Well, there you have it.

I have survived Germany.

I came back to the States and spent a few days reconnecting with old friends and family. Then I searched for a month and finally found a job. However, I am still broke. I still like bread rolls for breakfast. I miss walking everywhere. But I love the heat.

I am home.

Notes from my laptop on the day I left Germany

I’m writing this from the Köln/Bonn Airport at 3:30 in the morning on Saturday, June 27th. I’m sitting here in Terminal 1, waiting for the check-in on my flight to open up so I can see if my baggage is overweight or not. The place is surprisingly busy for it being so late/early: there is a sweet-looking old man sleeping in the seats to my left, a couple chatting amicably in German to my right, and a steady stream of travelers dragging luggage in every direction. It’s warm and muggy and the ice-cream vending machine is making a pleasant humming noise.

I woke up at noon today and finished what little business I had left to take care of, then went out and had a coffee with my friend. We sat outside a café and watched the weather go from sunny to pouring buckets of rain and then back to sunny in the span of an hour and a half. It was kind of sad to have that last little time together, but I’m positive I’ll see her again so it wasn’t as depressing as it would otherwise have been. Then I took a little tram back home and watched out the window as all of my usual sights went by for the last (at least, the last for now) time. Oh, goodbye, good Italian restaurant! Goodbye shopping mall that looked like a ducal palace! Goodbye crazy homeless man fishing for beer bottles in the trash can! Goodbye old woman talking to me on the tram about the weather!

Then it was home for one last coffee with my roomie and her daughter (who, I guess, is also my roomie. But I always refer to her as my roomie’s daughter ...). They said they weren’t letting me leave and were going to tie me to a chair and keep me there. I laughed. Then they actually tied me to a chair. But it was a rolling desk-chair, so I got rolled around the apartment for a fun while (video to follow). They helped me carry my copious amounts of baggage to the train station, said goodbye, and even ran after the train waving handkerchiefs as it left the station. Seriously. I love my little German family.

After that was a long string of trains: Braunschweig to Bielefeld (two hours and a cute, polite German guy helping me with my luggage), Bielefeld to Hamm (about an hour and a good-smelling Iraqi guy helping me with my luggage), and Hamm to Köln Hauptbahnhof (shoulda been an hour and a half, but the train was delayed an extra half hour. Also, no help with luggage and a drunken German ogled me for most of the trip, and then asked me if I was single.). After that I took yet another train to the airport. And now here I am. I have listened to all the music I care to listen to, played all the solitaire I care to play, and even grown bored of all the amusements my computer has to offer. I’m tired, but I don’t want to sleep for fear of 1) someone messing with my luggage and/or 2) missing my check-in. So I’m trying to keep myself awake by typing and thinking about my time in Germany. Am I excited to be leaving? Yes. But not 100% excited. By that I mean, I think it’s great that I’m going home but I also think it’s sad that I have to leave a place where I’ve spent such an important time in my life. There’s a little melancholy center to my delicious going-home-ness.

Also, my skin is oily as heck and my make-up has come off. That’s annoying.

'Cause I've Seen Blue Skies

Here we go, sweet babies! I'm a-leavin' the country. I get on a train at 7:20 p.m. tonight and walk, ride, fly, and drive for about 31 hours after that until I finally reach OKC at 7:06 p.m. local time. For those of you that have interest, I'm coming in on United Airlines UA7395 Washington Dulles of Will Rogers.

Everything is packed and ready to go. Has been for almost two days. It's totally unlike my trip from Oklahoma here, which was chaotic and emotionally-charged up until the second I got on the plane. This build up, on the other hand, has been calm and sorta lonely, like cleaning up alone after a rockin' house party. Don't get me wrong; I'm excited to go home. Most excited. It's just a melancholy feeling, leaving some place where I've spent such a memorable time. I woke up with a desire to listen to nostalgic / leaving / going home songs, so that what I've been finishing packing to. Here's a couple for you too:

John Denver - "Country Roads"
Tim Curry (Rocky Horror Picture Show) - "I'm Going Home"
Three Dog Night - "Never Been To Heaven"
John Denver - "Leaving On A Jet Plane"

The Kindness Of Strangers

So, as you all may know, I am pretty constantly broke here. I was especially so this month thanks to a lot of traveling and as of last Thursday I had about eight euros to my name. That was eight euros for food, for incidental travel costs on my way to the airport, and for paying the rest of my rent. If I got to the airport and my bags were overweight, I would just have to throw things away. Eight euros.

A colleague of mine, Mrs. Paul, asked me if I wanted to come on a field trip with her class that coming Tuesday. They were going somewhere cool, some museum, but the cost per person was twenty euros. I felt so embarrassed when I had to tell her that I would love to, but that I didn't have the money for it. She said, "Well, what about ten euros? I could pay the other ten." I had to tell her that I didn't even have ten euros. I was incredibly embarrassed and kind of ashamed, standing there in the teacher's lounge and saying, "Nope, sorry. I have no money." I hate saying this because then people say, "Well, I'll loan it to you." But if I'm already this broke, I don't want to spend money that I haven't even made yet (which is what a loan is, essentially) on fun stuff. My thought is, if I can't afford to feed myself, I certainly can't afford to go on a field trip.

People also sometimes say, "We'll I'll just give you the money." But then if I take the money, I feel like I shouldn't do anything frivolous with it. Again, if I couldn't have afforded to feed myself without the gift, I feel like I shouldn't go wild with the money once I get it.

This whole rambling thing boils down to: I had eight euros to my name, and I had to tell Mrs. Paul that I couldn't afford to go on the field trip.

So, the next Monday I'm in Herr Preller's class and he pulls me aside. He asks me, "Do you need money?" And my mouth is popping open and shut like a fish out of water because I want to tell him, "YES! Yes I need money bad!" but I also (see above rambling) feel like I shouldn't take a loan or even a gift unless I was absolutely completely beyond broke. I mean, hey, I did still have eight euros.

Anyway, Herr Preller was like, "Here. You take this and you can pay me back when you get back to the States ..." and he shoves a wad of twenties into my hand. Twenties! Herr Preller gave me one hundred euros and said I could pay him back later!!! I was overjoyed but not speechless; in fact, my mouth was a motor running off "thank you thank you thank you I'll pay you right back thank you thank you thank you" at a mile a minute.

So, I paid the last of my rent, bought groceries, and I even have a twenty left over for incidentals on my way back to America. Thank you, thank you Herr Preller!

Corny Lesson Alert: Corny Life Lesson Ahead!

You know what? People keep asking me what I've learned or what I've gained during my time here. I often come up with very lame, cliched answers. But really? I've learned how to accept help from people.

I'm independent to a fault. I don't like not being able to do things for myself. I don't like having to ask other people and impress upon their kindness. That doesn't mean I mind the other way around; in fact, I love helping people and being able to do things for them. I'm just the kind of person who is much better at giving gifts than receiving them.

But my going away to Germany has meant, often times, that I must rely on other people. I literally could not have done this without you guys - Dad, Rachael, Mom, Marvin, Pete, Herr Preller, Biggi, Maya, Nadine, everyone who sent me a card or a e-mail or even just wrote on my wall, just ... just everyone! Without help, I would not have found a place to live here. I would have had no furniture, no bicycle, no jacket in winter. I would have gone hungry and not been able to pay my bills back home and I probably would have had to leave early because of that. My PDA would not have worked, I would have had a terrible Christmas, and most of all I would have been very, very lonely. So, I hated asking for help, but I finally came to a situation in my life where I had to ask for it. And I found that it's not wrong to need help. I don't like it, but I don't actively avoid it as much as I did before. So, uhm, thanks people. I love you guys. And I'll see you in a couple of days.

PS: I did go on a school field trip, btw. I went with an 8th grade class on a canoe tour of the Oker River, which runs through Braunschweig. You can see photos of it HERE.

H'appy Father's D'ay!

So, on Friday there was a little party for me in the Gauss Haus. Gauss Haus, for those that don't remember, is where I volunteer teach English to German grown-ups once a week. I also do occasional translations for city tours of Braunschweig there and participate in their "Cafe Litteraire" discussion groups. I'm, like, one of the team.

So, anyway, the group made this week's Cafe Litteraire about America so that we could have an excuse to talk about me and what I, as an American, think of Germany. It was also an opportunity for group members to ask me stuff about America. My favorite question of the night: "How hard would it be for me, as a foreigner, to get a girlfriend in America? And where would I go to meet American women?" This guy was planning it all out, I tell you.

Anyway, I had a lovely time. We all drank prosecco that was labelled "Braunschweig Prosecco" .... but with "from Italy" printed really tiny underneath. It's German wine! .... from Italy. Anyway, there was talking and laughing and snacking and ... *drum roll please* .... a surprise present! That's right, the Gauss Freunde got together and bought me a big tote bag with a painting of Braunschweig's sights on the side. It was really sweet. They even filled it with tourist information, maps of the city, stuff like that, so that I'd have touristy things to bring back. Oh, AND they gave me a certificate that says everything I've done as a member of Gauss Haus and that thanks me for being so awesome. How cool is that? It was a sweet, unexpected gesture at my little going-away party.

Also, today is Father's Day! I looked it up; that's the correct use of the apostrophe. If you have multiple fathers, please feel free to move the apostrophe to where ever you like. I, for example, am doing "Fathers' Day", but you could even do "Fathers D'ay" if you like, making it sort of like a French spelling of something. To my father- and stepfather-units: I sent you guys cards last week - didja get 'em? I'll call you today anyway. Much love! Happy Fathers D'ay!

On Sale Now

So, I've been all kinds of busy getting ready to leave. I've been buying train tickets, updating my resume, applying for jobs online, making doctors appointments stateside, and trying to sell all my junk. It's the last part that's the killer. See, originally I just had to sell my bed; other other stuff I possessed - a bike, a desk, a dresser, and other little things - belonged to a co-worker of mine. But when I asked her, "So, when d'you wanna come pick up your stuff?" She said, "Oh, no! That was a GIFT! It's yours now!"

.... Thanks. Now I have even more stuff to try and sell in a week. I mean, if we were in a program where teaching assistants came every year, then I could just leave this stuff for the next assistant. But it's not that way. I'm not living in a school-sponsored apartment, so when I leave, my stuff had better leave too.

I wish I could sell the stuff. Then maybe I could get some money, buy some of that - what's it called? Oh yeah, food ....

Cold Day In June

Today, the sun was shining and I went to work without even needing a jacket. Then, by the time I got home, it was hailing. There was hail in the middle of June. Then it was sunny. Now it's a torrential downpour and the wind is whipping the rain everywhere. I thought this was Germany, but with this weather maybe I'm in Okahoma already ...?

Countdown

Hey all,

I've been traveling quite a bit lately: went and visited Bad Muender with Andrea last week and Cologne with Christian and Anja just a few days ago. The pics for Bad Muender, which is a small town near Hannover known for its natural springs, are HERE; pics for Cologne, where we all went to see Spamalot in German, will be up soon.

So, I meant to write about the trips I just took - they were both action-packed and awesome - but I can't think of anything right now except going home. I'm trying really really hard not to think about it, but I still do. I always know exactly how many days it is 'till I come home because I'm always thinking about it. Everything I do now has that homeward slant. Like, I refuse to buy more shave gel. It's only two and a half weeks left, I think to myself, so I can just use soap for that long. Or I've started eating and drinking weird things just because they're in my cabinets and I don't want to throw them out when I leave. Right now? I'm working on a tin of hot tea and some hard fruity candies.

I've bought my souvenirs, booked my train ticket to the airport, made doctors' appointments stateside (gots to have my allergy meds, yo), and even worked out where I want to eat when I get back. I'm giving up smoking, working out every day, and - God help me - I've bought a teeny tiny little bikini and I'm looking to get a little tan before I leave. Everything seems exciting and possible now that another big life change is near. June 27th, 7:05 PM. Mark it on your calendars, people. Only seventeen more days, seventeen more sleeps (well, sixteen, actually; my train leaves the night before my plane flies out) till I come home. I can wait for seventeen days. Hell, I can do anything for seventeen days. I'm feeling like a champ.

All My Rowdy Friends Have Settled Down

Well, I did it. I sent the last of my assistant friends off on a train today. Tom left today; Caroline left yesterday. Now it's just me. What will I do with myself for a whole month without our random meetings-up for coffee? Or our weekends out? I may just have to work.

Pfft!

Anyway, I was bummed out on the way back from the train station today. I thought, that's it. I'm back to being alone here. Not totally alone, I suppose. I have some friends here (hi, Frauke!), but Caroline and Tom were the two I hung out with the most. So it's going to be like it was in September - me here, wondering what to do with myself every night. Only now I don't mind it so much because I have ... count 'em ... 26 days left! I can do it. I can do anything for 26 days. I can wait it out. And it's not like I don't have anything to do in the meantime. I'm going on a day trip with a friend tomorrow, and I'm going to see Spamalot in Cologne next weekend. Then there's the process of selling things, giving things back to people who may or may not remember I still have their stuff, and worrying over a million little details. 26 days? I can do that.

Funny Things My Students Have Said

I teach English to little Germans. The kids here start learning it in the 3rd grade and continue to do so until they graduate (which, for my school, is the 13th grade). I usually work with grades 9 and up, so you'd think that after that many years of English they'd be pretty proficient. However, I still come across a few mistakes so hilarious or confusing that I feel the need to write them down. Here are a few such gems:

(This one was in a writing assignment about fashion tips. The girl was writing about how to make someone look fabulous. If you follow her tips, she says, ....)

"I can assert that you will be conspicuous."

(Ah, my fashion goal -- conspicuousness. The next one was another writing assignment where one student interviews another. The interviewer wrote this:)

"We would like to bombard you with questions."

(Question bombs everywhere -- look out! And here's a lovely one I got from a lesson on American government:)

"The last president was Josh Bush."

(... Josh? Sounds like a frat pledge. And before him was Chad Clinton, Josh Bush Senior, and Brett "Brosef" Reagan. Another student wrote, in response to a prompt about the American presidential election process ...)

"At first it gives a primaries."

(.... whuh? Aaaand *drum roll please* my all time favorite - this response to the question "what do you like to do after school?":)

"I like to go to the park and get with my dog."

(Too. Much. Information. I'm going to say she meant "play with" instead of "get with"...)

Anybody else? Funny English mistakes?

A Terrible Use For An Ashtray

So, uhm, I witnessed a man beating another man with an ashtray yesterday.

The story goes like this: it's Monday evening, 7:00 p.m.. I've just finished teaching my volunteer English classes at this cultural program place in the city center and I want to hang out for a while longer downtown before I go home. So I call Caroline and we go to Cafe Alex (family: this is that cafe right next to Vapiano, where we ate when you visited). It's this cute outside cafe - lots of wicker tables and chairs, overpriced teas, some old man duo playing an oboe and an accordion in the background - and everything is peaceful.

I'm just about to take my first sip of tea when two big guys come barreling around the corner, one chasing the other and both of them yelling in German. It's just some guys being rowdy, I think to myself, but then the chaser (let's call him Polo Shirt Guy) tackles the chasee (let's call him Long Shirt Guy) right in front of my table.

I don't mean playfully tackles. I mean, Polo Shirt Guy was on the hunt, and he took Long Shirt Guy down hard. They landed so close to our table that, if Caroline and I hadn't jumped up right away, they would've landed on us. As it was, out table was knocked over and our drinks went everywhere (before I even got to drink mine, shame shame ...).

But that's not the half of it. Polo Shirt Guy starts beating Long Shirt Guy right in front of us. He wailed on his face, got up, kicked his head a few times, hit him with an ashtray (!) ... all of this within what seemed like hours of the tackle but was actually probably just seconds. Long Shirt Guy had no chance to fight back.

I jumped up (well, I had already jumped up and away when my table got knocked over) and was thinking, "Somebody get that guy off of him!" So, I start yelling at Polo to lay off. In my infinite wisdom I made a move to go towards them -- what was I gonna do? Join the fight? I don't know what the flaming potatoes I, a 5'6" little woman, was going to do to Polo, a 6'5" muscle man, but apparently my dumb butt thought I was going to do something. Nobody else was. So I'm going towards this guy and Caroline's like, "What the HELL are you doing?! You're going to get yourself beat up." I either came to my senses or chickened out, depending on how you look at it, because I didn't jump into the fight. But it didn't matter anyway, because Polo Shirt ran off just then and shortly thereafter the police and ambulance came. Long Shirt Guy's head had bled all over his poor white shirt and the pavement and he needed some patching up. And that was that. As far as I know they didn't catch Polo and nobody chased him when he ran off.

So, anyway. That's my story. If I was a man I'da totally jumped in there and pulled Polo off of Long Shirt. But, unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it) I was a girl that day and so my ass was not on the line. Voila.

Love And Marriage

I'm sitting outside a cafe the other day, doing what I do in Germany - drinking coffee and chatting with people in Denglish - when across the square I spy funny sight. It's a group of men, comically cross-dressed, leading a wagon full of beer and blasting "Heidi" (you know, that song about the little mountain girl) from a boom box at full blast. Aaah, another bachelor party.

I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but German bachelor parties differ slightly from American ones. In America, the goal is (usually) a night of debauchery before the groom goes into his union of calm, domestic bliss. In Germany, the goal is a day/night of cleverly designed scenarios meant to embarrass the groom before his formal wedding day. Humiliations for the groom include anything from simply making him wear a t-shirt with a witty saying about balls and chains to forcing him to sell condoms to passing strangers. Both of these things I have seen. Some other bizarre stag night rituals I've seen are:

• Dressing the groom up in prison gear with a giant foam ball and chain and make him walk down the street like that.
• Dressing the groom up in a giant sheet painted like a soccer field that says "shoot me, I'm getting married!", then allowing people to kick soccer balls at him.
• Dressing everyone up in shirts that say "Yes He Can!" and having the groom dress up in one saying "Yes I Can", then going around and selling Obama-themed things to people. This group actually went beyond what I consider tasteful by painting their groom's face black in the presidential image. Blackface?! Seriously, German dudes? I actually pretended to speak only German so they wouldn't come and take pictures with The American.

There are many more. There are also other rituals I've seen, like how apparently when someone turns the big 3-0 here, tradition states that they have to clean the town hall steps and kiss a virgin. This leads to big groups in front of the Rathaus every once and a while, throwing confetti on some poor schmuck with a broom who's trying to sweep the junk off the steps. Or it leads to a German in some ridiculous costume running up to you in the town square and questioning your virginity when you're just trying to have a coffee in peace. What a country.

Berlin Again. Again.

Wanna see some pics from my latest trip to Berlin? Yes, you do!

The trip was for my friend Caroline's 21st birthday. There was much fun to be had -- museums, the zoo, city tours, pub crawls, you name it! Well, actually don't try to name more things. Unless you name Dunkin' Donuts snacking or shopping for commemorative magnets. Then you'd have named it.

Space, the Final Frontier ...

Eeeeeee!

The night before last I went with my friend, Caroline, to see the new Star Trek movie. So, I'm going to repeat that fan-girl screech again:

Eeeeeeee!

I really liked it. It was dubbed into German, so the voices were oddly mismatched, but I still liked it. Really briefly, it's an parallel universe origin story (well, something like that) of the characters from the original series - you know, Captain Kirk and Spock. For the casual watcher (Caroline) it was easy enough to follow. For the less-casual watcher (me), it was delightful to see how they handled each of the characters as younger versions of themselves. I kept leaning over to her and saying, "Oh, that's so-and-so. They do this and that in the TV series ... Oh, look!" I'm sure it was annoying, but I couldn't help myself. Anyway, long story short, I recommend the movie. Eeeee!

PS: I love Spock(s). I love old Spock, new Spock, and all parallel possible Spocks. It's pon farr time, baby! Rawr!

Goslar in Style

Hello Lovely Leute,

Today (Saturday) I woke up at 8:30 a.m. - gasp! - to take a trip to Goslar. My mentor/teacher guy, Herr Preller, invited me because I missed the big school trip there a while back. He said there was some cool stuff there and said that if I wanted to go sometime he could take me in his car. Which is about the only way I'd get to Goslar, as I don't have a car here in Germany, nor do I hang out with anyone who does, and the place is kinda far away.

Anyway, long story short we went there today. Awesomeness ensues! Click on THIS link to view the photo album and read about the trip in detail.

Oh, and PS: I love you family! Mom and Rachael, I sent you Mother's Day cards earlier this week but I don't know if they'll get to you in time. If not, I'll catch ya on Sunday!

Also, Dad, get on Skype!

It's May! It's May! The lusty month of May! (Camelot, anyone?)

I wanted to write a post about how beautiful Germany is now that it's spring. I spoke too soon, however -- it's been rainy and cold for the past three days. Oh, well. Let's imagine that it's still warm and green outside as I post these pictures from last week:

Little Differences

So, a lot of the differences that I've noticed between Germany and America are little things. The things that I miss are little things; the things that I will miss when I leave here are little things. So, along that train of thought, I figured I'd share with you guys some household differences between the two lands, between my house here and my house there.

Things My German House Has That My USA House Doesn't:

• Two-way opening windows. If you've been in Europe, you know what I'm talking about; the windows that open from the side like a door but also from the top like a ... like a ...thing that opens from the top.
• Doors to every room in the house, even the living room and kitchen.
• Really high ceilings.
• Hardwood floors all over.
• 25 stairs leading up to it.
  
• Roommates who don't speak my language.
• Inside house keys. The doors all lock, but the locking mechanism isn't completely attached to the door; you actually have to stick a key in and lock them.
  

Things My USA House Has That My German House Doesn't:

• A dryer. I've got a washer here but not a dryer.
• A microwave. I've gotten very creative about heating things up here. That or I just eat them cold.
• A private yard, front or back.
• Pets.
• Central heat and air. My German equivalent of that is a radiator and some windows.
• Front doorknobs that turn. My front door here has a fixed knob and the door locks automatically. So, when you're leaving you just lock the door and when you're coming in you hold the key turned in the lock and push.

I'll post some pics of my room up later so's you can see what it's like.

Gauss Hausfrau

So, my roommate and her fiance have started up this cultural center called the Gauss Haus. It's the sort of place that does free English/Spanish/Klingon lessons, historical city center tours, and book clubs for people who only read books by 18th century French authors. Being a native English speaker, I was one of the first people they asked to help out there. I thought, I've got a lot of time on my hands. Surely I can teach English to some people one hour a week or something ....

Or something is right! I'm up to my neck in culture here, people! I teach two hours of English conversation a week to a group of about eleven people; I go to the Cafe Litteraire on Fridays and listen to poetry in languages I don't always understand; I even do English translation during the occasional Sunday tour of Braunschweig as it relates to the life of Carl Friedrich Gauss. This last one is something I'm particularly proud of, as I've never done verbal translation on the fly like that before. It's not just telling a waiter what my friend wants in German. It's explaining whole detail-rich lectures as word-for-word as possible without a dictionary and without prior knowledge of what's going to be said. Do you know what that makes me? That makes me awesome. Well, that and much more confident in my German than I was when I got here. But it also makes me awesome.

German Country Music?!

A while back I got the opportunity to go see a country band play live in Hannover. Not just any country band, Lovely Readers, but a German-based country band playing country-fied covers of popular pop songs. I could just squeal with delight! I really could.

Most Germans I know are either ignorant of or actively hate country music; my roommate, for example, will without fail shut her door or complain if I play so much as one Garth Brooks song. But this group -- called the Twang -- likes the country sound and does it well. It's really fun to listen to them take a song like "Seven Nation Army" and twist it just a little bit to make it a totally different song. If you can find their music online, check it out.

Anyway, a colleague of mine knew some of the band members really well and offered to get me in free to one of their shows. Not one to pass up a free show, I went along. Turns out these guys play all over Germany and even in the States (I think they were actually at the last SXSW in Austin). The songs were all well-done, not just exact copies of the original song versions but almost new songs in and of themselves. I'll spare you the fangirl rant and just say -- it was good. I got autographs and it was good. I can't wait for them to come back to America so I can see them there too.

Family Visit, Part Two

Ugh. So many things to post!

I haven't been very good about keeping up my blog, but I have been pretty good about jotting down random thoughts and current goings-on on napkins and in my PDA. So I'll take up a couple of posts here and transcribe those things so that you, Lovely Reader, will be able to fill in the gaps in my life.

First, the rest of my trip with the family. I'll lay out some of the highlights of the trip here:

• Took the fam to Braunschweig, my hometown. I wanted to show them the Schloss, the beautiful squares and old churches; they wanted to shop. So we shopped.
  
• We went through Cologne. As I've mentioned before, as soon as you leave the main train station you're hit with the sight of this massive, impressive cathedral. So, many pictures were taken and a tour was made through the cathedrals innards. We ate kebabs and rejoiced.
• On to Paris: my friend Thomas, who lives in Paris, met us at the station and helped us find our hotel - which, as it turned out, was right in the middle of the red light district. The Moulin Rouge was right down the street. It was amazing, albeit a little nerve-wrecking (making sure eight people, most of whom don't speak French, get around Paris at night is an adventure to say the least).
  
• Sight-seeing in Paris: yes, we was the Eiffel Tower. Yes, we saw the Louvre. Whatever you ask for, we probably have pictures of. I can only sum up the experience of trekking around Paris in a terrible haiku:

cheap trinkets, good food
so much culture to digest!
must we walk so far?

• Paris again: on the Metro to the Louvre, my stepsister's wallet got stolen. It contained 900 euros, all her credit cards, all of her identification (including passport), and a memory card full of pictures. Wow. We spent the rest of the day in Paris at the police station (where I got to use all five of the French words I know trying to explain what had happened) and at the American embassy. Joy.
  
• Paris, once more: the day of The Wallet Incident was the day we were supposed to leave Paris on a night train for Munich. We gather our bags, all eight of us, and head to the train station at eight o'clock at night. I go to the information desk to ask which platform our train was on. The man looked at my ticket and said, with (I imagine) a little Schadenfreude, "That train doesn't leave until tomorrow night." ... Let me reiterate. My entire family was at the train station, bags in hand, waiting for a train that wasn't to come until tomorrow. When I came back to the group, tickets in hand, it was obvious on my face that something was wrong. "What is it, Raychel?" I dropped the bomb. My father cursed, something I rarely ever hear him do. My sisters' jaws dropped. My stepmom looked like she was about to die. We all just sat there, on the benches in that Paris train station, tired and sick of France and without a hotel. Low point of the trip, for sure. [Many frantic phone calls to booking agencies later, we found a last-minute hotel and all was almost well. However, the bad luck we had in Paris had already soured us on the city and we were ready to go to Munich.]
  
• Munich was beautiful, what I saw of it. We spent most of the day taking trains, buses, and the Ten Toe Express to Neuschwannstein, a magnificent fairytale castle in southern Germany. The castle was magnificent, that I will admit, but no one told me it was a magnificent castle at the top of a mountain that you have to go up on foot. By "on foot", I mean "a forty minute walk up a steep hill at a high altitude in the snow." I really felt like an out-of-shape American stereotype. But, hey, the castle was magnificent!
• We spent our last day of the trip in Frankfurt. It was a Sunday and we couldn't find much to do, so we stayed in the hotel. I took a bath and watched soccer in German. Not a bad end to such a fast-paced vacation.

Family Visit, Part One

So, most of my family came to visit me in Germany in the middle of March. I say most because I have four parents and eight siblings (step- and blood-relations). There's no way all of them could leave their jobs, schools, pets, babies, and medical conditions behind for a week to come and see me. Not to mention the cost of shlepping 12 people around would be enormous. So, it was my dad, stepmom, two sisters, two stepsisters, and a stepbrother who made the nearly 24-hour series of plane connections over to get here.

They flew in to Frankfurt, which is several hours away from Braunschweig, and I met them there at the airport. We'd booked all our train tickets in advance, so it was going to be a tight squeeze between the plane's touch-down time and the booked train's departure time. I arrived at the airport more than an hour early just to be sure I could find them and that we could all make our train. And I found them pretty easily, actually. Their flight came in almost an hour early, so I was glad I'd gotten there early too. But waiting for my family, who I hadn't seen in over six months, to come through a set of sliding glass doors that was just starting to release a trickle of passengers was like slowing time down to a grinding halt. Every second dragged its heels. The clock's hands refused to budge. I remember thinking, "How long does it take for people to get off a plane?! Move, Grandma! Move, young couple with a stroller! I want to see my family coming through those doors!" Every head looked like my dad's head; every hair color was the exact shade of my stepmom's.

And then FINALLY I saw my dad coming through the doors, followed by the rest of the Brady Bunch. I jumped up and squealed "Familyyyy! Hello, lovely family!" or something to that effect. There was hugging and moist eyes all around, and much blocking of traffic.

Okay, that's nice. But now it's time to catch a train!

Thus began the whirlwind adventure of bringing eight people through five cities in two countries (not to mention a whole mess of countryside and a drive-by view of Belgium) in about seven days. We had a wallet stolen, slept on precarious bunk beds in a moving train, ordered food in four languages, and very nearly killed each other. Ah, family!

Wowza -- Long Time! Photos, Anyone?

Okay, so it's been a looong time since I wrote last. I'm going to try to update with all the crazy stuff that's gone on, so there'll be quite a few posts in a short number of days here.

First up - photos!

For those of you who didn't know, most of my family came to visit me in Germany a few weeks back. We went on a week-long whirlwind tour of Germany and France: Frankfurt, Braunschweig, Cologne, Paris, and Munich. There's a ton to say about all of this, but I'm saving the grand story for another couple of posts. In the meantime, enjoy pictures!

Here's Volume I, Volume II, and Volume III of my pics from the trip.

Haircut

I am forever saying, "Oh I want to grow my hair out." It never fails, though, that after a while my growing hair starts to look shaggy and I get impatient and cut it off. This is exactly what happened a couple of days ago.

I was skyping with my fam online last week. Looking at my video chat window, I saw myself and came to an awful conclusion: I have the exact same haircut as Professor Snape from the Harry Potter movies. This, ladies and gentlemen, was my hair:


Clearly, something had to be done.

So, fast foward a few days. My friend, Caroline, is over at my place using my internet. After she finishes doing her thing I say, "You wanna do something fun?" She says, "Yes .... wait, what is it?" I grin (probably a bit maniacally) and say, "Let's cut my hair!"

Aaaand away we go to the bathroom. I give her my only pair of scissors, used for cutting paper, yarn, tape, and now hair. We wet down my hair and get to it. I select a chunk of hair and show with two fingers where I want her to cut. "I want it this short," I say. She gives me this are-you-absolutely-sure look and then cuts.

And, oh, folks! You should have seen the panic/terror on her face as the first big wet chunk of hair hit the tiled floor! Her face was hilarious. She was like, "I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe you letting me do this. This is going to end badly ..." A few more cuts later she murmurs, "This is not fun anymore. I'm going to mess up your hair and ..." mumble mumble mumble ... But I'm excited! This is fun! It's guerilla haircutting - you're in your bathroom and some masked figure jumps in, cuts your hair, and runs out. How fun is that?!

At the end, after all was said and blow-dried, it actually looked good. It's sort of a 1920's bob with a little bit of bangs swept to the side. Here's the only pic I got before my reluctant hairstylist demanded to take a break.


I'm quite pleased with it, actually. It looks good and I didn't have to go somewhere to get it done. Well done, Secret Hairstylist!

Knock-Knock ...

So, I was talking to my roommate today and the subject of telling jokes came up. I decided to really wow her with the few standard "knock-knock" jokes that I possess. Take this little gem, for example:

Knock-knock.
-Who's there?
Banana.
-Banana who?
Knock-knock.
-Who's there?
Banana.
-Banana who?!
Knock-knock.
-Who's THERE?!
Orange.
- .... Orange who?
Orange you glad I didn't say banana again?!

... and everybody laughs because it's a lame pun. However, my roommate speaks basically no English and doesn't know what a knock-knock joke is, so before I even got started I had to explain the form. Like so:

ME: See, I say "knock-knock", and you ask "who's there?", then I say (some answer), and you say "(some answer) who?", and then I say something funny.
ROOMIE: But why would I say "(some answer) who?" You just told me who it was.
ME: Well .... uhm ... you just have to. For the joke.
ROOMIE: *not understanding face*
ME: just say it.

So I tried the banana joke and after the first "banana who?" I could see she had no more patience, so I rushed to the "orange you glad" punch line. What I didn't count on was that my lame pun does not translate into German, at least not without a fifteen word explanation. So what came out as my punchline was "ORANGE - which means 'orange' in German but sounds very similar to our English word for 'are not' - you glad I didn't say banana again?! Waka waka waka! ..... It's FUNNY!!" Fail. She did not understand. So I tried this one:

Knock-Knock.
-Who's there?
Impatient cow?
-Impatient co--
MOO!!

That stuff is hilarious. But I told her the joke and it went more like this:

Knock-knock.
-Who is there?
Impatient cow (which I poorly translate into German).
-*laughter*
No, that's not the joke.
-But the cow is impatient and knocking on the door. It will not wait for me to answer.
Uhm, yes .... that was the punchline.

Are there no knock-knock jokes in the German language? Or maybe there are, and I just chose some very un-funny English ones. Maybe my delivery was off. Who knows? But the entire situation was an example of two cultures meeting, awkwardly attempting to understand one another, and then finally just giving up and parting ways. Orange you glad I told you that story?

Eintracht Braunschweig!

Hello, lovely readers! Long time no write, I know. But I'm here to correct that with a special edition of ...

Things I Did For The First Time In Germany!

This edition: my first soccer game, or football match as I've been told by at least one English person to call it. It actually wasn't the first game I've ever seen in Germany; that honor goes to a Hannover vs. FC Bayern game I saw in Hannover in a beer garden just outside the stadium. But this game was the first one that I've ever seen live in Germany (actually, I think it's the first pro match I've seen live EVER).

Our team name is Eintracht Braunschweig. Eintracht means something like harmony or unity, so it's kind of like saying Braunschweig United. We're not THE best team out there by any means, but it turns out we're better than VFB Stuttgart, who we played the night I went. The score was 2 - 0 in favor of Braunschweig, but the score wasn't the important thing. The important thing was the fans.

I didn't know what to expect from German soccer fans, but I know now: a mass of people of all ages, decked out in obscene amounts of blue and yellow fan gear, waving scarves, beer glasses, and anything else handy as they scream team chants and fight songs for 90 minutes straight in a standing-room-only section of the stadium. There was a big drum keeping the beat, a guy with a megaphone leading the chants, GIANT flags being waved all around, and just a general buzz of excitement and energy. And oh, there was excitement! Any time the ball got anywhere near the goal, everyone around me screamed and cheered so loud that I think I went deaf. People were waving their beers around and in some cases just flinging the contents up in the air. I know this because I was personally sloshed with this alcoholic airborn team spirit twice during the game. Caroline and I kept hold of our beers, though. Those things cost three euros each, man. That stuff's precious. Liquid gold.

So, the game was good. I really enjoyed myself and can't wait for the next game. If you'd like to see pics from the game, check them out here. Also, enjoy this brief clip from the game. It's mostly just a look around at the fans, Caroline, and me, but that's mostly what I remember about the game anyway, so enjoy!

Defective

Quick note: my friend Matt was all excited about Braunschweig's soccer team winning the game this weekend. He was writing one of the team's chants on his Facebook status, and this German friend of ours replied "hast du ne macke??? omg ..." which, once I translated it, literally means "Do you have a defect? Oh my god ..."

haHA! That is so funny and stereotypically German to me, reading "Do you have a defect" as a rough equivalent of "Are you crazy". I want to bring this back to the States; next time someone gets my food order wrong or cuts me off in traffic, I'm just going to scream "Hast du eine Macke?!"

Abergläubig

So, I have the flu. I know I have the flu because I went to a German doctor here on Thursday, and he told me, "You have the flu" in German. I thought it was just a little cold, but then on Wednesday night I got chills so bad I literally couldn't sleep because I was shivering. I tried putting on all my pajamas, turning up the heat, and getting under a big blanket, but it didn't help. I just shivered and shivered. I would drift off to sleep for a bit, but then I'd have these weird hallucinations/dreams where I was judging the biggest wine competition in the world (I'm reading a book on wine right now). I kept waking up in a cold sweat, shivering, muttering to myself, "The Haut-Brion is a winner!" Ugh. The next morning I got up at first light and went to the doctor.

The flu is a virus, so I can't take something to kill it like you can take antibiotics to kill bacterial infections. I just kinda hafta wait it out and take junk for the symptoms, which I am. I've got an expectorant to get the junk outta my lungs, another med for the sore throat, and paracetamol for the pain, fever, etc. I'm good to go, and I've got a doctor's note excusing me from work for three days. If I weren't sick, that would be awesome.

Also, I've been calling this lady about getting a second job all last week and hadn't heard anything from her. I left two messages with her secretary, saying, "This is Raychel. Please have your boss call me back as soon as possible regarding the job at [this place where I might work]." Nothing. I'm thinking, maybe she's sick. Or maybe she's really busy. Or maybe they don't want me anymore! But today I'm talking with my roommate, Nadine, in the kitchen and she's like, hey I talked with Petra today (Petra's the lady I've been calling about the job; she and Nadine talk because Nadine also works at this place where I want to work) and Petra wants to know what's up with you and why haven't you called her back yet .... WTF?!?! I've called and called and left messages! Have none of those gotten through?! I'm really frustrated at this point because 1) I really need this job and 2) it's going to look like I'm lazy or disinterested when I'm really not and now 3) I might have missed the opportunity to get this job. Hell. I'm sitting there, fuming into my morning tea and griping to Nadine about all of this when she says, "Don't feel bad, blame it on the day."

And I'm like, "Whuh? What do you mean?"

"Are you superstitious?" she asks.

"Whuh?" is my reply once again.

Then we sort of look at each other and I grin as it dawns on me. "Friday the 13th!" we say together. Haha... I've never had a Friday the 13th where the superstition really fit, but this is exactly such a day. Lovely. So I'm staying inside, away from Koswick (the black cat who lives in our building), drinking lots of OJ and watching movies. Y'all do the same. I'm a believer now; this day is bad mojo, people!

PS: I called Petra a few minutes ago. Everything's straightened out and my job papers are going through as planned.

Faux-bias

So, I've been reading everything I can get my hands on lately. English books, German newspapers, backs of cereal boxes in Esperanto, you name it. One of the books I just finished is Modern Phobias: a litany of contemporary fears by Tim Lihoreau. It's a funny compilation of made-up fears. Some of them cracked me up and made me want to share them with you people. Here you go:

arcaphobia - fear of using the cashpoint / ATM towards the end of the month

Lihoreau writes "arcaphobia often developes during student years, when the cashpoint card is less a means to access money and more a trophy to bandy round as a symbol of adulthood ... ultimately, the only cure is to keep tabs on one's money -- which, for an arcaphobe, is akin to asking them to keep count of how many breaths they take each month ..." You see, it's not irresponsibility -- it's a condition!
{orig. der.: arca, strongbox or coffers}

novamundaphobia - fear of Americans

Being American and all, this one really made me laugh: "With a common image of modern America being the obese, non-passport-owning invader, the wartime line of 'overpaid, oversexes, and over here' has been replaced by the more recent 'overweight, over there, overthrow whoever'." The funny thing is that my non-American friends here really do keep making fun of the fact that very few Americans have passports. They have statistics memorized to aid them in poking fun at the non-travelling 90% of American. I mean, I knew we were getting made fun of for the obesity thing but c'mon guys, passports? Really? You're making fun of our lack of passports? The author continues: "To be fair, novamundaphobes fear this image more than the Americans themselves, who invariably turn out to be charming when encountered in the queue for the London Planetarium." Well, there you go then.
{orig. der.: novellus new; mundus world}

obsonophobia - fear of checkouts

This is not what you think it is. These people don't fear waiting to check out, getting in the slow checkout lane, or even being caught buying embarassing things. No, these people fear the SPEED at which you must check out. This is something I've only come across in Germany, where I've frequently had nervous breakdowns trying to pack up my own groceries "while the checkout person hurled fruit and veg at [me] as if [I] were in medieval stocks", which is how Lihoreau describes the fears of obsonophobes. What gives, Germans? What gives?! I miss the check-out boys and girls of America ... sigh ...
{orig. der.: obsonare to shop}

and finally ... oviphobia - fear of jumping on the bandwagon

Ladies and gentlemen, the reason why I've never read a Harry Potter book: Lihoreau writes "Ultimately, oviphobes become their own worst enemy. They have missed a certain boat - often through no fault of their own - and fear they would be seen as just jumping on the bandwagon were they to sign up now. For example, I know one person who missed the Harry Potter bandwagon. By the time she realized that Harry Potter was actually more than quite good, she was years into the whole Potter gravy train. Having previously said she found nothing in it, she couldn't all of a sudden say, 'Oh I do love the clever puns on names, you know ... Diagon Alley' and screech with laughter. She was late. She had missed the boat." This may also be the reason why I never read a book in the Twilight series. Sorry, but true.
{orig. der.: ovis sheep}

Right now I'm reading A Hedonist in the Cellar, a wine guide by Jay McInerney. I guess this means check back here next week for advice on what New World reds to drink with your favorite steak! Woo! Lookit me, gettin' my culture on ...

New Layout

Hey all,

Just in case you didn't notice, there's a new layout to the blog. I haven't decided if I like it yet, so I may play with different layouts this week, but here's one that I like better than the old one. Woo, blog!

Im Anfang War Der "Faust"

So, I saw Faust the other even. In German. In Germany! Woo!

Faust is, like, THE big play from Goethe, who is, like, THE big writer in German history. It's a story about a guy who sells his soul to the devil seeking fulfillment. Hijinks and tragedy ensue.

I went with Caroline and Matt to see the play Thursday night. Matt was sad that I never mentioned him by name in my blog, so, Matt, here's your name in my blog: Matt Matt Matt. Matt's English. Matt's an English assistant like me. Matt's the only person I know, besides Elvis, to successfully rock a pair of white pants. So, Matt.

The play was amazing, by the way. I was happy on a nerd level because I was actually watching a play I'd spent an entire semester analyzing. It's like someone saying, "Hey Raychel, what are you good at? Discussing Faust? Well, tonight we're going to spend a whole night doing that!" I mean, I could actually mouth along with some of the lines (in German, of course); that's how well I know this play. Yeah.

It was also cool, though, because of the technical .... oh, I guess you'd say the technical execution of the play. Faust has a lot of crazy scenes - ghosts being called up, witches, wine spouting from all sorts of places. Whoever was in charge of pulling off these special effects, to borrow a term from film, was a genius. The entire stage was in motion! People were flying down from the rafters, scenery was coming up from below the ground level, actors were jumping out from everywhere. I was thoroughly impressed and tickled to watch my favorite German play. Oh, and did I mention that Goethe's Faust was first performed in Braunschweig? That's bonus cultural points for me, my friends. Bonus!

Extra! Extra!

Read all about it - yours truly was in a German newspaper! Check out the link here.

(this is the photo you would've seen if you'd clicked the link above)

The gist of the story is that my roommate's boyfriend and some of his colleagues are opening a cultural center in this building on Jakobstrasse where an old bar used to be. The center's going to be called the Gauss Haus, after the Carl Friedrich Gauss (click on the name to read more about the man), and it's going to offer a place where people of all ages and cultural backgrounds can meet to hang out and learn stuff. There'll be language learning classes (English, Arabic, German, etc.), math workshops for kids (led by my roomie), multi-culti breakfasts and movie nights ... it's gonna be mad cool and exactly what I want in my life right now.

I've been helping to get the place ready for the actual opening in February by painting walls, scrubbing floors, and drinking tea (tea breaks - I'm union, you see. We gotsta have our breaks). What's funny is that some little old men keep coming by the haus and staring in the windows because they didn't know that the bar (which closed down and whose space we now occupy) isn't there anymore. So, they keep trying to come in and ask for a beer. And we're there, covered in paint, like, "Well ... we're not that bar anymore, but if you come back in a week you can learn about astronomy!" And they're out the door ...

(PS: Link to the Gauss Haus website on the left-hand side.)

Down For The Count

So, I fainted yesterday.

Yeah. On my face, straight-up passed out. Go me.

Oh, what happened? Well, I was out with my friend Caroline. We had gone out for a beer at Cafe Alex, where I also had a big ice cream and some bread (I was hungry after helping my roommate paint in town all day and I went for the unhealthiest thing I could find). Then we went to this nearby pub that we hadn't been to in a while, where we watched some football and ordered another beer. I got one or two sips into my beer when I felt really hot and sick. I went to the bathroom and --oops! hey, there's that ice cream I just ate. I figured, well, I guess I ate something wrong. It's either that or that beer at Cafe Alex was atomically strong, which I'm doubting. I thought I'd feel better after being sick, but I didn't. I still felt awful and hot and there was this ringing in my ears. My vision started getting fuzzy and narrowing. This has happened to me before, though. I'm prone to fainting, but it's usually when I get too hot or don't eat enough. So as I'm sitting there in the bathroom of Lindi's I'm thinking, "Okay, I'm just overheated. I'll go outside and then I'll feel better." But when I tried to stand up, my vision pretty much narrowed to pinpoints and I couldn't hear anything but a high-pitched ringing. I walked out of the bathroom and past Caroline on my way to the door. I think I said something to her like, "I need to go outside for a minute" but what probably came out was, "U'mu gnugh ...." Because then my whole body started shaking and I fell against some poor guy who turned out to be the owner of the freaking bar. That's right. I fell on the owner. His name is Gunter.

So, Gunter asks me if I need help and I mumble something about needing to get outside before I completely black out and fall on my face. During the fall I hurt my hand, gave myself a bit of a black eye, and bit off part of my tongue, in addition to other various bodily bruises. I woke up dizzy and sick outside with people questioning me in German. I'm trying to explain to them, "No, I'm not drunk, I'm just prone to fainting when I get really hot ... or when I don't eat much ... what did I eat today? Uhm ... Hey, wait, did someone call the ambulance? Why is the ambulance here?" Crap. Then I get put into the ambulance, where two guys rapid-fire questions at me in German while they take blood and get my blood pressure and pulse and all that jazz. I'm not ready for this line of questioning in German in general, and certainly not when I've just come to after passing out. So I'm trying to explain that I fainted, so I say "fainted" in English, put the back of my hand to my forehead, and roll my eyes back into my head while making a noise like I imagine a damsel in distress would make before swooning. Apparently this is "Ohnmacht" in German, and to faint is "ohnmaechtig werden". Awesome. So, they tell me that I'm fine - meaning sober, conscious, and without broken bones or major injury - then get my insurance info and drive away. Caroline takes me home, still feeling sick and shaky, a feeling which has lasted well into today.

I don't know if I'm getting really sick or what, but among my many fainting episodes this one has been unique in that I got sick right beforehand and I didn't feel better right after waking up. Maybe I've got some strange new German sickness. Who knows? Anyway, embarassing pics of my shiner and tongue to follow. Until then, I talk with a funny German lisp!

Winter Wonderland

Guess what my entire world has been covered with since I returned to Germany from England? Snow. Snowsnowsnowsnowsnow. Snow. It started when I got back on the 6th and hasn't melted at all really just yet. We've got a pretty constant 3 - 4" of it here and the temp has been staying low enough that it's remained frozen for the most part. Now, the kid in me thinks this is awesome -- I've made snow angels and had snow ball fights these past few days and I intend to go sledding before it's all over. But the grown up who has to work can only think, "Frak, now I have to walk in this stuff because it's too icy to ride my bike in. Oh, and my hair is messed up because of this big hat and the bottoms of my jeans are wet and cold and I think my nose is chapped. Is that even possible?! Who chaps their nose?!"

Anyway, the snow remains regardless of my ambivalence. And here are some pictures of it!

Ladies Go Crazy For A Sharp Dressed Man

First off, more new photos are up: I added St. Luke's in Liverpool to the Churches, Cloisters, and Cathedrals III album. The church is Heather's now. I was thinking of her for some reason, wandering around the pretty green gardens there. So, Heathen, I got you a church! I also made a video - a quick tour around the church grounds. You can see it here:

In other news: lots of birthdays going on in January. In addition to two sisters' birthdays in the U.S. there's also my littlest roommate's birthday, which was on the 9th. She turned 9 and had all her friends over for a shindig that day at her place (which is also at my place). A hoard of 9 year olds? Huzzah. But it wasn't just any birthday party, friends; it was a THEMED PARTY! AHHHH!!! The theme was "No Girls Allowed", which meant that the little room and all her friends came dressed up and acting like boys. Dressing like a boy apparently means big baggy clothes and baseball caps. Acting like a boy apparently means yelling in a deep voice, insulting everyone, and generally being even more of a spaz than usual. Little Roomie borrowed my batman t-shirt for the dressing part, which was comical, as it in no way fit her. She had to wear, like, two shirts underneath it and it still looked way baggy.

So I'm helping with the birthday party, handing out name tags and making french fries. Johanna became Johann, Nadine became Klaus, and so on with the name changing. Then the faux-boys yell at me, "Hey, you're a girl! No girls allowed!" and I say, "No I'm not! I'm a man! Look -- I have suspenders and trousers and everything!" (Side Note: Why does my conception of manhood boil down to suspenders and trousers?) And again the boys yell "But you have nail polish on! And no beard!" I was not about to undo all the hard nail painting I had just completed, but I could grant the other wish. And so, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you my male alter ego, Herr Fabian von Winstead:





A ladies' man, no? Look at that face. That's thirty seconds with my black eyeliner pencil right there. Genius.

I geev you keeses, ladies. Lots of keeses.

So dashing, I know. To tell the truth, I was quite taken with my little moustache/soul patch combo. Kind of devilish, kind of romantic. I think if I were a man, this is probably the kind of facial hair I'd have.

Jeez, I can't believe I actually think this stuff sometimes.

Der Raychel Komplex

Today I really took care of business. I ran all sorts of errands - off to the post-bank-depot, the phone store, the grocery store, yada yada yada. Feeling like I've accomplished something is great!

This evening Caroline and I decided we were going to go see a movie at this university student-run theater thing. We wanted to see Der Baader Meinhof Komplex, a German film about the Red Army Faction (a terrorist group in Germany in the 1960's and 70's). We'd never been to this place before but we figured that, since entry was only 2 euros, we wanted to find it. The theater's website gave us an address, directions, even the bus stop to get off at. But when we got there we couldn't find it; we couldn't find anything. It was a deserted street with a few lonely apartment buildings. We were understandably confused and very cold, as it's still below freezing here and there's several inches of snow on the ground. We wander up and down the street, looking for this address that simply does not exist. It's time for the movie, but we can't find the theater! How does one miss an entire freaking building?!

We see these people coming towards us down a side street, a guy and a girl. I walk over to them, getting ready to ask for directions. But the guy just brushes past before I even get a chance to finish saying "Entschuldigung ...". He says, "I don't have time." I was like, "The hell you don't! I DON'T KNOW WHERE I AM! Please stop! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!!!" So I verbally accosted two strangers in an alley in Braunschweig while looking for directions to a seemingly nonexistant theater.

The guy finally stops and says, "Oh, it's right through there," pointing down the long, dark alley from which he and his lady friend came. Great. Into the alleyway we go. Ten or fifteen freezing minutes later we do find the place, but by then the movie had been going for half an hour and we were too late. Do I consider this night a failure, or just a different kind of success? Like, I succeeded at getting so cold that I couldn't feel my big toes. That's a kind of success, right? Yeah! Think positive! woo!

Jeez.

Mom Wins

So, I thought I had a bad last couple of days. But no, my mom wins. She had a heart attack on Sunday. She's okay now, of course, or I wouldn't be writing. I wouldn't even be in Germany; I'd be on a plane back to the States. Which is kind of what I want to do right now. But she says she's okay and says I have to stay here. Frak. While I was sitting in an airport, moaning about my cold fingers, she was in the ICU recovering from having a freaking stint put in her heart. I honestly can't believe it. This is the kind of thing I worried about when I decided to come over here - not just that I'd miss Christmas and Thanksgiving and good times, but that I wouldn't be there for the bad times when we all really need each other. I'm stuck abroad, communicating through a little video camera and hoping nobody dies or gets maimed before I get back. But then again, what would I do if I was back anyway? Same thing I'm doing here. Sitting and worrying. Last I checked I didn't have magical life-saving powers, so it's not like I want to be there to save a life or anything. I just want to be there because .... well, I don't know. Because I want to see them in person? Get in some last words? I have no clue.

Anywho, the doctor strongly suggested that Mom give up smoking, saying it would definitely improve her health and life expectancy. So I'm giving up with her. Solidarity! Also, the whole situation kind of scared me into thinking healthy thoughts. So there you go. No mo smokes. Cold turkey. I'll just get a straw to chew on or something and I'll be good to go. Haha.

Oh, and on a completely light and fluffy note, photos from my trip to England are up! Just go here to see them.

Things I Wrote in the Airport

Following are a few lists I made while waiting around on my worst day ever (see the post just before this for why it was the worst day ever). *ahem* Here we go ....

Reasons Why Today (Jan. 5 - 6, 2009) Sucks:

• I got 1 1/2 - no, 1 hour of sleep
• I didn't get to brush my teeth this morning
• I left my book to read on the plane at Caroline's house
• no makeup on
• bad hair day
• spending 11 hours in an airport
• I lost my jacket
• food is expensive
• I forgot my PIN ....
• ... but recovered it, only to find that my card STILL doesn't work
• permanently cold
• camera batteries died
• I got on the wrong train and ended up way out in the middle of nowhere
• NO MONEY
• had to overdraft my American account
• all alone
• had to lug my bags around everywhere
• phone's dead
• couldn't remember / too tired to speak German well
• 25 minutes spent in Whaley Bridge
• pants are falling down, but the only belt that holds them up makes me look fat
• couldn't pay for the toilets in Manchester station
• my Burger King meal was tiny and expensive
• smoking is making me wheeze
• wasted a cigarette, putting it out halfway through because the bus was coming. turns out it was the wrong bus.
• crowded, noisy plane
• bad-smelling man next to me
• I've got a permanent sniffle
  
• waiting in endless lines
• plane came in late
• had to put on all my clothes to keep warm. still not warm.
• missed the last train out of Bremen and must now sleep in the train station
• can't sleep
• lost my lighter
• didn't know the right word for "pickles" in German and got cucumbers on my sub instead
• tired of wearing the same clothes over and over again on vacation
• missing home
• my toes are cold
• my BahnCard is no longer valid
• even the bathrooms in the train station are cold
• still have to go to class tomorrow
• to reiterate: I AM STUCK IN A TRAIN STATION. ALONE. IN BREMEN. IN JANUARY. WITHOUT A JACKET.
• I owe people money
• people who say they have no lighter when you ask to borrow theirs. I see your lighter right there, No Lighter Guy!
• got Marlboro Lights, not Marlboros
• people making fun of my clothes in the station
• had to use my credit card and pay full price for a ticket when I shouldn't have had to
• slept on my lunch for tomorrow and squished it
• snow everywhere. I'm freezing.

... but, because I didn't want to be totally negative, I also wrote this in the station:

Reasons Why Today (Jan. 5 - 6, 2009) Is Okay:

• fed a puppy and played with it
• actin' crazy in a public place! woo!
• got to run on the moving walkway at the airport
• nice Subway guy
  
• helpful Moroccan guy
• it's a learning experience ... right?
• I have coffee
• I have cigarettes left
• happenstance meetings at the airport
• saw Manchester -- adventure!
• browsed through comics
• flying is fun
• my mp3 player has good music
• going home
• life is about to resume - work, friends, grocery shopping, etc.
  
• heard Spanish on the street car
• drew funny pictures
• made a joke about the really whiny screaming kid at the airport and made the old man next to me laugh
• people who lend me their lighters. Thanks, Lighter Guys!
• the warnings on my cigarettes are all in Romanian for some reason
• I have pink note paper
• the music in this all-night cafe is okay
• free coffee with random stranger
• trains are warm inside
• snow looks pretty!

Things To Do In A (Semi)Deserted Train Station After Midnight:

• skip merrily
• make airplane noises loudly
• take everything out of your purse and look at it. take pictures.
• lay on the ground
• count people
• sing opera-style songs
• make friends
• learn about the Arab-Israeli conflict
• try to sleep
• go warm up in the bathroom by sticking your hands under the automatic hand dryers
• play the slots
• window shop -- ooh, la la!
• play the "What Type of Headgear Can We Make With Our Extra Clothes?" game
• chip off all your nail polish
• wait. waitwaitwait. wait.
• write lists
• read a book. or the paper.
• better yet, read someone else's paper over their shoulder
• guess whether the guy sleeping across from you is a hobo or just stranded like you
• pretend that the walls are made of rubber. bounce off of them.
• count to 60 in all the languages you know, then make new languages to count in

and finally ... a list of things I'd like to do in my life.

Gee, I'd Love To ...

• bungee jump
• lose 30 lbs
• see a Broadway play
• climb a mountain
• adopt a child and have it turn out to be awesome ... or even just normal is okay
• save somebody's life
• buy nice things for my family
• give someone who deserves it a bunch of money anonymously
• save the world. don't laugh, I'm serious.
• be able to remember my PIN
• really know a lot about wines
• take a road trip with all my friends
• have some stranger come up to me and say, "Hey, I saw you onstage at that show and you were really funny/good/effervescent."
• give up smoking
• grow my hair out long
• go on The Price Is Right. don't laugh, I'm serious.
• not be spending 11 hours in an airport
• earn a black belt in taekwondo
• run a race. like, a real one.
• visit Scotland, Ireland, Wales, France, Spain, Portugal, Italy, Sicily, Luxembourg, Lichtenstein, Poland, Austria, Greece, Denmark, Sweden, Egypt, Israel, Australia, New Zealand, Japan, China, Switzerland, Kenya, Brazil, Mexico, Canada ...
• learn Spanish, French, Italian, Arabic, Urdu, Mandarin Chinese, Klingon ...
• pay off my credit card
• go shopping for a whole new wardrobe
• have $1,000,000.00
• tell off everyone who's ever been snotty to anyone I love
• leave the heat on in my room all night long
• write a book - a memoir, a work of fiction, a poetry anthology, anything
  
• have a house all to myself
• win a ballroom dance competition, or at least enter one
  
• be home right now
  

Bad Day

My trip back to Braunschweig from Liverpool was, quite possibly, the worst 24 hours of my life. Or at least in the Bottom Ten.

The night before I left, I couldn't sleep. I mean, just could not make myself sleep. I was up until about 5:00, maybe 5:30. But then Caroline's mom wakes me up at 6:45, 15 minutes before we have to leave. I've gotta throw on clothes, pack, and head out the door. No jacket on, because I lost it in the club on New Year's Eve. Halfway down the block, I realize that I left my Christmas gift book, Dreams from My Father, at Caroline's house. Too late. Gotta go on.

The trip to Manchester airport takes an hour. The sun was just coming up and everything was dusted with snow, so it was beautiful to look at. Beautiful and very, very cold. At the airport it's me and Caroline. We meet another Braunschweig friend, Matt, there. He and Caroline are on the same 10 a.m. flight. Me, I don't leave the airport until 7:40 p.m. and will be spending the next 11 hours in the airport. Hey, it was either come early with Caroline or shell out money for my own transport. So everyone gets on their planes and I settle down to wait for my plane in the cold terminal with my two bags. I write, I doodle, I read the book that I've already read. Then I decide, hey, let's go see Manchester! I have just enough cash to get a train from the airport to the city and back.

Train to the airport was warm, the city was neat. But on the way back I somehow get on the wrong train and end up somewhere past Buxton called Whaley Bridge. The conductor tells me I can catch the next train back there. So I get out and look around. Whaley Bridge is just that -- a bridge over the railway, a defunct one-room train depot with padlocks on the doors, and a covered shelter. I sit in the shelter and wait for my train, which will come in 25 minutes. But it's so cold that I can't stop shaking, so I start opening my luggage and pulling out all the clothes that I have and putting them on. I had on jeans, two pairs of socks, two shirts, a dress, a vest, a light jacket, two pairs of gloves, and two scarves. Still freezing. And I have no money to call a taxi or buy something to eat because, since coming to England, my German debit card hasn't been working. I used it as a a credit card for a while, because my pin wasn't working, but now for some reason I can't do that. So I'm frozen solid in Whaley Bridge with 80 pence and a dead cellphone to my name, waiting for a train that will come in 25 minutes and hoping I make my flight.

I get the train(s) to the airport and, finally, get on the plane. I sit next to a big man smelling strongly of B.O. on the Boeing 737 that RyanAir says will have me in Bremen by 10:30 p.m. I try to sleep on the flight, but I just can't and end up looking out at the circuit-board that is Manchester from a plane at night and listening to Eve 6 and Arctic Monkeys on my mp3 player. At the airport, I pick up my luggage and the first thing I do is charge my phone and call my roommate Nadine. See, I figured my card wouldn't work in England because I didn't have the right PIN number or something. I call Nadine and ask her to confirm the PIN number from my files at home. She does, and it's the number I've been trying to use. Nothing I'm doing wrong, so why won't my card work?

What am I going to do? I'm stuck in Bremen Airport with my luggage and less than a euro. I have no way to get to my German bank account until tomorrow at the very earliest but I have no place to sleep tonight and I need to get to the train station before the last train to Braunschweig leaves at 11:30. I'm hungry. I'm cold. I'm dead tired. I realize that I've got a bank account in the states that I could overdraft at the ATM and then pay back later, so that's what I do. I get 40 euros out and get a bus from the airport to the main train station ....

... just in time to miss the last train home. #$%&ing great. Now I'm in the exact same position I was in in the airport, only now I'm stuck in a train station without any heat. I could've cried. The next train comes at 4:18 a.m., which means I have 4 1/2 hours to wait, I think to myself as I buckle down on a bench to spend the night. But I can't sleep there either. Despite the fact that I'm dead tired, I'm too afraid of someone stealing my stuff to sleep. So I get up, walk around, talk to people, anything to stay awake. I play with the ticket machines and see what the most expensive ticket I can buy is, just for kicks. I feed a puppy who wanders into the station half of my leftover tuna sandwich until his owner comes and gets him. I talk with an old Moroccan man also waiting out the night in German about Israel and Palestine. I draw. I makes lists. I contemplate my life. I go to the bathroom and warm my hands up under the automatic dryer. At about 3:00 in the morning I meet a nice young man from Pakistan who invites me across the street for a coffee in this cafe, which is nice and warm. We talk about life.

Finally, my train comes. I think I'm home free and lay down to sleep, completely exhausted. But then the ticket taker comes and asks for my ticket. I give it to him, but he's looking at it all funny. He says I haven't paid the right amount and that I need to pay him the rest right now or get off the train. Well, what do I do? I try the German card. Doesn't work. I can't overdraft the American card again. On a whim I try my old credit card and - shock of shocks! - it works. Whew. Now I really am free to sleep, which I try to do on the two and a half hour ride to Braunschweig.

I get out at Braunschweig to what I think is about a foot of snow and the early morning commuter rush. I stumble home, put on pajamas, and crash for the next 10 hours.

Worst. Day. Ever. It can only get better from here!