, but Irish and English are not the same (Just ask my sister – love you sis .

Well, the good ‘ol lass was having some stomach pains at the beginning of the semester and ended up being placed in the hospital…for 11 days! The doctors were not able to discover what was wrong so they continued giving her more and more tests until finally she was correctly diagnosed with a rare illness. To make it worse, they would not let her eat anything sometimes days at a time! As if it was not enough that she was sick, they had to deprive her of all comfort food…correction, all food! Thankfully her time in the hospital is over and she can take medication to null the effects of her illness. Although it is bothersome at times to have to remember to take her medicine, it could have been much worse.

When Julie came back from the hospital, she was naturally quite tired and weak, but still as bubbly and Irish as ever. I think she was so glad to be out and able to see everyone on a regular basis again that she was even more talkative than normal…didn’t know that was possible . One of the first evenings after her return she popped by my room and brought her medication with her. She took them out to show me and started going on about the size of one of the pills. In all fairness, this pill was huge. Some people have problems swallowing medium sized pills, but this was not one of those. It was literally the largest tablet I had ever seen. It was shaped rather awkwardly, with a point on one end like a torpedo (sorry, that is all I could come up with to describe it!). She started laughing saying “it is as big as a crayon!” I was laughing too, but I couldn’t help but think that it didn’t look like the kind of pill that one…swallows. I just glanced at her and said, “do you know what it looks like? It looks like those pills some children have to take when they have certain illnesses…but they don’t go in their mouths.” At first she just had a confused expression on her face, and then when it hit her what I meant and she was totally grossed out! She just uttered a short “oh” in return.

About a month later, she ran out of medication and had to go back to the doctor for a new prescription. The doctor was naturally German, so there were always a few hiccups in the conversation with there being so many technical terms, but for the most part the two were able to understand each other fairly well. The doctor asked her how the medication had been and if she would like the same prescription again or if she would prefer tablets. She was rather confused because what she had been taking were tablets…at least in her mind. She said that the same prescription would be fine and the doctor just looked at her and asked again, “Are you sure you don’t want tablets this time? You are able to take those now instead.” Rather confused she simply stated “but I have been taking tablets.” At this point, the doctor gave her a bewildered stare and said “you know that those pills were suppositories, right?” To make the point clearer he went on with ”You don’t swallow them.” At this, a mixture of shock and digust spread across Julie’s face. The receptionist a few feet away, who had naturally been listening in on the conversation (basically in their job description), swung around to face her and asked “How were you able to swallow those! They’re huge!” By this time, the astonishment of the doctor and other nurses had passed and they all burst out laughing. Julie, although still a little stunned, couldn’t help but see the humor in the situation as well. The doctor went on to assure her that it was okay that she had been taking the pills incorrectly, he just said that the other method would have given her relief from her stomach pains faster.

Later that day Julie came by for her regular chat, and after a few minutes of this, that and the other, glanced at me rather sheepishly and said “do you remember those huge pills I had to take? Well, you were kind of right about them…” Following that entry she began to recount the whole story and about halfway through I realized what she was going to say and literally almost died laughing. I was lucky I stayed in my chair. She went on to explain “the worst is that I went around showing everyone! I mean, I was just so surprised that they were so big… and they really looked like crayons! But you can’t tell anyone yet because I’m still kind of embarrassed about it. I can’t decide if I am going to share it or not, but it’s just so funny.” We talked a little more about some other topics but before she left she turned to me and with a thoughtful look on her face and with her classic optimism said, “Well you know, it could have been worse. They could have been normal pills that I thought were suppositories!”

The Irish 'lass herself

Written with permission by Julie

Hopefully everyone knows that Thanksgiving is an American Holiday (okay, for my Canadian friends out there, yes, you have a thanksgiving too, just a month earlier than ours – I did my duty by you now). It is a time to be with family and close friends and eat amazing food all day long while the Uncles watch football and the kids (or adults) watch the Macy’s day parade. The house smells of pumpkin pie and turkey and by the end of the day you are so full you swear you won’t eat for a week…then you wake up Friday morning and start your day with another slice of pumpkin pie, or if you’re me, multiple slices of pumpkin pie…okay fine, the whole pie!

With Thanksgiving being about those in North America celebrating the first harvest with Native Indians, the rest of the world doesn’t really have a reason to take part. Yet just as I am here in Germany to experience another culture, so are all the other exchange students. Led by a few from The States, Canada, and even a couple Brits, this past Thursday I had a Thanksgiving that I will never forget.

While you can find a lot of things in Germany, like amazing chocolate, a bakery on every corner and beer in vending machines, what is not so easy to come across is a turkey. I don’t mean turkey slices, I mean a whole big, fat turkey. In Bamberg though, there is an American Army base…I don’t really know why, but nonetheless, it comes in quite handy every once in a while. Without the base, my life would be empty of peanut butter and that would not be acceptable. Also due to the base, a friend of mine named Matt was able to buy two turkeys that collectively weighed 32 POUNDS! Matt then spent all of Thursday cooking Skippy & Tubby (the names given to the turkeys) and created a masterpiece.  No offense Granny, but Skippy & Tubby were probably the best I have ever eaten. However we didn’t just have turkey. There was also stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, green peas, biscuits, and ohhh yes, pumpkin pie! Although the food for Thanksgiving is always great, that is not really the point or pleasure of it all. It is about being with your family, and thanks to the big ‘ol Atlantic, that wasn’t possible this year. However in a way, I did have a family to celebrate this holiday with.

The University of Bamberg has numerous exchange programs in place with other schools and therefore the number of foreign students is quite large, especially considering the size of “Uni” Bamberg. Out of a total of around 8,000 students, there are over 150 who are international. With all of us being in the same situation, it is understandable that many of our strongest friendships would be within this group. There are constantly opportunities to get to know one another even better through the endless “Erasmus” (what the European exchange program is called) parties and International Stammtisch Nights. We’ve grown close, so who better to invite to this celebration than the family we have found here.

Now since Matt was the architect of this whole Thanksgiving in Germany idea, as well as Chef du Jour, he was naturally the one at the head of the table acting as “Dad,” so to say. No one was sure how many people were going to show up, but in the end, there were over 30 of us with nationalities from Kazakhstan to Finland. Once all the food had been prepared and laid out on the table, everyone filled their plates but without touching a bit of it. When all had once again returned to their seats, Matt stood up and shared a little bit about what Thanksgiving was in the US and asked that we all go around and say something we were thankful for. I’ve got to admit, it was around 8:30 at night by this time and I was as hungry as could be, so my first thought was, “ughh, this is going to take forever and all I want to do is tear into this turkey! Yet as soon as people began to share, I forgot about the food in front of me (okay, not entirely, but for the most part . It was so amazing to hear so many say that they were thankful to have chosen Bamberg and to have been able to meet such remarkable people. The consensus was that we were each other’s family in this unfamiliar country with a foreign language. I realized how truly thankful I was to be able to share this time with those I had grown close to. It’s not about the food, although the food was AMAZING. It’s about the people. Although I would have loved to see biological family, what I would have missed out on by doing that makes me so glad I couldn’t be there with them. So this is a thank you to all of the Erasmus students here. You have made my experience in Bamberg such a joy and I just want to reiterate my gratefulness for your friendship,

Liebe Grüβe,

Tara

For some reason, eccentricities seem to bloom in adolescence and fade with adulthood. Yet as someone gets on up in years, these oddities come right back out to the forefront. Plus, let’s just be honest, some elderly people don’t have all of their marbles anymore and are rather humorous characters. I met one that would fit this description the other day.

While I am taking a few regular classes at the university this semester, I am also enrolled in several German classes for exchange students. These courses are focused on different aspects of the German language, such as writing, speaking, grammar, etc. In my Hörverständnis class (listening and comprehension) last week, we had to go out in the city and translate words and phrases from Hochdeutsch (the technically correct form of the German language) to the Franconian dialect that is found in this part of Bavaria. When I say dialect, I don’t mean the difference you find between a yankee and a southern bell. Yes, there are a few distinct discrepancies there, such as “$ya’ll” versus ”you’se guys”, but pretty much it is just the accent (with everyone who has all their marbles favoring that of the southern bell . Here the difference is a little bit stronger…pretty much a different language.

Let me give you an example. If you want to say “You don’t believe it!” in Hochdeutsch, you would say:

                Du glaubst es nicht!

In the Franconian dialect, that translates to:

                Glabbsdes!

Hmmm…okay, so I don’t have a chance with that. Thankfully, most all young people and those with significant education, speak hochdeutsch.

Back to class. For my Hörverständnis course, we were sent out into the streets with a sheet of paper that had words and phrases in hochdeutsch and were required to find people who could tell us how to say all those things in Frankish. Who were we therefore looking for? Old people.

My partner and I had just about answered everything, and all we had left to do was to find some different words for fruits and vegetables. In Bamberg, there is this lovely Farmer’s market in the middle of the city Monday through Friday, so we headed there to see if we could finish this last little bit. I didn’t want to bother anyone who was dealing with a customer, but then I saw an old man at a stand alone. Bingo! I went up to him and our conversation went something like this.

Me: Hello sir, do you have a moment to answer a few questions for us concerning the franconian dialect?

Old guy: yes, okay.

Me: We are exchange students here at the university and need to find some words for fruits and vegetables that differ in Hochdeutsch and Frankish. Do you know of any?

 —- Let me just interrupt here to say that my German is not perfect. I still make countless mistakes but when it comes to normal conversation, I am just fine. Having been here for 2 months already, it would be rather sad if I were not. That said, up until this point in our conversation, I had given him no reason to believe me to be an idiot, or someone who had started learning German yesterday…but that didn’t seem to matter —

At this moment the old man picks up and apple and says:

This here is an Apple. AP-PLE

(and just so you know, the word for apple in German is almost exactly the same as in English. It is Apfel).  

I then replied: Okay, and so the word for that in Frankish is?…

The man just looks a little startled and said:

…Apfel!

I figured he just hadn’t heard me at the start or didn’t understand, so I then showed him the paper with the directions written on it (in German) and repeated that we had to find words for fruits and vegetables that differed in hochdeutsch and Frankish. He then went and picked up a piece of cauliflower and said:

                This here is cauliflower. Cau-li-flow-er

                Me: great, and the word for that in Frankish is?

Again, the confused look and repetition of “Cauliflower.” For the third time I repeated that we needed words that differed between the academic German and this particular dialect. After a moment a befuddled look crossed is face and the answer followed of, “oh, well I don’t know any.”

Upon this brilliant revelation my partner and I just looked at each other with a bemused expression on our faces and thanked him all the same and left. We then decided that we had had enough of interviews for the day and did what any respectable student would do: We copied a few words down from others in the class. Afterall, the end justifies the means, right? Plus, while it definitely was a learning experience, I already knew how to say apple.

I like to discover the different methods of thought and arguments that one has due to their cultural upbringing. That is one of the reasons I jumped at the chance to study abroad in Germany. There is a different way to go about things over here and a different perspective from which the world is viewed. While there is often great variety in opinion among citizens of a country, certain issues command a significant majority on one side or another. One example is the common opinion of Germans concerning the US presidential election with more than 90% of Germany’s inhabitants favoring Barack Obama.

While I understand that the US presidential election will indirectly affect many outside of the United States, I would have never guessed the extent of interest that I would find here. One of the first questions that I am asked by someone upon learning that I am American is always “who are you going to vote for.” I do not feel I am exaggerating when I say it is like a cult following. After responding, I will in turn ask them who they would support and in all but one instance has the reply been “Obama.” Yet upon delving deeper and asking why, not once has anyone given me a solid reason. The answer is always one of very few options, and always deceivingly vague.

                “It is because he will make a change!”

                “I saw him in Berlin and it was amazing! He is so charismatic and a good speaker.”

Even once the answer was,

               “Because he is black, and I think America needs a black president.”

Just because change is needed, does that mean that all change is good? What about change in the wrong direction? And is the only requirement to be President that one be charismatic and a powerful speaker? Your basic comedian can do that. Is he fit to be Chief Executive? Is it not blatantly obvious that voting for someone because of the color of their skin falls under the category of racism, no matter if that color is black or white? What would one say if someone voted for McCain because he was white?

Give me a reason. Give me a hard response. I don’t care if someone says they like Obama because he favors the redistribution of wealth, even though I oppose it. I don’t care if someone says they support him for his large government and welfare policies, although by studying economics I can’t do the same. I don’t care if we disagree, I just want someone to be in support of a candidate because of what they stand for, not because of hype, charisma, or the color of one’s skin. That list is so shallow I cannot bring myself to call it a “reason,” because there is no logic or reasoning to it. I want to make clear that I am not against ideas opposite of mine or reasons contrary to my own. I think that is necessary to have balance and is healthy for any political system. I also do not think that all Germans support Barack without any grounding, or that support without knowledge is isolated to some people in Germany. In the United States many would benefit from trading in their awe of celebrity in exchange for the interest in politics and world economy that is found here. Yet, in general, if one is going to speak and their sentences are not in the form of questions, they should know something about what they are saying. Otherwise we are just proffering nonsense and supporting an illusion.

So my good friend Szandra from Hungary had her parents in town 2 weekends ago and I had the privilege of meeting them. Her father is an absolutely adorable man who is always wearing a huge smile and wanting to try out his foreign language skills on you. I happened to be in luck because outside of Hungarian he knows a few words in most every language, but mainly German and English. I was invited over with a few other girls to partake in some Hungarian sweets that the parents had brought with them (and I later found out that were actually made in their own confectionary in Hungary!). I do not believe I can do justice to how incredible these “Süβigkeiten” were… and I don’t want to tell you how much I ate! They had cakes of all different colors and fillings, but many had something inside called “Quark” in German. Szandra said she believed it was cottage cheese in English. Thankfully it wasn’t cottage cheese but some fabulous thing we have got to import to the states. I mean, as a country we are already so far in the red that there is no reason to get queasy about increasing imports now, right?

So before I go on about the visit, let me just tell you that one of the things I love about my European friends here is that they are so quick to give you a hug and a quick “kiss, kiss” on the cheek. I find this very sweet, but at the same time I am not used to it at all. In the states, you hug those you are really close with, relatives, and good ‘ol southern ladies when you see them at church. Here in Germany, I am around a lot of different people from different countries with different customs. Some give just a hug, some a hug and a kiss (but only on one cheek), some don’t hug but give two kisses…and the list of possible combinations goes on and on. With that said, I am about the most awkward person on the planet in these little exchanges because I never know which one I’m supposed to do, and even if I do “know” half of the time I forget! For example, on Sunday we all met again with Szandra’s folks to have an early lunch of Hungarian specialties (again, amazing!). I was the first to walk through the door and I greeted her dad in a very American style of “hello, good to see you, how are you?”, just in German. Behind me was Larissa from England and Natalia from Poland, both of which then hugged Szandra’s dad and gave him the two kisses. I looked up and a little “oops” slipped from my lips, which Szandra’s mom understood (although ironically she does not speak any English), and with a knowing smile she said something along the lines of “pussy pussy!” I have no idea what that means but looking back on it makes this situation even more funny to me. She then came and gave me the hug and kiss after which Szandra’s dad did the same. I know that all the while they must have been thinking something along the lines of “oh the funny American.” Thankfully, after that little misstep, the lunch went off without a hitch.

As I mentioned above, Szandra’s dad knows a few words and phrases in many different languages, but mostly in German and English. In order to really converse with her parents, Szandra would translate from German to Hungarian, but when she was out of the room or doing something, her dad would take the opportunity to practice his English vocab. My favorite was when her folks were leaving so that they could do a little shopping while in Germany (her dad wanted to check out the Mercedes dealership down the street). He stood at the door and began to wave to me and Larissa, all the while saying “Hello!” over and over. It was the cutest thing I think I have ever seen and made me like him 10 times more! I did not want to point out the mistake by saying “goodbye” so I just smiled real big and waved in return. Afterwards I couldn’t help but wish I could look so adorable when I mess up in German!