I studied Spanish 4 years in high school plus a semester in college, but still would have had problems ordering in a Spanish restaurant. Unfortunately high school Spanish was not oriented towards functional usage, and I had no other compelling motivation to become fluent in a useful way.
In 1997 I traveled to Italy for a bike racing camp. I experienced for the first time the wonder of being in a foreign country among people speaking a language different than mine. And not just any language, but Italian. I think any single guy who can speak Italian should have no worries. Unfortunately I can’t say the same for German.
I felt I was missing something important by not being able to speak a second language. Here were all these people, many of whom did not have a college education, who could speak at least two languages, sometimes more. After that trip I resolved to learn another language.
At first I thought it would be Italian. I learned some on my own, enough to speak a few phrases on a second trip to Italy. That little taste was enough to convince me I wanted to learn more.
A series of coincidences sent me to Germany for several work trips then led me to find that we had a German teacher giving lessons at work. I then had both a compelling reason (work travel to Germany) and convenient lessons. In contrast to high school Spanish, my German lessons were oriented towards functional usage – useful things like ordering a beer, ordering food, telling someone you’re lost and need directions.
Part of the appeal of my work assignment here was learning more German in advance, being able to use it while here, and then becoming more fluent. So for me it is not so much a language barrier but instead a chance to learn and practice.
On a personal level, learning and using the language is a way to more readily make contact and communicate with the people here. My German has improved, but is still far from what I would consider to be fluent. When someone is speaking fast, I might catch about every third word or so. But even at that level, I’ve noticed that it makes a difference when communicating with native Germans.
When Laura was here, one night we stopped to have a beer in the Altstadt. The waitress started speaking to us in English. At first we thought she recognized us as being non-German. But then we noticed her English had absolutely no trace of a German accent.
She had moved here from California with her German husband. We asked her how it was going. I was expecting to hear her say how great it was, but instead she told us about all the problems she was having. She said that people made fun of her, refused to speak English to her, and gave her a hard time about using English in the bar. She definitely had an attitude towards the language and towards Germans.
Fortunately my experience here has been more positive. I came here knowing enough German for day-to-day living. And I’ve been willing to at least try to use it and to learn more. The people here seem quite tolerant, even appreciative, of my bad German.
Now if only German could sound as sexy as Italian.
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Sunday, October 29, 2006
Language barrier
The experience of the language barrier caught Laura by surprise.
Many people in Germany speak English well, and many more speak at least a little. But not everyone speaks English, and that includes many people you deal with daily: the woman in the bakery, the pharmacist, the man at the vegetable stand.
Even if they do speak English, it doesn’t feel right to walk up and just start speaking in English and assume that they will understand. But if you know absolutely no German that is all you can do.
Laura wasn’t prepared for how it feels to be in such a situation. You immediately identify yourself as being a foreigner – someone different who doesn’t fit in. For me personally, I tend to then feel incompetent, as though I should know how to speak their language and communicate.
Laura noticed this even caused her to change her behavior. She didn’t want to walk into the empty bakery because for sure the clerk would try to talk to her (in German).
I tried to teach her some of the basic things to say: please, thank you, I don’t speak German, do you speak English, where is the bathroom (only they say where is the toilet since “bathroom” would indicate you wanted to take a bath).
Even these few simple phrases are difficult to use in the moment when someone starts speaking a long string of German. I was standing in line waiting for an apple fritter when I saw the woman from the coffee shop come up and ask Laura something – I assumed whether we were done with our coffee cups. Even in this situation it’s hard in a split second to get a few simple words right: ich spreche kein Deutsch (literally, I speak no German). I could read her lips from a distance as she said, in English, “I don’t speak German.”
Laura said this gave her a new appreciation for people who come to the U.S. not knowing any English. I think people who are so adamant about only English being spoken in the U.S. have never been in such situations, and have never attempted to learn and use a second language. It is humbling.
Many people in Germany speak English well, and many more speak at least a little. But not everyone speaks English, and that includes many people you deal with daily: the woman in the bakery, the pharmacist, the man at the vegetable stand.
Even if they do speak English, it doesn’t feel right to walk up and just start speaking in English and assume that they will understand. But if you know absolutely no German that is all you can do.
Laura wasn’t prepared for how it feels to be in such a situation. You immediately identify yourself as being a foreigner – someone different who doesn’t fit in. For me personally, I tend to then feel incompetent, as though I should know how to speak their language and communicate.
Laura noticed this even caused her to change her behavior. She didn’t want to walk into the empty bakery because for sure the clerk would try to talk to her (in German).
I tried to teach her some of the basic things to say: please, thank you, I don’t speak German, do you speak English, where is the bathroom (only they say where is the toilet since “bathroom” would indicate you wanted to take a bath).
Even these few simple phrases are difficult to use in the moment when someone starts speaking a long string of German. I was standing in line waiting for an apple fritter when I saw the woman from the coffee shop come up and ask Laura something – I assumed whether we were done with our coffee cups. Even in this situation it’s hard in a split second to get a few simple words right: ich spreche kein Deutsch (literally, I speak no German). I could read her lips from a distance as she said, in English, “I don’t speak German.”
Laura said this gave her a new appreciation for people who come to the U.S. not knowing any English. I think people who are so adamant about only English being spoken in the U.S. have never been in such situations, and have never attempted to learn and use a second language. It is humbling.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Pharmacy visit
It was good timing that my wife came to visit when she did.
Somehow my right thumb had developed an infection around the fingernail. In addition to being painful, it was starting to look a bit gruesome. My course of action was to do nothing and wait for it to get better.
My wife, being a nurse, first suggested I see a doctor. I vetoed that one. I was not in a mood to sort out whatever insurance nonsense was certain to result.
She insisted that something be done. She had heard, from where I am not sure, that pharmacies in Germany sell stronger over-the-counter medicines than in the U.S. She is very smart that way.
We walked down to the local pharmacy, and I showed my thumb to one of the pharmacists. The pharmacist knew exactly what needed to be done and brought out several different ointments, gauzes, and bandages.
The problem was she only spoke German. I’ve become pretty good at getting most of the conversation in German, but here was a case where I needed to do better than get most of the conversation. I needed to get the details right. I was picturing what my thumb might look like without the fingernail.
One of the other pharmacists spoke a little English. Between our German, English, and various hand signals, we figured out what we needed to do. The first ointment was some kind of strange-smelling, green goo. But it worked amazingly. Within a day, the infection had come to the surface. A couple more days with the second ointment and my thumb was mostly normal.
Good thing too, because while bandaged I realized how useful the so-called opposable thumb is. Ever try going to the bathroom without being able to use your thumb? Try it sometime.
Somehow my right thumb had developed an infection around the fingernail. In addition to being painful, it was starting to look a bit gruesome. My course of action was to do nothing and wait for it to get better.
My wife, being a nurse, first suggested I see a doctor. I vetoed that one. I was not in a mood to sort out whatever insurance nonsense was certain to result.
She insisted that something be done. She had heard, from where I am not sure, that pharmacies in Germany sell stronger over-the-counter medicines than in the U.S. She is very smart that way.
We walked down to the local pharmacy, and I showed my thumb to one of the pharmacists. The pharmacist knew exactly what needed to be done and brought out several different ointments, gauzes, and bandages.
The problem was she only spoke German. I’ve become pretty good at getting most of the conversation in German, but here was a case where I needed to do better than get most of the conversation. I needed to get the details right. I was picturing what my thumb might look like without the fingernail.
One of the other pharmacists spoke a little English. Between our German, English, and various hand signals, we figured out what we needed to do. The first ointment was some kind of strange-smelling, green goo. But it worked amazingly. Within a day, the infection had come to the surface. A couple more days with the second ointment and my thumb was mostly normal.
Good thing too, because while bandaged I realized how useful the so-called opposable thumb is. Ever try going to the bathroom without being able to use your thumb? Try it sometime.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Seeing what's here
My wife Laura came to visit this week.
I planned to play tour guide and show her around Düsseldorf. Her visit was also a good opportunity to explore, try some new restaurants, and see some places that were new to me too. I had done some research, talked to people, and had a bunch of ideas for interesting places to go and things to see.
What I forget is that simply being here is interesting.
We leave the apartment to walk to one of the neighborhood stores. After being here for 3 months now, this is routine to me. But for her, everything is new: the different houses, different cars, the little beer store on the corner.
My intention is simply to walk to the store, but she wants to go slow and stop and look at everything.
We pass by three bakeries and a dessert shop within 15 minutes and stop to look in each one. She comments, here and elsewhere during the week, how everything looks so good, and is displayed so well with just the right lighting. I realize that is why I always want to stop and buy something.
There is a small open-air market in the neighborhood on certain days. We stop at the produce stand to look at a vegetable called Romanesco (I think we call it “Broccoflower”). It looks more like something you’d put in a plant arrangement.
There is an olive stand, a meat stand, a cheese stand. We buy olives, small peppers stuffed with cheese, stuffed grape leaves, fresh bread, then walk down to sit by the Rhine and eat lunch.
She comments that the “fast food”, if we can call it that, is good here. There are little stands and kiosks where you can get currywurst and frites, sandwiches of all kinds on nice bread, freshly made apple “pfannkuchen” (essentially an apple fritter). She notices people eating long bratwursts on small rolls, with the ends of the bratwurst sticking out on both sides. You can even get nice sandwiches and bakery at the gas stations on the Autobahn.
She notices that people seem well dressed and not at all sloppy looking.
More than anything she notices the dogs. Dogs in the airport. Dogs in restaurants. Dogs in stores. People walking their dogs off-leash. The amazing thing is that they are all so uniformly well behaved.
This has surprised me too, and before I leave here I must talk with someone to figure this out. It is no coincidence that the dogs all behave so well. I have not been chased once on my bike. They don’t even seem to pay attention to me.
The downside to the dog situation is that there is dog crap, well, everywhere. This is one of those contradictions about this country. There is mandatory recycling. People sweep and wash the steps in front of their houses. They are meticulous with their cars. Yet people don’t clean up after their dogs.
On our first walk, within maybe 5 minutes, Laura notices this too. I tell her, yes, you need to be careful when walking.
That night we walk to see the Branford Marsalis Quartet, over the river near the old town. I love being able to walk to things here. On the way back, on a dark side street, Laura finds one of the presents left by a local canine resident and almost slips and falls. Welcome to Germany.
That shoe spends the night out on the porch.
Currywurst and Frites at the Burg Elz.
I planned to play tour guide and show her around Düsseldorf. Her visit was also a good opportunity to explore, try some new restaurants, and see some places that were new to me too. I had done some research, talked to people, and had a bunch of ideas for interesting places to go and things to see.
What I forget is that simply being here is interesting.
We leave the apartment to walk to one of the neighborhood stores. After being here for 3 months now, this is routine to me. But for her, everything is new: the different houses, different cars, the little beer store on the corner.
My intention is simply to walk to the store, but she wants to go slow and stop and look at everything.
We pass by three bakeries and a dessert shop within 15 minutes and stop to look in each one. She comments, here and elsewhere during the week, how everything looks so good, and is displayed so well with just the right lighting. I realize that is why I always want to stop and buy something.
There is a small open-air market in the neighborhood on certain days. We stop at the produce stand to look at a vegetable called Romanesco (I think we call it “Broccoflower”). It looks more like something you’d put in a plant arrangement.
There is an olive stand, a meat stand, a cheese stand. We buy olives, small peppers stuffed with cheese, stuffed grape leaves, fresh bread, then walk down to sit by the Rhine and eat lunch.
She comments that the “fast food”, if we can call it that, is good here. There are little stands and kiosks where you can get currywurst and frites, sandwiches of all kinds on nice bread, freshly made apple “pfannkuchen” (essentially an apple fritter). She notices people eating long bratwursts on small rolls, with the ends of the bratwurst sticking out on both sides. You can even get nice sandwiches and bakery at the gas stations on the Autobahn.
She notices that people seem well dressed and not at all sloppy looking.
More than anything she notices the dogs. Dogs in the airport. Dogs in restaurants. Dogs in stores. People walking their dogs off-leash. The amazing thing is that they are all so uniformly well behaved.
This has surprised me too, and before I leave here I must talk with someone to figure this out. It is no coincidence that the dogs all behave so well. I have not been chased once on my bike. They don’t even seem to pay attention to me.
The downside to the dog situation is that there is dog crap, well, everywhere. This is one of those contradictions about this country. There is mandatory recycling. People sweep and wash the steps in front of their houses. They are meticulous with their cars. Yet people don’t clean up after their dogs.
On our first walk, within maybe 5 minutes, Laura notices this too. I tell her, yes, you need to be careful when walking.
That night we walk to see the Branford Marsalis Quartet, over the river near the old town. I love being able to walk to things here. On the way back, on a dark side street, Laura finds one of the presents left by a local canine resident and almost slips and falls. Welcome to Germany.
That shoe spends the night out on the porch.
Currywurst and Frites at the Burg Elz.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Eating and driving
I feel about 5 pounds heavier after just 3 days of driving around and visiting with some customers.
I was in southern Germany, in Bavaria and Swabia, two regions that are known for their peculiar way of speaking German, for the stereotypical eccentricities of the people, and for the distinctive regional cooking.
There was lots of meat, noodles, spätzel, sauces, salads with odd pickled vegetables of unknown variety. It was all quite good but not something I could do on a daily basis. I swear I could feel the butter sauce turning solid in my arteries.
The most interesting meal was the lunch we had at the office of a customer. We arrived around noon, talked for a short time then went to eat in a room where they had some lunch brought in.
They had a bowl with a bunch of cooked Frankfurters (the real kind) in water, then another bowl with big Bavarian pretzels, and alongside, some Bavarian-style mustard. Next to that was a plate of open faced sandwiches, with various meats. Next to that was a selection of beer in half liter bottles.
I took a couple Frankfurters and a pretzel, and a set of silverware. As we started to eat, I noticed I was the only one (there were 5 of us) with silverware. The other guys picked up the Frankfurters with their hands, dipped the end in mustard, and took a bite. Same with the pretzel. Now this was a “business lunch”, and I’m standing there wearing a tie, eating a Frankfurter with my fingers, and drinking beer.
I was told it is a Bavarian custom that employees are allowed a beer at lunch. Personally I couldn’t drink beer for lunch every day, but I like the attitude.
This trip was something of a first for me. I tried in the meetings to speak German first and English only if I had to. I thought my German was coming along well. Actually I was doing pretty well, and then all of a sudden a flurry of words would come, and I would be nodding my head like I understood when I would suddenly realize that I had no idea what was just said. I knew what the topic was, but not the detail. It is humbling when I realize just how much there is to learn with a new language.
I was in southern Germany, in Bavaria and Swabia, two regions that are known for their peculiar way of speaking German, for the stereotypical eccentricities of the people, and for the distinctive regional cooking.
There was lots of meat, noodles, spätzel, sauces, salads with odd pickled vegetables of unknown variety. It was all quite good but not something I could do on a daily basis. I swear I could feel the butter sauce turning solid in my arteries.
The most interesting meal was the lunch we had at the office of a customer. We arrived around noon, talked for a short time then went to eat in a room where they had some lunch brought in.
They had a bowl with a bunch of cooked Frankfurters (the real kind) in water, then another bowl with big Bavarian pretzels, and alongside, some Bavarian-style mustard. Next to that was a plate of open faced sandwiches, with various meats. Next to that was a selection of beer in half liter bottles.
I took a couple Frankfurters and a pretzel, and a set of silverware. As we started to eat, I noticed I was the only one (there were 5 of us) with silverware. The other guys picked up the Frankfurters with their hands, dipped the end in mustard, and took a bite. Same with the pretzel. Now this was a “business lunch”, and I’m standing there wearing a tie, eating a Frankfurter with my fingers, and drinking beer.
I was told it is a Bavarian custom that employees are allowed a beer at lunch. Personally I couldn’t drink beer for lunch every day, but I like the attitude.
This trip was something of a first for me. I tried in the meetings to speak German first and English only if I had to. I thought my German was coming along well. Actually I was doing pretty well, and then all of a sudden a flurry of words would come, and I would be nodding my head like I understood when I would suddenly realize that I had no idea what was just said. I knew what the topic was, but not the detail. It is humbling when I realize just how much there is to learn with a new language.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Ride to The Netherlands
A few weeks ago I rode for a while with a mountain biker who was on his way to The Netherlands. At the time I hadn’t realized we were close enough in Düsseldorf to ride there and back in an afternoon.
Today was a beautiful October day, and I needed somewhere new to ride, so I set out for The Netherlands.
There’s something fascinating about crossing the border into a different country, especially with the bike or on foot. It’s not as though everything suddenly changes, though you do notice immediate differences: signs in a different language, different street names, or the sudden appearance of a bike lane.
It’s more than the obvious differences though. It feels exotic knowing you’ve crossed into a different country and the next person you talk to is probably going to be Dutch (which he was).
Once outside of Düsseldorf there are many bike paths and small farm roads. These are great to ride on, but they have a couple of drawbacks. You can be riding on a nice paved road then suddenly find yourself on a dirt trail going through the woods. On a road bike, that can be a bit treacherous.
The other problem is that on a nice Sunday afternoon many other people have the same idea about going for a ride or a walk.
One of the many farm roads.
I found a nice farm road, smooth and without many other people. Many of these routes are marked as bike routes. I spotted a sign for Swalmen (NL). Sure enough, after a while I found myself going through a nature preserve on an acorn-covered dirt path. That was manageable.
Then the groups of walkers and people on bikes started to appear. Lots of them. Most people have these little bells on their bikes, and they will angrily “ching, ching, ching” them to get people to move out of the way. Since I have no bell on my racing bike, I will freewheel when coming up to someone, and they usually hear the clicking sound. If not, I will politely say “Entschuldigung” (excuse me).
This was not working today, so I was riding along dodging people and bikes, with my wheels shooting acorns to both sides and hitting people. Honestly I can’t understand how walkers and casual cyclists find this sort of situation enjoyable.
I found my way out of the woods and onto a path along the main road that took me into The Netherlands. I turned to cross to the other side of the road, and waited for traffic. I heard an angry “ching, ching, ching” from a couple coming down the path, since part of my back wheel was on the bike path.
Now, they had more than enough room to pass, and I really could go nowhere except into traffic. But they insisted on riding side-by-side on the path. The guy clipped my back wheel with the large pack on his bike and almost fell. Then turned to look at me as though it was my fault. I had no choice but to give him the universal signal of disrespect (this is how I know I feel somewhat at home here).
I rode for a while in the Netherlands, passing through some nice little villages with interesting houses and landscaping. On the way back, I traded people for cars, and took a more direct route, getting lost only once and making just a short detour through the woods. I felt as though I had earned my late afternoon coffee and Kuchen.
Bikes stopped at the cafe.
Cute little house in the Swalmen.
Today was a beautiful October day, and I needed somewhere new to ride, so I set out for The Netherlands.
There’s something fascinating about crossing the border into a different country, especially with the bike or on foot. It’s not as though everything suddenly changes, though you do notice immediate differences: signs in a different language, different street names, or the sudden appearance of a bike lane.
It’s more than the obvious differences though. It feels exotic knowing you’ve crossed into a different country and the next person you talk to is probably going to be Dutch (which he was).
Once outside of Düsseldorf there are many bike paths and small farm roads. These are great to ride on, but they have a couple of drawbacks. You can be riding on a nice paved road then suddenly find yourself on a dirt trail going through the woods. On a road bike, that can be a bit treacherous.
The other problem is that on a nice Sunday afternoon many other people have the same idea about going for a ride or a walk.
One of the many farm roads.
I found a nice farm road, smooth and without many other people. Many of these routes are marked as bike routes. I spotted a sign for Swalmen (NL). Sure enough, after a while I found myself going through a nature preserve on an acorn-covered dirt path. That was manageable.
Then the groups of walkers and people on bikes started to appear. Lots of them. Most people have these little bells on their bikes, and they will angrily “ching, ching, ching” them to get people to move out of the way. Since I have no bell on my racing bike, I will freewheel when coming up to someone, and they usually hear the clicking sound. If not, I will politely say “Entschuldigung” (excuse me).
This was not working today, so I was riding along dodging people and bikes, with my wheels shooting acorns to both sides and hitting people. Honestly I can’t understand how walkers and casual cyclists find this sort of situation enjoyable.
I found my way out of the woods and onto a path along the main road that took me into The Netherlands. I turned to cross to the other side of the road, and waited for traffic. I heard an angry “ching, ching, ching” from a couple coming down the path, since part of my back wheel was on the bike path.
Now, they had more than enough room to pass, and I really could go nowhere except into traffic. But they insisted on riding side-by-side on the path. The guy clipped my back wheel with the large pack on his bike and almost fell. Then turned to look at me as though it was my fault. I had no choice but to give him the universal signal of disrespect (this is how I know I feel somewhat at home here).
I rode for a while in the Netherlands, passing through some nice little villages with interesting houses and landscaping. On the way back, I traded people for cars, and took a more direct route, getting lost only once and making just a short detour through the woods. I felt as though I had earned my late afternoon coffee and Kuchen.
Bikes stopped at the cafe.
Cute little house in the Swalmen.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Summer Fairy Tale
Germany hosted the 2006 World Cup this past June and July. This was a huge event, with millions of fans from around the world coming here. Unfortunately my timing was such that I arrived 3 days after the final game.
I watched many of the games on television, including all of Germany's. The German team made it to the semifinal game versus Italy, played on July 4th. It was an intense game, scoreless with only a couple of minutes left in the second and final overtime period when Italy scored. It was easily the best game of the tournament despite the outcome.
We felt so let down watching it in the US, it was hard to imagine what the German fans must have felt.
I expected to arrive here finding people depressed about their national team losing, and was surprised to find the mood was bright. There were still signs of the World Cup everywhere – flags, banners, signs for the stadiums on the Autobahn.
I talked to people about this. They were happy to have been the hosts for the tournament. Maybe it was better for one of the guests to win. The team played beyond anyone’s expectations. They are young and will be even better in 2010.
Most of all, people said, this was a significant event for Germans. Since World War II people have been uneasy about displays of nationalism. The World Cup finally gave Germans the opportunity to fly their flag, sing national songs, and openly display their solidarity. By the way people talked about it, I could see it was important.
This is a bit of a long lead-in for what I really wanted to write about.
There is a new film just released here. The title is: “Deutschland. Ein Sommermärchen.“ In English: „Germany. A Summer Fairy Tale.“
It is a documentary made by Sönke Wortmann, a fairly well-known filmmaker who also happened to play professional soccer for a couple years. Wortmann was allowed to be with the team leading up to, and during the World Cup.
He filmed with a small camera, and the result is very intimate and not contrived or artificial. Surprisingly he doesn’t show too much actual game footage, but he shows just enough.
Including the winning goal in the game versus Italy.
There was an audible gasp in the theater when the goal was scored. Then when he shows the reactions of the players going off the field and in the locker room, people were crying in the theater. Hearing that, even I got teary-eyed, in sympathy I suppose.
Such a contrast to the reactions I found upon arriving here. I think maybe now this is Germany’s opportunity to relive losing to Italy and finally be upset about it. 2 more minutes and it would have gone to penalty kicks!
I watched many of the games on television, including all of Germany's. The German team made it to the semifinal game versus Italy, played on July 4th. It was an intense game, scoreless with only a couple of minutes left in the second and final overtime period when Italy scored. It was easily the best game of the tournament despite the outcome.
We felt so let down watching it in the US, it was hard to imagine what the German fans must have felt.
I expected to arrive here finding people depressed about their national team losing, and was surprised to find the mood was bright. There were still signs of the World Cup everywhere – flags, banners, signs for the stadiums on the Autobahn.
I talked to people about this. They were happy to have been the hosts for the tournament. Maybe it was better for one of the guests to win. The team played beyond anyone’s expectations. They are young and will be even better in 2010.
Most of all, people said, this was a significant event for Germans. Since World War II people have been uneasy about displays of nationalism. The World Cup finally gave Germans the opportunity to fly their flag, sing national songs, and openly display their solidarity. By the way people talked about it, I could see it was important.
This is a bit of a long lead-in for what I really wanted to write about.
There is a new film just released here. The title is: “Deutschland. Ein Sommermärchen.“ In English: „Germany. A Summer Fairy Tale.“
It is a documentary made by Sönke Wortmann, a fairly well-known filmmaker who also happened to play professional soccer for a couple years. Wortmann was allowed to be with the team leading up to, and during the World Cup.
He filmed with a small camera, and the result is very intimate and not contrived or artificial. Surprisingly he doesn’t show too much actual game footage, but he shows just enough.
Including the winning goal in the game versus Italy.
There was an audible gasp in the theater when the goal was scored. Then when he shows the reactions of the players going off the field and in the locker room, people were crying in the theater. Hearing that, even I got teary-eyed, in sympathy I suppose.
Such a contrast to the reactions I found upon arriving here. I think maybe now this is Germany’s opportunity to relive losing to Italy and finally be upset about it. 2 more minutes and it would have gone to penalty kicks!
Monday, October 09, 2006
Speaking of food
I've noticed that I'm often thinking about food here. In part that's because I'm completely on my own. No one is going to do any shopping for me, and anything I find in the refrigerator is because I put it there.
It also seems that food is one way of exploring the differentness of being here. Every trip to the grocery store is opportunity to find something new -- like yet another type of Wurst I haven't tried. Or have one of those confusing new experiences -- like figuring out how to work the automatic bottle refund machine while the line of people behind grows longer until someone steps up and shows me how it works.
There is one place where I don't have to think too much about the food. At work we have a small cafeteria. They put out the weekly menu at the end of the previous week, like a school lunch menu. Each day there are two meal choices. This usually involves some kind of meat, usually a sauce, usually a vegetable or salad.
You can also order something like a salad, which I do on occasion, but I always feel weird doing that.
You see, there are a couple women who work in the kitchen making the food, and I always feel bad if I don't order something substantial. I'm sure they don't make everything from scratch but it sometimes seems that way. I've seen them mashing potatoes, frying spätzle, stirring gravy. Not eating a substantial meal is like letting your grandmother down.
You have to place your order by 9:30 that morning. At first this seemed so bizarre to me. I could not imagine having to remember to walk down to the cafeteria and place an order, and then have to worry about getting it right in German. But then it became a ritual, and another opportunity to learn a little more German. They even cut me some slack when I come at 9:33. And they do notice that it is 9:33.
We have our assigned time when we are supposed to come, I think so they don't have everyone show up at once. And we always start the meal with "Guten Appetit".
Something that initially seemed so odd gradually became charming.
Except today. The main meal was "Leberkäse mit Spiegelei". Leberkäse literally means "liver cheese". Basically this was an odd colored meat loaf. I was told it doesn't typically contain any liver or cheese. Spiegelei is a sunny-side-up egg. So what you have is something that looks like a slice of Spam with an egg on top.
Thankfully today I had brought an apple and a couple bananas. Fruit never looked so good.
It also seems that food is one way of exploring the differentness of being here. Every trip to the grocery store is opportunity to find something new -- like yet another type of Wurst I haven't tried. Or have one of those confusing new experiences -- like figuring out how to work the automatic bottle refund machine while the line of people behind grows longer until someone steps up and shows me how it works.
There is one place where I don't have to think too much about the food. At work we have a small cafeteria. They put out the weekly menu at the end of the previous week, like a school lunch menu. Each day there are two meal choices. This usually involves some kind of meat, usually a sauce, usually a vegetable or salad.
You can also order something like a salad, which I do on occasion, but I always feel weird doing that.
You see, there are a couple women who work in the kitchen making the food, and I always feel bad if I don't order something substantial. I'm sure they don't make everything from scratch but it sometimes seems that way. I've seen them mashing potatoes, frying spätzle, stirring gravy. Not eating a substantial meal is like letting your grandmother down.
You have to place your order by 9:30 that morning. At first this seemed so bizarre to me. I could not imagine having to remember to walk down to the cafeteria and place an order, and then have to worry about getting it right in German. But then it became a ritual, and another opportunity to learn a little more German. They even cut me some slack when I come at 9:33. And they do notice that it is 9:33.
We have our assigned time when we are supposed to come, I think so they don't have everyone show up at once. And we always start the meal with "Guten Appetit".
Something that initially seemed so odd gradually became charming.
Except today. The main meal was "Leberkäse mit Spiegelei". Leberkäse literally means "liver cheese". Basically this was an odd colored meat loaf. I was told it doesn't typically contain any liver or cheese. Spiegelei is a sunny-side-up egg. So what you have is something that looks like a slice of Spam with an egg on top.
Thankfully today I had brought an apple and a couple bananas. Fruit never looked so good.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Eating off a board
Someone suggested I write more about food. I think maybe she wants to eat vicariously through me. Well, here you go.
Last week in Sweden we went out to dinner at one of the local restaurants. One of the guys pointed out the restaurant’s specialty, something called a “plank steak”.
Now it clearly said “plank” but somehow my brain registered it as “flank”. So I was picturing, without really thinking about it, a marinated and grilled flank steak.
When it came, it was a steak that had literally been cooked on a plank – as in, a rectangular piece of charred wood. The guy who recommended it said, “Hmm, that one looks like it’s been used a bit.”
The border of the plank was trimmed with a huge amount of mashed potatoes, decoratively placed (using a pastry bag I presume).
As odd as it may sound, it was quite delicious.
We each ordered beer – a brand they said was brewed locally. I had heard that beer was expensive in Sweden and Denmark, but I was not prepared to pay something like a million Swedish Kronor. Actually it was only 60 SEK, which came to around $8 for a single beer. That would be cause for mass protest in Germany.
We talked about this, and the guys said that alcohol is heavily taxed in Sweden and Denmark, partly as a way to discourage people from drinking. The unintended consequence is that people drive over the border to Germany and literally fill up their cars with beer. Because of the EU they can bring the beer across the border without paying any additional tax (provided it is for “personal use”). Sure, I can personally drink a car load.
The further unintended consequence is that people tend to drink even more because they have mass quantities of beer conveniently on hand. I didn’t doubt this because Friday night back in Copenhagen, the amount of public intoxication was impressive. I saw groups of people hanging around the various public squares with plastic cases filled with beer bottles. It all seemed quite friendly though, and I think I could have walked up and joined them.
The guys told me there is a similar phenomenon with sugar and sugar products. But no, I didn’t see groups of people hanging around eating mass quantities of candy bars.
I had an early flight from Copenhagen back to Germany, too early for the hotel breakfast. After the 5-mile, 200 DKK ($34), cab ride to the airport (there must be tax on that too), I bought a surprisingly good Danish pastry for my breakfast. I realized there is a benefit to paying $10 for a piece of pastry: I did not hesitate in using my (company) credit card to pay for it.
Last week in Sweden we went out to dinner at one of the local restaurants. One of the guys pointed out the restaurant’s specialty, something called a “plank steak”.
Now it clearly said “plank” but somehow my brain registered it as “flank”. So I was picturing, without really thinking about it, a marinated and grilled flank steak.
When it came, it was a steak that had literally been cooked on a plank – as in, a rectangular piece of charred wood. The guy who recommended it said, “Hmm, that one looks like it’s been used a bit.”
The border of the plank was trimmed with a huge amount of mashed potatoes, decoratively placed (using a pastry bag I presume).
As odd as it may sound, it was quite delicious.
We each ordered beer – a brand they said was brewed locally. I had heard that beer was expensive in Sweden and Denmark, but I was not prepared to pay something like a million Swedish Kronor. Actually it was only 60 SEK, which came to around $8 for a single beer. That would be cause for mass protest in Germany.
We talked about this, and the guys said that alcohol is heavily taxed in Sweden and Denmark, partly as a way to discourage people from drinking. The unintended consequence is that people drive over the border to Germany and literally fill up their cars with beer. Because of the EU they can bring the beer across the border without paying any additional tax (provided it is for “personal use”). Sure, I can personally drink a car load.
The further unintended consequence is that people tend to drink even more because they have mass quantities of beer conveniently on hand. I didn’t doubt this because Friday night back in Copenhagen, the amount of public intoxication was impressive. I saw groups of people hanging around the various public squares with plastic cases filled with beer bottles. It all seemed quite friendly though, and I think I could have walked up and joined them.
The guys told me there is a similar phenomenon with sugar and sugar products. But no, I didn’t see groups of people hanging around eating mass quantities of candy bars.
I had an early flight from Copenhagen back to Germany, too early for the hotel breakfast. After the 5-mile, 200 DKK ($34), cab ride to the airport (there must be tax on that too), I bought a surprisingly good Danish pastry for my breakfast. I realized there is a benefit to paying $10 for a piece of pastry: I did not hesitate in using my (company) credit card to pay for it.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
Driving to Sweden
The first few weeks in Germany I felt lost a good amount of the time. I was constantly looking at maps, asking people for directions, and I got pretty good at making quick U-turns. At the time it seemed I was the only one having this problem.
So I must admit to feeling some satisfaction when I see a native European have the same kind of trouble.
Last week I was at a seminar in Copenhagen then would be visiting with a company in Sweden the next day. Two guys from the company were at the seminar, and they were going to drive me the 2 hours to Sweden.
Their names were Mats and Martin, and they had just started with the company after finishing college. Martin was going to drive. Right away I could tell he had this endearing sort of ineptness about him. He seemed like the kind of guy who would lose his car in the parking garage, but would laugh about it.
Which was exactly how the trip started out.
We found the car though, which was actually the company minivan, which was a new experience for Martin. You don’t see too many minivans here (and then with an automatic transmission).
He tentatively put the van in gear and backed out of a space which was meant for something about half the van’s size. When we got to the gate to leave the garage, we needed a validated ticket to raise the gate. Martin had misunderstood where the free parking was. We had to pay – which meant going back to the payment machine. But by this time, there were already a half dozen cars backed up waiting to get out. He pressed the button at the gate to speak with someone.
“Do you know Danish?” I asked.
“If we speak Swedish, they can understand us. But we can’t usually understand them.”
“Do you know what she just said?”
“Actually, no”.
In the meantime, Mats had jumped out and validated the ticket. The whole thing had gotten Martin a bit flustered, because when we pulled out of the garage, he made a left turn into 3 lanes of oncoming traffic on a one-way street. In the blare of horns he froze. We got him to finally turn the van around, going up on the sidewalk.
Once Mats and I finally stopped laughing, Martin said, “Not a word of this tomorrow.”
Now, to really appreciate this, you have to imagine a Swede saying this in English, with the stereotypical melodic way the Swedish speak English. Think of the Swedish Chef from the Muppets show. Actually you can see him at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbs64GvGgPU&mode=related&search=
There is also an “Enchefenizer”, which will take English and transform it into what the Chef would say. The amazing part is it is exactly how Martin was talking:
“Nut a vurd ooff thees tumurroo.”
(Not a word of this tomorrow)
“Iff unyune-a sev thees fun zeey veell nefer by unytheeng frum us.”
(If anyone saw this van they will never buy anything from us.)
A few moments later followed by, “I'm ell sveety noo” (I’m all sweaty now).
I was then laughing to the point of tears.
The initial wrong turn meant we got started in the wrong direction. After 40 minutes, 4 U-turns, and a stop at a gas station we still had not found our way out of Copenhagen and to the motorway.
“Thees is insune-a. Zeere-a ere-a nu seegns [signs] in Cupenhegee.”
And it really did seem that way. Finally I spotted a sign for the airport, which I knew was on our way to Sweden.
After driving a while on the motorway, Martin said, “I elveys vundered hoo sumeune-a cuoold dreefe-a zee vrung vey. Noo I knoo.”
Which then started another round of laughter.
About 30km from our destination, the motorway was closed due to an accident the day before. A truck carrying paint had overturned. We inched along in traffic on a secondary road. Our scheduled 2 hour trip was approaching three hours.
Mats pointed to the fuel indicator, now getting close to “E”.
“Zeey tuld me-a zee tunk ves fooll. It ves nut fooll.”
They kept apologizing to me, as if it was their fault we were stuck in traffic.
Eventually we made it to my hotel, without any further incidents (except for Martin giving up on parallel parking the van in front of the hotel after 3 attempts).
Later that night I ate dinner with their manager and 2 other guys. I had promised not to talk about the wrong way driving. So all I said was, “they seemed a little nervous and kept apologizing for the traffic. Oh, and we almost ran out of gas.”
They looked at each other and burst out laughing. Somehow I think this has happened before. Their manager smiled mischievously and said, “I’ll tell zeem zeere-a vere-a sume-a cumpleeents ebuoot zee dreefing.”
So I must admit to feeling some satisfaction when I see a native European have the same kind of trouble.
Last week I was at a seminar in Copenhagen then would be visiting with a company in Sweden the next day. Two guys from the company were at the seminar, and they were going to drive me the 2 hours to Sweden.
Their names were Mats and Martin, and they had just started with the company after finishing college. Martin was going to drive. Right away I could tell he had this endearing sort of ineptness about him. He seemed like the kind of guy who would lose his car in the parking garage, but would laugh about it.
Which was exactly how the trip started out.
We found the car though, which was actually the company minivan, which was a new experience for Martin. You don’t see too many minivans here (and then with an automatic transmission).
He tentatively put the van in gear and backed out of a space which was meant for something about half the van’s size. When we got to the gate to leave the garage, we needed a validated ticket to raise the gate. Martin had misunderstood where the free parking was. We had to pay – which meant going back to the payment machine. But by this time, there were already a half dozen cars backed up waiting to get out. He pressed the button at the gate to speak with someone.
“Do you know Danish?” I asked.
“If we speak Swedish, they can understand us. But we can’t usually understand them.”
“Do you know what she just said?”
“Actually, no”.
In the meantime, Mats had jumped out and validated the ticket. The whole thing had gotten Martin a bit flustered, because when we pulled out of the garage, he made a left turn into 3 lanes of oncoming traffic on a one-way street. In the blare of horns he froze. We got him to finally turn the van around, going up on the sidewalk.
Once Mats and I finally stopped laughing, Martin said, “Not a word of this tomorrow.”
Now, to really appreciate this, you have to imagine a Swede saying this in English, with the stereotypical melodic way the Swedish speak English. Think of the Swedish Chef from the Muppets show. Actually you can see him at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mbs64GvGgPU&mode=related&search=
There is also an “Enchefenizer”, which will take English and transform it into what the Chef would say. The amazing part is it is exactly how Martin was talking:
“Nut a vurd ooff thees tumurroo.”
(Not a word of this tomorrow)
“Iff unyune-a sev thees fun zeey veell nefer by unytheeng frum us.”
(If anyone saw this van they will never buy anything from us.)
A few moments later followed by, “I'm ell sveety noo” (I’m all sweaty now).
I was then laughing to the point of tears.
The initial wrong turn meant we got started in the wrong direction. After 40 minutes, 4 U-turns, and a stop at a gas station we still had not found our way out of Copenhagen and to the motorway.
“Thees is insune-a. Zeere-a ere-a nu seegns [signs] in Cupenhegee.”
And it really did seem that way. Finally I spotted a sign for the airport, which I knew was on our way to Sweden.
After driving a while on the motorway, Martin said, “I elveys vundered hoo sumeune-a cuoold dreefe-a zee vrung vey. Noo I knoo.”
Which then started another round of laughter.
About 30km from our destination, the motorway was closed due to an accident the day before. A truck carrying paint had overturned. We inched along in traffic on a secondary road. Our scheduled 2 hour trip was approaching three hours.
Mats pointed to the fuel indicator, now getting close to “E”.
“Zeey tuld me-a zee tunk ves fooll. It ves nut fooll.”
They kept apologizing to me, as if it was their fault we were stuck in traffic.
Eventually we made it to my hotel, without any further incidents (except for Martin giving up on parallel parking the van in front of the hotel after 3 attempts).
Later that night I ate dinner with their manager and 2 other guys. I had promised not to talk about the wrong way driving. So all I said was, “they seemed a little nervous and kept apologizing for the traffic. Oh, and we almost ran out of gas.”
They looked at each other and burst out laughing. Somehow I think this has happened before. Their manager smiled mischievously and said, “I’ll tell zeem zeere-a vere-a sume-a cumpleeents ebuoot zee dreefing.”
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