Well.
I was going to write a whole reflective, retrospective thing about the year – all the places I went and the wonderful happenstances that took me there – but I don't really have time, and maybe it's trite anyway.
Or maybe I'm just having too much fun trying to learn some songs on the keyboard right now to want to shift gears to writing!
Suffice it to say, the newly-termed Year of Travel (this experiment in traveling more, but also working from the road) was a success, I'm so grateful for all the opportunities, and next up is SENEGAL. I leave in three days!
This is still my all time favorite looking-toward-the-next-year song. Just look at the smile on Josh's face when he sings:
Don't let me into this year with an empty heart, indeed.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Friday, December 30, 2011
Ha!
I know Germans have a reputation as blunt and direct, but this was above and beyond:
I was at the post office today, and as the middle-aged woman behind the counter got the various stamps I needed, she commented out of nowhere, "Dann brauche ich meine graue Haare gar nicht verstecken." ["Then I don't really need to hide my gray hair at all."]
"...Sorry?" I asked, not sure if she was comparing herself to me, or someone behind me, or what. I do have rather a lot of gray for a "young" person, but I don't think of it as being that extreme. That, you know, strangers would comment on it.
But she repeated herself and added, "Darf ich fragen, wie alt Sie sind?" ["May I ask how old you are?"]
"Twenty-eight," I said.
"Das ist ganz schön früh," she agreed, ["That really is pretty early"] then went on to tell me about the coloring rinse she'd done just that morning to hide her gray.
Always alert for an encourage-people's-self-image moment, I assured her I didn't find gray hair so bad at all.
I was at the post office today, and as the middle-aged woman behind the counter got the various stamps I needed, she commented out of nowhere, "Dann brauche ich meine graue Haare gar nicht verstecken." ["Then I don't really need to hide my gray hair at all."]
"...Sorry?" I asked, not sure if she was comparing herself to me, or someone behind me, or what. I do have rather a lot of gray for a "young" person, but I don't think of it as being that extreme. That, you know, strangers would comment on it.
But she repeated herself and added, "Darf ich fragen, wie alt Sie sind?" ["May I ask how old you are?"]
"Twenty-eight," I said.
"Das ist ganz schön früh," she agreed, ["That really is pretty early"] then went on to tell me about the coloring rinse she'd done just that morning to hide her gray.
Always alert for an encourage-people's-self-image moment, I assured her I didn't find gray hair so bad at all.
Thursday, December 29, 2011
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Venice
My weekend away, before the Christmas weekend away, was to Venice, Italy!
When I look back at this year – and this has unquestionably been the Year of Travel for me – every single trip came about through some sort of chance, because someone asked, Hey, want to do this thing? and I said, Yeah, sure.
The fact that this has been possible at all, of course, is in large part because of the flexible nature of my work. But there's an element of simply being open and saying yes, too.
In this case, my friend K. told me she would be meeting her mother for a trip in Slovenia, and was thinking about swinging by Venice afterward, since she'd never been, and then taking the night train back to Berlin.
I'd never been to Venice either – one of those places I vaguely figured I wanted to go at some point, but it probably wouldn't happen until an opportunity arose – and strangely, I don't take many night trains in Europe, or even any at all.
So K. asked, Want to come?
And I said, Yeah, sure!
There's so much more I could say about Venice, but if I don't just write something now, I'll never get the chance. So here's what pops to mind:
VENICE ITSELF:
I've heard people say, "Venice really is how you always thought it was," and in fact...it is.
Tiny, twisting alleys, crumbling old buildings, canals everywhere. Really, you cannot overstate how much water defines Venice. Anywhere you want to go, you have to take into account where the nearest bridge to it is – or if there's one at all.
It all looks like this, except narrower and more twisty:
The entire city is pedestrian (cars have to park at the entrance to the city, how awesome is that?), so everything happens at a different pace – namely, a very fast walking pace, apparently dubbed the "paso veneziano."
GETTING LOST:
This is what people tell you you'll be doing all the time in Venice, and it's true. The place is a maze, and sometimes, there just isn't a bridge to where you want to go. Or the alley just ends in a wall...or a canal. I get lost even in normal cities, so in Venice I simply gave myself up to circumstance.
Which, it turns out, is exactly the right thing to do.
I'm now firmly convinced that Venice is the city of coincidences. If you're looking for a particular café on a certain street, you will not find it...but you will happen across it later, while looking for something else entirely, on another street of the same name in a different part of the same district.
You will also run into the people you know in Venice, randomly, even if the sum total of people you know there is two. The first evening, I met up with a guy named Josh from Couchsurfing (more about that later). K. didn't come – but we ran into her later, in a different part of town.
The next night, K. and I were wandering in yet another completely different part of town, hoping to find some live music or something – and instead ran into Josh and his friends. K. said to Josh, "Okay, I don't know exactly what role Ella plays in all of this, but clearly you and I were destined to meet."
Here's an alley conveniently ending in water:
PEOPLE:
I was recently at a party in Berlin populated by an even-higher-than-my-usual-average number of journalists and writers, and ended up talking to a woman who runs a blog about travel, food, and the taxi rides she takes to get there. She pointed out that the key to travel writing is having your own particular angle, the aspect you're passionate about.
At first I thought, I haven't found mine yet, and then I thought, maybe I have.
My angle is meeting up with people and learning about their place through them, whether they're friends, friends of friends, or strangers I contact through Couchsurfing specifically because that human element is such a crucial part of travel to me.
In this case, we met Josh, an American abroad who loves languages and is teaching and translating in Venice, and his partner Albert, who's from Catalunya in Spain moved here to teach Catalan, and then their friend Laura, also from Catalunya, who speaks at least four languages fluently, and interestingly prefers to read and write in Spanish, even though her native language is Catalan, but feels even more comfortable in Italian:
Then we met Benedicta, a French-German woman who lived in the U.S. for 10 years but then didn't get a green card extension, so she decided to travel for a year, came to Venice, met a Venetian, fell in love and is now happily living here. Didn't I say it was the city of coincidences?
FOOD:
Of course, you can't go to Italy and not have it be partly about food. K. has a particularly good nose for finding good places, and we ate, among others: at a very much local kind of place, where we first had to pass through a gauntlet of local guys drinking their afternoon grappa; at a restaurant where K. went twice, because she was so impressed by their squid ink pasta (I did not partake); various places where you can do the whole standing-up-and-snacking thing (why, Italy, why?); and...
Then there was this really classy place that K. had read about but regretfully decided was beyond our budget. We stumbled across it anyway, though, in that way that happens in Venice, and decided to go in just for a glass of wine.
It turns out they have an extraordinary list of rare wines, and not even at bad prices, and, being such a high-class place, they brought us free cicchetti (Venetian-style tapas) along with our drinks. When K. pleaded my vegetarianism (cicchetti are mostly deep-fried and mostly seafood), the waiter brought us squares of the best focaccia I've ever had, as well as incredible olives, and thin stalks of celery in an extraordinary vinaigrette.
What we'd thought was a restaurant far out of our price range somehow turned into nearly a full meal, for the price of a 5 euro glass of wine.
Cicchetti with claw – here I did not partake either:
JEWISH VENICE:
Then, of course, there was the Jewish Ghetto.
This is the actual source of the word "ghetto," a neighborhood in Venice named after a foundry and later turned into the-place-where-the-Jews-live. I won't go into the whole history here, because I just don't have time to do it justice, but we went on a very informative tour of the ghetto's synagogues, and it was pleasing to see that the Jewish community is still going strong – for once, a Jewish neighborhood and Jewish museum that are not just a matter of history.
On the main square, in the Ghetto Nuovo:
Nearby, we found not one but two Kosher bakeries. (K. texted me, as I arrived in Venice, with the words, "Just found hamentashen! I'm in heaven!")
During our tour of the Jewish Ghetto, I was amused by the sight of ultra-Orthodox men, in their hats and long coats, walking by with takeout pizza boxes (because it's Italy, see, and even the ultra-Orthodox eat pizza...) but it was K. who put that sight together with the Kosher bakery we'd stopped in before, which seemed to be devoted half to pastries and half to pizza.
Oh, right, because they're in Italy, but they're also Orthodox, so they eat kosher pizzas.
That's all about Venice for now. Full photo album will be up shortly!
When I look back at this year – and this has unquestionably been the Year of Travel for me – every single trip came about through some sort of chance, because someone asked, Hey, want to do this thing? and I said, Yeah, sure.
The fact that this has been possible at all, of course, is in large part because of the flexible nature of my work. But there's an element of simply being open and saying yes, too.
In this case, my friend K. told me she would be meeting her mother for a trip in Slovenia, and was thinking about swinging by Venice afterward, since she'd never been, and then taking the night train back to Berlin.
I'd never been to Venice either – one of those places I vaguely figured I wanted to go at some point, but it probably wouldn't happen until an opportunity arose – and strangely, I don't take many night trains in Europe, or even any at all.
So K. asked, Want to come?
And I said, Yeah, sure!
There's so much more I could say about Venice, but if I don't just write something now, I'll never get the chance. So here's what pops to mind:
VENICE ITSELF:
I've heard people say, "Venice really is how you always thought it was," and in fact...it is.
Tiny, twisting alleys, crumbling old buildings, canals everywhere. Really, you cannot overstate how much water defines Venice. Anywhere you want to go, you have to take into account where the nearest bridge to it is – or if there's one at all.
It all looks like this, except narrower and more twisty:
The entire city is pedestrian (cars have to park at the entrance to the city, how awesome is that?), so everything happens at a different pace – namely, a very fast walking pace, apparently dubbed the "paso veneziano."
GETTING LOST:
This is what people tell you you'll be doing all the time in Venice, and it's true. The place is a maze, and sometimes, there just isn't a bridge to where you want to go. Or the alley just ends in a wall...or a canal. I get lost even in normal cities, so in Venice I simply gave myself up to circumstance.
Which, it turns out, is exactly the right thing to do.
I'm now firmly convinced that Venice is the city of coincidences. If you're looking for a particular café on a certain street, you will not find it...but you will happen across it later, while looking for something else entirely, on another street of the same name in a different part of the same district.
You will also run into the people you know in Venice, randomly, even if the sum total of people you know there is two. The first evening, I met up with a guy named Josh from Couchsurfing (more about that later). K. didn't come – but we ran into her later, in a different part of town.
The next night, K. and I were wandering in yet another completely different part of town, hoping to find some live music or something – and instead ran into Josh and his friends. K. said to Josh, "Okay, I don't know exactly what role Ella plays in all of this, but clearly you and I were destined to meet."
Here's an alley conveniently ending in water:
PEOPLE:
I was recently at a party in Berlin populated by an even-higher-than-my-usual-average number of journalists and writers, and ended up talking to a woman who runs a blog about travel, food, and the taxi rides she takes to get there. She pointed out that the key to travel writing is having your own particular angle, the aspect you're passionate about.
At first I thought, I haven't found mine yet, and then I thought, maybe I have.
My angle is meeting up with people and learning about their place through them, whether they're friends, friends of friends, or strangers I contact through Couchsurfing specifically because that human element is such a crucial part of travel to me.
In this case, we met Josh, an American abroad who loves languages and is teaching and translating in Venice, and his partner Albert, who's from Catalunya in Spain moved here to teach Catalan, and then their friend Laura, also from Catalunya, who speaks at least four languages fluently, and interestingly prefers to read and write in Spanish, even though her native language is Catalan, but feels even more comfortable in Italian:
Then we met Benedicta, a French-German woman who lived in the U.S. for 10 years but then didn't get a green card extension, so she decided to travel for a year, came to Venice, met a Venetian, fell in love and is now happily living here. Didn't I say it was the city of coincidences?
FOOD:
Of course, you can't go to Italy and not have it be partly about food. K. has a particularly good nose for finding good places, and we ate, among others: at a very much local kind of place, where we first had to pass through a gauntlet of local guys drinking their afternoon grappa; at a restaurant where K. went twice, because she was so impressed by their squid ink pasta (I did not partake); various places where you can do the whole standing-up-and-snacking thing (why, Italy, why?); and...
Then there was this really classy place that K. had read about but regretfully decided was beyond our budget. We stumbled across it anyway, though, in that way that happens in Venice, and decided to go in just for a glass of wine.
It turns out they have an extraordinary list of rare wines, and not even at bad prices, and, being such a high-class place, they brought us free cicchetti (Venetian-style tapas) along with our drinks. When K. pleaded my vegetarianism (cicchetti are mostly deep-fried and mostly seafood), the waiter brought us squares of the best focaccia I've ever had, as well as incredible olives, and thin stalks of celery in an extraordinary vinaigrette.
What we'd thought was a restaurant far out of our price range somehow turned into nearly a full meal, for the price of a 5 euro glass of wine.
Cicchetti with claw – here I did not partake either:
JEWISH VENICE:
Then, of course, there was the Jewish Ghetto.
This is the actual source of the word "ghetto," a neighborhood in Venice named after a foundry and later turned into the-place-where-the-Jews-live. I won't go into the whole history here, because I just don't have time to do it justice, but we went on a very informative tour of the ghetto's synagogues, and it was pleasing to see that the Jewish community is still going strong – for once, a Jewish neighborhood and Jewish museum that are not just a matter of history.
On the main square, in the Ghetto Nuovo:
Nearby, we found not one but two Kosher bakeries. (K. texted me, as I arrived in Venice, with the words, "Just found hamentashen! I'm in heaven!")
During our tour of the Jewish Ghetto, I was amused by the sight of ultra-Orthodox men, in their hats and long coats, walking by with takeout pizza boxes (because it's Italy, see, and even the ultra-Orthodox eat pizza...) but it was K. who put that sight together with the Kosher bakery we'd stopped in before, which seemed to be devoted half to pastries and half to pizza.
Oh, right, because they're in Italy, but they're also Orthodox, so they eat kosher pizzas.
That's all about Venice for now. Full photo album will be up shortly!
Monday, December 26, 2011
Berlin, Winter
December 26: Mild but gray, wet, windy weather. Berliners still sitting outside at cafés, wrapped in thick coats and clutching hot drinks.
I'm quite impressed right now.
I'm quite impressed right now.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Christmas Eve Taxi
Because Lisa had approximately 5,327 bags of Christmas presents and things, we took a taxi from her house to her parents' for Christmas Eve. Lisa chatted with the taxi driver, a jovial, white-haired German guy, and asked how late he had to work. (Christmas Eve being the main celebration in Germany, not Christmas Day.)
"Oh, till morning," he said.
"All evening?" Lisa asked.
"All night," he confirmed, but didn't seem too put out about it. "On Christmas Eve, da tut sich einiges [there's plenty going on]."
For many years now, he said, it seems to be standard that young people "swarm" into the city after the present-giving's over, not wanting to sit around their parents' houses, which means there's plenty of work for him all night.
"And I don't work New Year's," he said. "New Year's, we're going on vacation."
"Oh, till morning," he said.
"All evening?" Lisa asked.
"All night," he confirmed, but didn't seem too put out about it. "On Christmas Eve, da tut sich einiges [there's plenty going on]."
For many years now, he said, it seems to be standard that young people "swarm" into the city after the present-giving's over, not wanting to sit around their parents' houses, which means there's plenty of work for him all night.
"And I don't work New Year's," he said. "New Year's, we're going on vacation."
Friday, December 23, 2011
Why Yes, in Fact I Can Work from Pretty Much Anywhere
This would be me, working on a translation, sitting in the stairwell by the door of an overcrowded Deutsche Bahn train.
Chanukah at My House
Friends at my place celebrating Chanukah. It made me very happy.
The makings of latkes arrived in a bag, courtesy of my friend K.!
And there was a menorah in the window, just like it's supposed to be.
(That, incidentally, is the portable menorah – "portamenorah," I believe my friend Rebecca said – the rabbi's wife gave me at the Chabad House I stumbled across in a tiny mountain village in India last year. They give them out because their whole thing is wanting more Jews to be more Jewish.)
Tonight, my friend Lisa and I skyped with my parents from her kitchen in Mönchengladbach and lit Chanukah candles with them across six timezones.
And here's the wandering portamenorah again, accompanying me as I work here on Lisa's floor, while she wraps last minute Christmas presents for her family.
The makings of latkes arrived in a bag, courtesy of my friend K.!
And there was a menorah in the window, just like it's supposed to be.
(That, incidentally, is the portable menorah – "portamenorah," I believe my friend Rebecca said – the rabbi's wife gave me at the Chabad House I stumbled across in a tiny mountain village in India last year. They give them out because their whole thing is wanting more Jews to be more Jewish.)
Tonight, my friend Lisa and I skyped with my parents from her kitchen in Mönchengladbach and lit Chanukah candles with them across six timezones.
And here's the wandering portamenorah again, accompanying me as I work here on Lisa's floor, while she wraps last minute Christmas presents for her family.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
Winter Begins
It's the solstice, the official start of winter but also the shortest day of the year – from here on out, the daylight (slowly) returns.
I'm having some friends over for a combined Chanukah and winter solstice celebration this evening, and just now I popped over to the Jewish bakery (just a block away! how lucky am I?) in the hope of picking up some of their Hefezopf (braided yeast bread) that's more or less like challah.
I left the errand until too late in the afternoon, and of course they were already sold out. But I got some raisin buns made out of basically the same dough, and the woman there gave me the bakery's business card, so that in the future I can call ahead and reserve what I want!
As I walked home from the bakery around 4:00, true to shortest-day-of-the-year form, it was already practically dark. (Official sunset: 3:54 p.m.) Also true to Berlin winter form, it was spitting down with nasty, cold rain.
But today is the SOLSTICE and yesterday evening we even got the first little flurries of real SNOW, and I will not be deterred from being happy about all this!
– – – – –
By the way, dear readership, I'm still meaning to tell you about an exciting weekend away (past) and a super exciting next big trip (future), and I promise I haven't forgotten!
Starting tomorrow, I'll be away visiting friends to celebrate German Christmas (the only kind of Christmas I know), so maybe there I'll find the time to write a bit. Or not, we'll see.
For now (because I seem to be having way too much fun spinning out teasers), I'll give you hints about the upcoming trip:
1. Starts with "S"...
2. I already mentioned that French course I took in preparation...
3. And recently, my doctor told me I was a little low on vitamin D and should take higher dosage supplements "unless you'll be spending a month in Africa this winter." And I said, "Actually..."
I'm having some friends over for a combined Chanukah and winter solstice celebration this evening, and just now I popped over to the Jewish bakery (just a block away! how lucky am I?) in the hope of picking up some of their Hefezopf (braided yeast bread) that's more or less like challah.
I left the errand until too late in the afternoon, and of course they were already sold out. But I got some raisin buns made out of basically the same dough, and the woman there gave me the bakery's business card, so that in the future I can call ahead and reserve what I want!
As I walked home from the bakery around 4:00, true to shortest-day-of-the-year form, it was already practically dark. (Official sunset: 3:54 p.m.) Also true to Berlin winter form, it was spitting down with nasty, cold rain.
But today is the SOLSTICE and yesterday evening we even got the first little flurries of real SNOW, and I will not be deterred from being happy about all this!
– – – – –
By the way, dear readership, I'm still meaning to tell you about an exciting weekend away (past) and a super exciting next big trip (future), and I promise I haven't forgotten!
Starting tomorrow, I'll be away visiting friends to celebrate German Christmas (the only kind of Christmas I know), so maybe there I'll find the time to write a bit. Or not, we'll see.
For now (because I seem to be having way too much fun spinning out teasers), I'll give you hints about the upcoming trip:
1. Starts with "S"...
2. I already mentioned that French course I took in preparation...
3. And recently, my doctor told me I was a little low on vitamin D and should take higher dosage supplements "unless you'll be spending a month in Africa this winter." And I said, "Actually..."
My Alma Mater Is Still Awesome
Because nothing says the holidays like organ players, acrobats and a whole chorus of bassoons. Oh, wait, I mean nothing says Oberlin like those things!
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Neighborhood Chanukah (and a Toast to Vaclav Havel)
There's a new English bookstore in the neighborhood. Now, I'm a big fan of the "old" English bookstore in the neighborhood, but it's okay to have more of a good thing – and English bookstores are definitely a Good Thing when you live abroad long term. So I've been by the new English bookstore a couple times and even got on their mailing list, just in case any interesting events came up.
A couple days ago, I got an e-mail from them for the first time, which read in its entirety:
"Come by the store this Tuesday, December 20th at 7pm. Roman and Laurel are going to be frying latkes and making applesauce all evening for your Chanukah pleasure. We'll be drinking to Vaclav Havel."
Who are Roman and Laurel? How is Václav Havel (Czech writer, dissident and president, who died just a couple days ago) connected to a Jewish holiday?
Didn't really matter – my interest was piqued AND they mentioned latkes!
I just barely managed to disentangle myself from work in time, collected a couple of friends, and dropped by Shakespeare & Sons.
There, indeed, were a whole pile of latkes, homemade applesauce, and a bunch of friendly, welcoming folks. It turns out Roman is Czech, while Laurel is American and Jewish and in the same boat of wanting to celebrate Jewish holidays but not having many people around who know about them.
So I ate some latkes, ran into the one other American Jew I know in Berlin, chatted with Laurel while she oversaw the frying operation in the store's small kitchen, and even managed to connect an American friend who likes Polish food to a Polish woman who hasn't been able to find good restaurants in Berlin ... a win-win-win all around.
We lit the Chanukah candles together, then Laurel passed out shot glasses of slivovice (Czech plum brandy) and Roman said a toast to Václav Havel, starting with his memory of the first time he heard the name: in 1989, when a fellow student scribbled "Václav Havel for president" on a school desk (this was under Communist rule, when Havel was a dissident leader) and then had to come back in with his parents and aver to the school authorities that it was just something he'd heard somewhere and he didn't even know what it meant. This must have been just months before the Velvet Revolution – and Havel becoming president.
Happy Chanukah! Which, if you think about it, is also a holiday about dissidents.
A couple days ago, I got an e-mail from them for the first time, which read in its entirety:
"Come by the store this Tuesday, December 20th at 7pm. Roman and Laurel are going to be frying latkes and making applesauce all evening for your Chanukah pleasure. We'll be drinking to Vaclav Havel."
Who are Roman and Laurel? How is Václav Havel (Czech writer, dissident and president, who died just a couple days ago) connected to a Jewish holiday?
Didn't really matter – my interest was piqued AND they mentioned latkes!
I just barely managed to disentangle myself from work in time, collected a couple of friends, and dropped by Shakespeare & Sons.
There, indeed, were a whole pile of latkes, homemade applesauce, and a bunch of friendly, welcoming folks. It turns out Roman is Czech, while Laurel is American and Jewish and in the same boat of wanting to celebrate Jewish holidays but not having many people around who know about them.
So I ate some latkes, ran into the one other American Jew I know in Berlin, chatted with Laurel while she oversaw the frying operation in the store's small kitchen, and even managed to connect an American friend who likes Polish food to a Polish woman who hasn't been able to find good restaurants in Berlin ... a win-win-win all around.
We lit the Chanukah candles together, then Laurel passed out shot glasses of slivovice (Czech plum brandy) and Roman said a toast to Václav Havel, starting with his memory of the first time he heard the name: in 1989, when a fellow student scribbled "Václav Havel for president" on a school desk (this was under Communist rule, when Havel was a dissident leader) and then had to come back in with his parents and aver to the school authorities that it was just something he'd heard somewhere and he didn't even know what it meant. This must have been just months before the Velvet Revolution – and Havel becoming president.
Happy Chanukah! Which, if you think about it, is also a holiday about dissidents.
Monday, December 19, 2011
One Dictatorship Viewing Another
The death of Kim Jong-il in North Korea came up briefly in an English lesson today.
My student, a former East German in her late 40s, said news about North Korea always cuts a little close to home, a little too close to how her country could have ended up – she remembers well the same kind of marches and obligatory celebrations, with functionaries checking everyone against an attendance list.
But, she reflected, "Compared to North Korea, we had a Streichelzoo-Diktatur [petting zoo dictatorship]."
My student, a former East German in her late 40s, said news about North Korea always cuts a little close to home, a little too close to how her country could have ended up – she remembers well the same kind of marches and obligatory celebrations, with functionaries checking everyone against an attendance list.
But, she reflected, "Compared to North Korea, we had a Streichelzoo-Diktatur [petting zoo dictatorship]."
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Bread Addendum
Oh, and I should have said: I also think it's telling that to say "dinner" in German, you can use the word "Abendessen" (literally "evening meal"), but you can also say "Abendbrot" – "evening bread"!
Some Bread with that Bread?
Seen recently in a bakery: Promotional flyers for some expert or other's particular weight loss program designed to help you "lose weight while you sleep" by eating carb-heavy meals in the morning and protein-heavy meals in the evening.
So far so good (I guess), but then as its tie-in, the bakery was offering a special "high-protein" bread (lots of nuts and seeds and things in it), so that for your evening protein meal, you could have...bread.
(This makes marginally more sense when you know that many Germans still follow the old-fashioned, when-mom-was-at-home-to-cook-during-the-day-every-day pattern of eating a big warm meal during the day, and then just bread with various cold toppings in the evening. And that most Germans can happily eat bread as at least two of their three meals a day without complaint or finding anything odd about it.)
Still, though. Germany: a country so obsessed with bread and bread products, even its non-carb meals are carbs.
So far so good (I guess), but then as its tie-in, the bakery was offering a special "high-protein" bread (lots of nuts and seeds and things in it), so that for your evening protein meal, you could have...bread.
(This makes marginally more sense when you know that many Germans still follow the old-fashioned, when-mom-was-at-home-to-cook-during-the-day-every-day pattern of eating a big warm meal during the day, and then just bread with various cold toppings in the evening. And that most Germans can happily eat bread as at least two of their three meals a day without complaint or finding anything odd about it.)
Still, though. Germany: a country so obsessed with bread and bread products, even its non-carb meals are carbs.
Monday, December 12, 2011
The Christmas Season
When I went grocery shopping on Friday, the check-out clerk was already wishing everyone a "Happy 3rd Advent!"
The whole Advent period (technically the four "Advent Sundays" leading up to Christmas, hence the phrase "3rd Advent" to refer to the third of those weekends) is huge here, Christmas in Germany being essentially an entire season of the year unto itself.
Putting an even more precise start date to the Christmas season, a friend recently informed me that Christmas markets, though they start setting up in November, are not allowed to turn their lights on until after "Totensonntag" (Sunday of the Dead – a Lutheran holiday that's always the last Sunday before the four Advent Sundays...got that?)
Yes, Germany is gradually giving way to commercialism, and the first Christmas cookies do start sneaking their way into the grocery stores in September. (Though you should see the stores NOW – I swear, roughly half of my nearest supermarket is devoted to Christmas chocolates, while on the other hand the baking section has been nearly been picked clean by eager Christmas cookie bakers.)
And yes, as in any majority-Christian country, December is a time of buying gifts. (On a couple – not all – of the Advent weekends, major stores are actually open SUNDAYS, something almost inconceivable in Germany.)
But even more than that, December really is a time when Germans do all those traditional, cozy, Christmas-season kinds of things, and the four Advent weekends are earnestly dedicated to Christmas cookie baking (a major event itself, in which friends descend on one person's kitchen, all bearing their own recipes and ingredients, and proceed to make multiple varieties of cookies simultaneously, in a flurry of activity so overwhelming, I managed to bow out of it entirely this year) and afternoon cookie-and-warm-drink Christmas parties and so many Christmas market visits that you actually lose count, and of course lots and lots of mulled wine.
Then of course there's Nikolaustag (St. Nicholas Day, December 6), when children leave shoes out overnight and find them filled with sweets in the morning – something I always found a bit bizarre, until a Dutch friend pointed out, Yeah, we have shoes, and the Americans have stockings. Oh. Right.
When I went to the post office in early December to mail a package of Chanukah presents to my parents in the U.S. and asked how long it would take to get there, the woman said, Well, it'll be a little late if you're sending it for Nikolaus. I told her, no, I was sending it for Chanukah (though of course she'd have no idea what that means) and smiled privately at the idea that I would be sending a package to my family – my American, not to mention Jewish, family – for St. Nicholas Day.
Then, to round out the whole holiday season, there's Heilige Drei Könige (the day of the "Holy Three Kings," who we know as the Three Wise Men; i.e. Epiphany or Twelfth Night), when kids go around dressed as the three wise men, singing songs and writing blessings in holy chalk (not kidding) over people's doors. I think this is more common in western and southern Germany (which is Catholic), because I haven't seen much of it here in Berlin.
The whole Advent period (technically the four "Advent Sundays" leading up to Christmas, hence the phrase "3rd Advent" to refer to the third of those weekends) is huge here, Christmas in Germany being essentially an entire season of the year unto itself.
Putting an even more precise start date to the Christmas season, a friend recently informed me that Christmas markets, though they start setting up in November, are not allowed to turn their lights on until after "Totensonntag" (Sunday of the Dead – a Lutheran holiday that's always the last Sunday before the four Advent Sundays...got that?)
Yes, Germany is gradually giving way to commercialism, and the first Christmas cookies do start sneaking their way into the grocery stores in September. (Though you should see the stores NOW – I swear, roughly half of my nearest supermarket is devoted to Christmas chocolates, while on the other hand the baking section has been nearly been picked clean by eager Christmas cookie bakers.)
And yes, as in any majority-Christian country, December is a time of buying gifts. (On a couple – not all – of the Advent weekends, major stores are actually open SUNDAYS, something almost inconceivable in Germany.)
But even more than that, December really is a time when Germans do all those traditional, cozy, Christmas-season kinds of things, and the four Advent weekends are earnestly dedicated to Christmas cookie baking (a major event itself, in which friends descend on one person's kitchen, all bearing their own recipes and ingredients, and proceed to make multiple varieties of cookies simultaneously, in a flurry of activity so overwhelming, I managed to bow out of it entirely this year) and afternoon cookie-and-warm-drink Christmas parties and so many Christmas market visits that you actually lose count, and of course lots and lots of mulled wine.
Then of course there's Nikolaustag (St. Nicholas Day, December 6), when children leave shoes out overnight and find them filled with sweets in the morning – something I always found a bit bizarre, until a Dutch friend pointed out, Yeah, we have shoes, and the Americans have stockings. Oh. Right.
When I went to the post office in early December to mail a package of Chanukah presents to my parents in the U.S. and asked how long it would take to get there, the woman said, Well, it'll be a little late if you're sending it for Nikolaus. I told her, no, I was sending it for Chanukah (though of course she'd have no idea what that means) and smiled privately at the idea that I would be sending a package to my family – my American, not to mention Jewish, family – for St. Nicholas Day.
Then, to round out the whole holiday season, there's Heilige Drei Könige (the day of the "Holy Three Kings," who we know as the Three Wise Men; i.e. Epiphany or Twelfth Night), when kids go around dressed as the three wise men, singing songs and writing blessings in holy chalk (not kidding) over people's doors. I think this is more common in western and southern Germany (which is Catholic), because I haven't seen much of it here in Berlin.
The Simplest Questions Are the Hardest
Germans don't know how to answer the question "How are you?"
In English, I mean. If they've learned English for a while, they've likely had drilled into their heads that "How are you?" is just something we say to be polite, it is not an invitation to launch into a litany of your woes, and the correct answer is always "Fine, thanks."
"What if I'm really ill?" they ask me. "What if I'm actually not fine? Do I have to lie?" I generally tell them that, no, honesty is okay, but yes, the expectation is that you keep your answer more or less neutral.
Incidentally, someone recently made the valid point that it's a bit silly for Germans to complain about how we do or don't answer "How are you?" because in German often they don't even ask each other a proper question at all, but (especially young people, among friends) simply greet each other with the nonsense particle "Na?" To which the only real response is another "Na?"
Since it sounds goofy to answer "Na?" with "Na?" this can easily turn into a race to see who can say "Na?" first, leaving the other to lamely echo, "Na?"
And don't even get me started on the British, whose "How do you do" is not, as you might think, a question, but rather a phrase of greeting, and is properly – and only – answered with another "How do you do."
In English, I mean. If they've learned English for a while, they've likely had drilled into their heads that "How are you?" is just something we say to be polite, it is not an invitation to launch into a litany of your woes, and the correct answer is always "Fine, thanks."
"What if I'm really ill?" they ask me. "What if I'm actually not fine? Do I have to lie?" I generally tell them that, no, honesty is okay, but yes, the expectation is that you keep your answer more or less neutral.
Incidentally, someone recently made the valid point that it's a bit silly for Germans to complain about how we do or don't answer "How are you?" because in German often they don't even ask each other a proper question at all, but (especially young people, among friends) simply greet each other with the nonsense particle "Na?" To which the only real response is another "Na?"
Since it sounds goofy to answer "Na?" with "Na?" this can easily turn into a race to see who can say "Na?" first, leaving the other to lamely echo, "Na?"
And don't even get me started on the British, whose "How do you do" is not, as you might think, a question, but rather a phrase of greeting, and is properly – and only – answered with another "How do you do."
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Suns and Moons
It's 3:30 p.m. and the sun is setting!
(Technically sunset today is 3:52 p.m., not that different from Ithaca's 4:33 p.m., but it sure FEELS earlier.)
Also, if you're somewhere that's dark right now, go check out the last total lunar eclipse until 2014! It's happening in the morning U.S. time (so on the east coast you might still catch a bit of the penumbral eclipse before the moon sets and the sun rises) and here in Germany, the total eclipse ends at 3:57 p.m., the partial eclipse at 5:18 and the penumbral eclipse at 6:30, so we may catch some of it as the moon's rising.
(Technically sunset today is 3:52 p.m., not that different from Ithaca's 4:33 p.m., but it sure FEELS earlier.)
Also, if you're somewhere that's dark right now, go check out the last total lunar eclipse until 2014! It's happening in the morning U.S. time (so on the east coast you might still catch a bit of the penumbral eclipse before the moon sets and the sun rises) and here in Germany, the total eclipse ends at 3:57 p.m., the partial eclipse at 5:18 and the penumbral eclipse at 6:30, so we may catch some of it as the moon's rising.
Friday, December 9, 2011
This Is Why You're German
So amazing. SO amazing. Possibly less amazing if you're not very familiar with Germany...but still amazing:
This Is Why You're German
I would try to list a few of my favorites, but then we'd be here all day.
This Is Why You're German
I would try to list a few of my favorites, but then we'd be here all day.
Monday, December 5, 2011
Life in Three Thirds
This morning I finally sent out an invitation to my upcoming Chanukah celebration. Just out of curiosity, because I'm always interested in such things, after I sent the e-mail I took a closer look at my guest list, and was delighted to discover that the 18 friends I'd invited distributed perfectly into thirds: 6 Germans, 6 Americans and 6 "other" (British, Irish, French, Israeli, Canadian).
I enjoy that kind of coincidentally symmetry anyway (for example, when I realized there had been exactly 28 people at my 28th birthday party), but this is somehow especially pleasing in the way it makes a little microcosm of my Berlin life, which I think also could roughly be defined as "one-third German, one-third American and one-third other."
I enjoy that kind of coincidentally symmetry anyway (for example, when I realized there had been exactly 28 people at my 28th birthday party), but this is somehow especially pleasing in the way it makes a little microcosm of my Berlin life, which I think also could roughly be defined as "one-third German, one-third American and one-third other."
Saturday, December 3, 2011
The Dark Days of Winter/The Confetti Tram
Last Saturday and this Saturday I traveled way out to a far-flung part of eastern Berlin to take a sort of brush-up-your-French crash course for...well, let me leave that for another post, but let's just say, for my mystery next travel destination! (No, not France.)
Doing this course entailed getting up around 6:30 a.m. (on a Saturday! I don't even do that on weekdays!), well before the sun was even thinking of rising. By the time I was on the tram around 8 a.m., the sun was finally getting around to leaving the horizon, though of course you can't quite tell when exactly sunrise is with so many buildings around.
I had just been talking to one of the neighbors in my building about the many incarnations of the M10 tram, which runs right past our door. The M10 starts at Berlin's main north-south train line, curves all the way through the district of Prenzlauer Berg, (a generally yuppie kind of place, but pretty hip as well) and ends at Warschauer Strasse, a major party area and a stop on the east-west train line. (The M10 is that fairly central dark green arc on this map, if that helps at all.)
So in the mornings, there are these seriously stroller-filled rush times, where every parent in Prenzlauer Berg is trying to cram their massive baby carriage onto the tram to get their kids to preschool. But then at night, the M10 becomes THE party tram, shuttling drunk (and drinking) young folks to and from the clubs at Warschauer Strasse.
When I got on this morning shortly before 8, I was amused to see that the floor of the tram was still strewn with confetti, a testament to the tram's long Berlin night. There were also a few folks onboard who were definitely just coming home from partying, while others were clearly on their way to work.
Doing this course entailed getting up around 6:30 a.m. (on a Saturday! I don't even do that on weekdays!), well before the sun was even thinking of rising. By the time I was on the tram around 8 a.m., the sun was finally getting around to leaving the horizon, though of course you can't quite tell when exactly sunrise is with so many buildings around.
I had just been talking to one of the neighbors in my building about the many incarnations of the M10 tram, which runs right past our door. The M10 starts at Berlin's main north-south train line, curves all the way through the district of Prenzlauer Berg, (a generally yuppie kind of place, but pretty hip as well) and ends at Warschauer Strasse, a major party area and a stop on the east-west train line. (The M10 is that fairly central dark green arc on this map, if that helps at all.)
So in the mornings, there are these seriously stroller-filled rush times, where every parent in Prenzlauer Berg is trying to cram their massive baby carriage onto the tram to get their kids to preschool. But then at night, the M10 becomes THE party tram, shuttling drunk (and drinking) young folks to and from the clubs at Warschauer Strasse.
When I got on this morning shortly before 8, I was amused to see that the floor of the tram was still strewn with confetti, a testament to the tram's long Berlin night. There were also a few folks onboard who were definitely just coming home from partying, while others were clearly on their way to work.
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Back to Baltic
A couple weekends ago, I finally made it to the German coast again, for the first time in several years. Are you thinking "German coast? That doesn't sound very appealing"? If so, you're wrong! The Baltic Sea was one of the great things East Germany had going for it, and it's still a popular place to vacation.
So if you want to see sun, sand and sea (wintertime version, obviously), along with some strange buildings and a few amusing signs, check out the photo album:
So if you want to see sun, sand and sea (wintertime version, obviously), along with some strange buildings and a few amusing signs, check out the photo album:
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| BINZ! |
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Enter the Trombone Choir
An American friend of mine recently mentioned something about her choir, and I assumed singing, but when I asked her about it, it turns out she plays in a trombone choir.
Now, I just looked up "trombone choir" (which is not only trombones, but apparently more like a brass band with a trombone focus) and it turns out they exist in the U.S. too. But they're really big in Germany. And, for whatever reason, they're strongly associated with churches, specifically Protestant churches.
So my American friend, who says she was thrilled to get to Germany and find so many kindred spirits after years of being the only trombonist around, spends many of her Sundays playing at different Protestant services around Berlin (she's not even religious herself) and then hanging out and drinking mulled wine with the congregations afterward.
"I think of you as such a Germanophile," she said to me. "I can't believe you didn't know about this!"
Now, I just looked up "trombone choir" (which is not only trombones, but apparently more like a brass band with a trombone focus) and it turns out they exist in the U.S. too. But they're really big in Germany. And, for whatever reason, they're strongly associated with churches, specifically Protestant churches.
So my American friend, who says she was thrilled to get to Germany and find so many kindred spirits after years of being the only trombonist around, spends many of her Sundays playing at different Protestant services around Berlin (she's not even religious herself) and then hanging out and drinking mulled wine with the congregations afterward.
"I think of you as such a Germanophile," she said to me. "I can't believe you didn't know about this!"
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Thanksgiving Addendum
It's certainly not my thing to plug companies and corporations of any sort, but I just have to say – Skype is amazing. The difference between talking to someone who's far away and talking to and seeing someone who's far away is beyond description.
My parents are at my aunt's house for Thanksgiving dinner as we speak, and as usual I'm in Berlin and missing out, but this year we made a point of getting on Skype when everyone was there. I got to see my aunt and uncle, and all three of my cousins in the frame at the same time, and my cousin's husband with the new puppy, and their baby! They even put the computer down inside the playpen, so I could see how he's already taking his first steps.
It really felt almost like being there. When we signed off, my aunt said, "Thanks for coming over!" and I said, "Thanks for having me!"
My parents are at my aunt's house for Thanksgiving dinner as we speak, and as usual I'm in Berlin and missing out, but this year we made a point of getting on Skype when everyone was there. I got to see my aunt and uncle, and all three of my cousins in the frame at the same time, and my cousin's husband with the new puppy, and their baby! They even put the computer down inside the playpen, so I could see how he's already taking his first steps.
It really felt almost like being there. When we signed off, my aunt said, "Thanks for coming over!" and I said, "Thanks for having me!"
Bagels (or Not) in Berlin
While we're on the topic of food:
Bagels.
I come from a town that happens to make really good ones, and when I first went abroad, that was one of the few things I begged my parents to bring me when the visited: bagels from Ithaca. I know for a fact that other friends did the same during their own high school exchange years.
Over time, though, I've gotten more relaxed about it. Once a year, when I'm in the U.S., I eat as many bagels as I can (ditto for burritos), but the rest of the time, I don't worry much about trying to hunt down an authentic one (of either bagels or burritos – though if anyone did want to give me a tip about where to find authentic bagels in Berlin, I wouldn't say no).
Occasionally, though, I'm passing by one of those places that sells bagels, or what passes for them, and I can't help it. I duck in and get myself a bagel, or perhaps "bagel," with cream cheese.
This most recent time, I very clearly ordered a bagel with cream cheese, but when I opened it up, I was fascinated to find the woman had added...mustard. My cream cheese bagel was quite clearly spread with cream cheese and mustard.
I ate it anyway, and I suppose it wasn't too bad for such a weird combination. But I'm still wondering... What part of "bagel with cream cheese" said "mustard" to her?
Bagels.
I come from a town that happens to make really good ones, and when I first went abroad, that was one of the few things I begged my parents to bring me when the visited: bagels from Ithaca. I know for a fact that other friends did the same during their own high school exchange years.
Over time, though, I've gotten more relaxed about it. Once a year, when I'm in the U.S., I eat as many bagels as I can (ditto for burritos), but the rest of the time, I don't worry much about trying to hunt down an authentic one (of either bagels or burritos – though if anyone did want to give me a tip about where to find authentic bagels in Berlin, I wouldn't say no).
Occasionally, though, I'm passing by one of those places that sells bagels, or what passes for them, and I can't help it. I duck in and get myself a bagel, or perhaps "bagel," with cream cheese.
This most recent time, I very clearly ordered a bagel with cream cheese, but when I opened it up, I was fascinated to find the woman had added...mustard. My cream cheese bagel was quite clearly spread with cream cheese and mustard.
I ate it anyway, and I suppose it wasn't too bad for such a weird combination. But I'm still wondering... What part of "bagel with cream cheese" said "mustard" to her?
Thanksgiving in Berlin
This is how small Berlin can be sometimes:
Today, when I called the editor I regularly freelance for, he asked if I was doing anything for Thanksgiving. Not until the weekend, I said. (Two friends of mine, one American and one German, got fired up about the idea of co-hosting, but of course in a country where the holiday you're celebrating isn't a public holiday, Thursday isn't a particularly convenient day to cook all day.)
What about you? I asked. Oh, just going to a restaurant in Neukölln, he said. (One of Berlin's many urban districts.)
A restaurant in Neukölln? I asked. That wouldn't be Feast, would it?
But of course it was. It's a catering company and private dining room run by an American woman who's a fabulous cook; she hosts various events, but is especially known for her Thanksgiving extravaganza, and the same friend I'm going to for Thanksgiving this weekend had originally thought about going there instead.
It's not even much of a coincidence, really. The friend and the editor and I all move in vaguely the same crowd of journalist-ish expats, and probably all first heard about Feast from the same person. But there's something nice about knowing these webs of interconnections can grow even within a city.
Happy Thanksgiving, all you Americans abroad, and not abroad!
Today, when I called the editor I regularly freelance for, he asked if I was doing anything for Thanksgiving. Not until the weekend, I said. (Two friends of mine, one American and one German, got fired up about the idea of co-hosting, but of course in a country where the holiday you're celebrating isn't a public holiday, Thursday isn't a particularly convenient day to cook all day.)
What about you? I asked. Oh, just going to a restaurant in Neukölln, he said. (One of Berlin's many urban districts.)
A restaurant in Neukölln? I asked. That wouldn't be Feast, would it?
But of course it was. It's a catering company and private dining room run by an American woman who's a fabulous cook; she hosts various events, but is especially known for her Thanksgiving extravaganza, and the same friend I'm going to for Thanksgiving this weekend had originally thought about going there instead.
It's not even much of a coincidence, really. The friend and the editor and I all move in vaguely the same crowd of journalist-ish expats, and probably all first heard about Feast from the same person. But there's something nice about knowing these webs of interconnections can grow even within a city.
Happy Thanksgiving, all you Americans abroad, and not abroad!
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Hamlet as Facebook News Feed
Ha, I do have a weakness for these things: Hamlet summarized as a Facebook news feed.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
More Things to Love about Berlin
I disappeared, I know, I know! Sorry! Just so extremely busy, between all the work things and all the fun things. Here's a very small update, with more coming in the future...
As if I didn't already have enough examples of how this city is great:
Today unfolded as one of those perfect, relaxed and spontaneous weekend days. First I finished up some work, then collected my friend Carolyn, who's visiting from Zurich, and took her along to my friend Anton's gathering, where we first wandered around the grounds of one of Berlin's many random palaces (foreign visitors were suitably impressed), then repaired to Anton's for hearty soup and the season's first Glühwein (mulled wine).
Some more of my friends showed up there in the course of the afternoon, so Carolyn and I brought them along when we went to meet up with another friend, Patricia, who'd suggested we all come along to a swing dance party someone had told her about.
The party was down a side street, into the third back courtyard of a building and up three flights of stairs, the way marked with strategically placed candles. The space itself seemed to be some sort of workshop, with tools hanging from the ceiling and wood stacked in the corners.
First, a bubbly Swedish(?) woman gave us early arrivals a beginner's lesson in Charleston, then the band showed up and explained that they'd only just formed, hadn't ever all played together at once and in some cases had only just had the sheet music pressed into their hands today, but they'd figured, why rehearse in some practice room somewhere, when they could invite friends over and play for them instead?
The band was great, the energy was high, lots of people danced, and all my German friends who had never done swing dance before (did that whole American swing craze 10 or 15 years ago not reach Europe?) were completely taken by it, going so far as to swear they were going to drop everything else and start swing lessons.
The whole thing was free, with an honor system for dropping some money in a bowl if you took a beer, and most people brought along something to add to the huge dish-to-pass buffet. At one point I was standing by the buffet table, in this strange industrial space with tools hanging off the walls, eating a muffin and gazing out the window at the lights of the city, and found myself thinking, This is why Berlin is so cool.
As if I didn't already have enough examples of how this city is great:
Today unfolded as one of those perfect, relaxed and spontaneous weekend days. First I finished up some work, then collected my friend Carolyn, who's visiting from Zurich, and took her along to my friend Anton's gathering, where we first wandered around the grounds of one of Berlin's many random palaces (foreign visitors were suitably impressed), then repaired to Anton's for hearty soup and the season's first Glühwein (mulled wine).
Some more of my friends showed up there in the course of the afternoon, so Carolyn and I brought them along when we went to meet up with another friend, Patricia, who'd suggested we all come along to a swing dance party someone had told her about.
The party was down a side street, into the third back courtyard of a building and up three flights of stairs, the way marked with strategically placed candles. The space itself seemed to be some sort of workshop, with tools hanging from the ceiling and wood stacked in the corners.
First, a bubbly Swedish(?) woman gave us early arrivals a beginner's lesson in Charleston, then the band showed up and explained that they'd only just formed, hadn't ever all played together at once and in some cases had only just had the sheet music pressed into their hands today, but they'd figured, why rehearse in some practice room somewhere, when they could invite friends over and play for them instead?
The band was great, the energy was high, lots of people danced, and all my German friends who had never done swing dance before (did that whole American swing craze 10 or 15 years ago not reach Europe?) were completely taken by it, going so far as to swear they were going to drop everything else and start swing lessons.
The whole thing was free, with an honor system for dropping some money in a bowl if you took a beer, and most people brought along something to add to the huge dish-to-pass buffet. At one point I was standing by the buffet table, in this strange industrial space with tools hanging off the walls, eating a muffin and gazing out the window at the lights of the city, and found myself thinking, This is why Berlin is so cool.
Monday, October 31, 2011
It's Halloween!
As I write this, little costumed German children are trick-or-treating in my neighborhood! It's not even dark yet outside! Germany cracks me up!
Once again, I managed to forget that trick-or-treating has caught on here in recent years, and was pleasantly startled to walk outside and stumble across little lions and witches and such.
In general, I have mixed thoughts about Halloween getting so big in Germany (Halloween is GREAT, but it's also yet another American export to the world, and threatens to eclipse Germany's own lovely children's holidays, like St. Martin's Day in November).
But right now, I'm an American who misses fall colors, and front porches decked out in Halloween decorations, and the excitement of getting dressed up and going out into the neighborhood at night with your friends.
Let the trick-or-treating commence!
(Unfortunately, the fact that I always forget about Halloween here means I don't have any candy or anything, so I'm currently hiding out in the living room with the front hall light off, hoping nobody rings the bell! I can hear excited shrieking and yelling in the stairwell though. Does anybody else think it would be sad to trick-or-treat in a city, with its big, anonymous apartment buildings, where you can't even tell who's home and who's not?)
Once again, I managed to forget that trick-or-treating has caught on here in recent years, and was pleasantly startled to walk outside and stumble across little lions and witches and such.
In general, I have mixed thoughts about Halloween getting so big in Germany (Halloween is GREAT, but it's also yet another American export to the world, and threatens to eclipse Germany's own lovely children's holidays, like St. Martin's Day in November).
But right now, I'm an American who misses fall colors, and front porches decked out in Halloween decorations, and the excitement of getting dressed up and going out into the neighborhood at night with your friends.
Let the trick-or-treating commence!
(Unfortunately, the fact that I always forget about Halloween here means I don't have any candy or anything, so I'm currently hiding out in the living room with the front hall light off, hoping nobody rings the bell! I can hear excited shrieking and yelling in the stairwell though. Does anybody else think it would be sad to trick-or-treat in a city, with its big, anonymous apartment buildings, where you can't even tell who's home and who's not?)
Sunday, October 30, 2011
And Once Again in Pictures: Scotland
At long, long last, my pictures from Scotland. Click on the picture to go to the album!
PART ONE, in which our intrepid heroine hikes the West Highland Way with two German friends, meets wild goats, braves Scottish breakfasts and dinners and comes out no worse for the wear, tries and fails to keep pace with the way Scottish people drink, wanders the moor in the rain, sees many many rainbows, takes boats, explores the wilds of the Isle of Skye, joins forces with nice Americans, finally gets bored of sheep, and delights in Scottish place names:
PART TWO, in which our heroine discovers the windswept Isle of Lewis, is excited about Gaelic-speaking regions, Rents a Car and Survives Driving on the Left, is further stunned by rainbows, learns that standing stones are in fact awesome, meets more fun fellow travelers, falls in love with a 19th century castle, falls in love with Edinburgh, and ultimately falls in love with Scotland:
PART ONE, in which our intrepid heroine hikes the West Highland Way with two German friends, meets wild goats, braves Scottish breakfasts and dinners and comes out no worse for the wear, tries and fails to keep pace with the way Scottish people drink, wanders the moor in the rain, sees many many rainbows, takes boats, explores the wilds of the Isle of Skye, joins forces with nice Americans, finally gets bored of sheep, and delights in Scottish place names:
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| Scotland I: The West Highland Way and Isle of Skye |
PART TWO, in which our heroine discovers the windswept Isle of Lewis, is excited about Gaelic-speaking regions, Rents a Car and Survives Driving on the Left, is further stunned by rainbows, learns that standing stones are in fact awesome, meets more fun fellow travelers, falls in love with a 19th century castle, falls in love with Edinburgh, and ultimately falls in love with Scotland:
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| Scotland II: Isle of Lewis and Return to Edinburgh |
The Saga of Not Being from New York City
For these five+ years I've lived abroad, I've sighed whenever anyone asks, "So, where in the U.S. are you from?" and resigned myself to the misunderstanding to come.
"I'm from New York State," I say. "The state, not the city. Far from the city, actually. No, further than that. Not just a suburb. About 400 kilometers away." [Watch Europeans' eyes bug out at this concept of distance.]
(New York City in bottom right corner. Ithaca in lower middle.)
Occasionally, people have heard of one or two other upstate cities (Rochester, Buffalo), so then that's okay. Even more occasionally, they've even heard of Ithaca, usually in the context of Cornell University. But mostly they think I'm from a suburb of NYC.
Sometimes I've half-seriously contemplated just lying and saying I'm from Ohio (where I went to college, and do have close friends and emotional ties), for the complications it would save me. But for better or worse, I'm not a good liar.
I'm not sure why it took me until just a week or two ago to hit on the solution: Simply say, "I'm from a small city called Ithaca."
Germans don't care about states. The states here are political constructs slapped on top of far longer-standing regional identities. There is no sense of state pride, and identity is tied to region (Swabia, the Rhineland, Bavaria...) not to federal state.
I tried out my new solution recently ("I'm from a small city called Ithaca") but for some reason my sense of honesty still compels me to tack "...in New York State" onto the end. Oh well, I'll keep practicing. Maybe I could say, "I'm from a small city called Ithaca, in the northeast"? (Most people only want to know in any case whether it's east coast or west coast.)
"I'm from New York State," I say. "The state, not the city. Far from the city, actually. No, further than that. Not just a suburb. About 400 kilometers away." [Watch Europeans' eyes bug out at this concept of distance.]
(New York City in bottom right corner. Ithaca in lower middle.)Occasionally, people have heard of one or two other upstate cities (Rochester, Buffalo), so then that's okay. Even more occasionally, they've even heard of Ithaca, usually in the context of Cornell University. But mostly they think I'm from a suburb of NYC.
Sometimes I've half-seriously contemplated just lying and saying I'm from Ohio (where I went to college, and do have close friends and emotional ties), for the complications it would save me. But for better or worse, I'm not a good liar.
I'm not sure why it took me until just a week or two ago to hit on the solution: Simply say, "I'm from a small city called Ithaca."
Germans don't care about states. The states here are political constructs slapped on top of far longer-standing regional identities. There is no sense of state pride, and identity is tied to region (Swabia, the Rhineland, Bavaria...) not to federal state.
I tried out my new solution recently ("I'm from a small city called Ithaca") but for some reason my sense of honesty still compels me to tack "...in New York State" onto the end. Oh well, I'll keep practicing. Maybe I could say, "I'm from a small city called Ithaca, in the northeast"? (Most people only want to know in any case whether it's east coast or west coast.)
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Marriage-Like Unions
Then there's this, which actually brought a bit of a tear of happiness to my eye:
I was looking up youth hostels on the Baltic Sea, because I'm planning to take a weekend up there soon, and found myself on the page that explains membership for the German branch of Hostelling International.
It lists various membership rates, including this bit concerning the family rate (my translation):
"In the case of married couples and common-law unions (including same-sex unions), only one partner pays (if at the same address). Partner and underage children receive their own membership cards for free."
(The German word for what I'm terming "common-law" translates literally as "marriage-like" – and this is a very normal thing in Germany, where many long-term, child-rearing couples never marry at all.)
I feel like I complain a lot about Germany lately (and there are certainly things to complain about) but things like this – the legal normalcy of same-sex partnerships – make me happy to be here.
I was looking up youth hostels on the Baltic Sea, because I'm planning to take a weekend up there soon, and found myself on the page that explains membership for the German branch of Hostelling International.
It lists various membership rates, including this bit concerning the family rate (my translation):
"In the case of married couples and common-law unions (including same-sex unions), only one partner pays (if at the same address). Partner and underage children receive their own membership cards for free."
(The German word for what I'm terming "common-law" translates literally as "marriage-like" – and this is a very normal thing in Germany, where many long-term, child-rearing couples never marry at all.)
I feel like I complain a lot about Germany lately (and there are certainly things to complain about) but things like this – the legal normalcy of same-sex partnerships – make me happy to be here.
Worst Name for a Pizza Place Ever
There is a pizza place in a neighborhood near me called "Pizza Pimps." Every single time I go by there, I think: What a terrible name for a food-selling establishment.
Then, just recently I was walking past the place with a couple German friends and said to them too what a terrible name it is – and they looked at me blankly and asked why.
That's when it finally, finally occurred to me that Germans only know the word "pimp" in the more recent verb sense, meaning "to make something fancier than it already is." You know, like "pimp my ride."
So I explained that the word is actually in far more common usage in its noun form: meaning a man who controls and sells the services of prostitutes, "Zuhälter" in German.
My friends were suitably shocked, and agreed this is a terrible name for a pizza place.
Then, just recently I was walking past the place with a couple German friends and said to them too what a terrible name it is – and they looked at me blankly and asked why.
That's when it finally, finally occurred to me that Germans only know the word "pimp" in the more recent verb sense, meaning "to make something fancier than it already is." You know, like "pimp my ride."
So I explained that the word is actually in far more common usage in its noun form: meaning a man who controls and sells the services of prostitutes, "Zuhälter" in German.
My friends were suitably shocked, and agreed this is a terrible name for a pizza place.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Happy New Year (in Advance)
Hee hee. Germans are so obsessed with wishing one another a happy new year (I think I've written about this before, how everyone here has this elephant's memory for keeping track of who they've given new year's wishes to already and who they haven't yet, even if weeks have passed since January 1) that my dentist just wished me a happy new year after an appointment TODAY, since I most likely won't see her again until sometime in the new year.
I promise, Scotland pictures and a bit more about what I've been up to since are coming soon...
I promise, Scotland pictures and a bit more about what I've been up to since are coming soon...
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Scotland in Maps
This is a screenshot of my map:
Click here for the actual, interactive map.
Can anyone tell me how to get Google Maps to show the whole map as the image if I embed it here, and not some random, irrelevant map snippet it seems to choose on a complete whim?
Click here for the actual, interactive map.
Can anyone tell me how to get Google Maps to show the whole map as the image if I embed it here, and not some random, irrelevant map snippet it seems to choose on a complete whim?
Friday, October 7, 2011
Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes
Back in Berlin; seen on my way home just now:
Two 20-something German women, giggling as they sang the English song "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" (complete with gestures) while waiting to cross the street.
Two 20-something German women, giggling as they sang the English song "Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes" (complete with gestures) while waiting to cross the street.
Thursday, September 29, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Scotland Trip: Favorite Quotes
As those who've known me long enough in real life know, for about 15 years now (!) I've kept a running log of funny quotes from friends and things overheard, known (mostly just to me) as the Archives. I'm not necessarily recording these "for" anything – I just like capturing those moments and being able to revisit them later. On this trip, though, someone saw me scribbling things down, and assumed it was material for a blog post. Which made me think, huh.
So maybe I'll start adding Archives to my travel blogging or maybe I won't, but in any case here are some favorite quotes from the Scotland trip:
* Scott (one of the guys from Aberdeen we met on the West Highland Way) asks us, "Didn't you see the two people sleeping? [along the hiking path] We think they were German." Everyone wants to know what he's basing that on and he says it's "Because they woke up and said 'Achtung!'" We all laugh at the idea that all Germans wake up in the morning and the first thing they say is "Achtung!" Then Kat and Maike say to me, What, you've been living in Germany for five years and you still don't do that?
* Scott tells us about someone in Qatar asking him where he was from; he said Scotland, but that didn't register at all, then U.K., but that didn't register, so he tried, "You know England?" "Yeah, yeah." "It's north of there." "Oh... [long pause] You wear skirt?"
* Walking out on the coast by Ness, at the northernmost tip of the Isle of Lewis, we see a gloomy-looking old water tower with a sign reading, "for sale by auction." Tim says he'd like to buy it, just so he could be an evil overlord and have that as his fortress. I laugh at the idea of being the evil overlord of...the Isle of Lewis. Tim agrees, "Mwa ha ha, I will take ALL the peat!"
* Also, Tim talks about hearing some guys speaking in Gaelic, and then suddenly out popped, in English, the phrase, "the Donald Trump of the Outer Hebrides," followed by the conversation continuing in Gaelic. He says he really wished he could have understood more of that conversation!
So maybe I'll start adding Archives to my travel blogging or maybe I won't, but in any case here are some favorite quotes from the Scotland trip:
* Scott (one of the guys from Aberdeen we met on the West Highland Way) asks us, "Didn't you see the two people sleeping? [along the hiking path] We think they were German." Everyone wants to know what he's basing that on and he says it's "Because they woke up and said 'Achtung!'" We all laugh at the idea that all Germans wake up in the morning and the first thing they say is "Achtung!" Then Kat and Maike say to me, What, you've been living in Germany for five years and you still don't do that?
* Scott tells us about someone in Qatar asking him where he was from; he said Scotland, but that didn't register at all, then U.K., but that didn't register, so he tried, "You know England?" "Yeah, yeah." "It's north of there." "Oh... [long pause] You wear skirt?"
* Walking out on the coast by Ness, at the northernmost tip of the Isle of Lewis, we see a gloomy-looking old water tower with a sign reading, "for sale by auction." Tim says he'd like to buy it, just so he could be an evil overlord and have that as his fortress. I laugh at the idea of being the evil overlord of...the Isle of Lewis. Tim agrees, "Mwa ha ha, I will take ALL the peat!"
* Also, Tim talks about hearing some guys speaking in Gaelic, and then suddenly out popped, in English, the phrase, "the Donald Trump of the Outer Hebrides," followed by the conversation continuing in Gaelic. He says he really wished he could have understood more of that conversation!
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Edin-burra
I had such a fabulous time in Edinburgh (correct pronunciation: see title) and I'm not sure I can even explain why. I guess it was just the right mix of great people and interesting places, plus it doesn't hurt that nearly every building, it seems, looks like a castle.
After two weeks of darting around the Highlands and the islands, I spent most of a week simply hanging out in Edinburgh, working some of the time and exploring the rest. My friend Elena let me stay at her place the whole time and gave me a key so I could wander in and out as I pleased.
The first couple days were spent mostly working from my laptop at cafés around the city. Chief among these was the Spoon Café Bistro, which actually turned out to be a lovely place in its own right, but first crossed my radar because it is...the site of the former café where J. K. Rowling wrote some of the first Harry Potter book.
Yes, that's right, I specifically sought out the café where J. K. Rowling wrote. And made a point of going there, and writing there. It was a terribly fangirl moment. And I'm mostly not ashamed.
Spoon Café Bistro, my office for the week:
The great thing about the café is that there's no advertisement of the Harry Potter connection, aside from a small plaque outside, and no one really seems to bother about it. (Unlike another café in town which claims to be the "birthplace of Harry Potter," and has that title splashed all over the place.)
I also enjoyed another café, Artisan, which sported this sign:
Edinburgh turns out to be a literary city all around (not just in the realm of young adult fantasy novels) and completely by accident, one entire day of my explorations was literature themed.
There were the Burns monument, the Sir Walter Scott monument and the Writers' Museum (dedicated to native sons Robert Louis Stevenson, Sir Walter Scott and Robert Burns). The new parliament building with a copy of a 13th century (!) parliamentary document in it, the National Library with an exhibit on censorship through the years and the Central Library with an entire floor dedicated just to Edinburgh, Scotland, and the Gaelic and Scots languages. The antique map shop (they thought California was an island for 120 years or so!) and the antique children's book shop.
And I learned that Sir Walter Scott thought playing chess was a "waste of time," because it was time that could be spent learning a new language. Love!
What can I say, any city that builds its greatest, most ornate monument to a novelist is okay my book. The Sir Walter Scott monument:
Then there was the Royal Oak, a little bar with a musicians sitting around drinking a pint and exchanging tunes. And the City Café, which essentially looked like a diner, but with very British food (beans on toast, mushrooms on toast...) And the bar at the super posh Balmoral Hotel, where I tried not to laugh as the obsequious doorman even pulled out my chair for me, even though I was there in the only outfit at my disposal: jeans and hiking boots.
And of course there was Indian food, because you have to go for Indian food when you're in the U.K. And the really good bra shop because, well, ditto.
And oh, did I mention that everything in the city is grand and historical and looks like a castle? I'm not even usually the type for going gaga over castles (you do get over castles, once you've lived in Europe for a while) but, wow.
But as always, most of all I enjoyed the people I met.
There were Elena and her friend Elias, both from Greece, who took me to the Royal Oak, and as we were listening to the Scottish musicians, a random Canadian and his Spanish friend started chatting with us, and then a very drunk Scottish guy wandered over and started speaking to Elena in GREEK, and as all our jaws dropped at this improbable development, Elias turned to me and said, "See? I told you the strangest things happen at this bar."
I met up again with Tim, world-traveler I crossed paths with on the Isle of Lewis, who joined me for an Indian buffet lunch, and with Alan, who I've determined is either a friend of a friend or a friend of a friend of a friend, depending how you define it, but in any case took me and another visiting American on what seemed like a tour of all the kinds of places you could possibly go drinking in Edinburgh, including in his kitchen with his strange but entertaining flatmates.
And on my last day, I came across a band busking on the street: three young guys on drums, electric bass and...bagpipes. And it was awesome.
Gratuitous picture of Edinburgh Castle (the actual castle, not all the things that just look like one) at night:
After two weeks of darting around the Highlands and the islands, I spent most of a week simply hanging out in Edinburgh, working some of the time and exploring the rest. My friend Elena let me stay at her place the whole time and gave me a key so I could wander in and out as I pleased.
The first couple days were spent mostly working from my laptop at cafés around the city. Chief among these was the Spoon Café Bistro, which actually turned out to be a lovely place in its own right, but first crossed my radar because it is...the site of the former café where J. K. Rowling wrote some of the first Harry Potter book.
Yes, that's right, I specifically sought out the café where J. K. Rowling wrote. And made a point of going there, and writing there. It was a terribly fangirl moment. And I'm mostly not ashamed.
Spoon Café Bistro, my office for the week:
The great thing about the café is that there's no advertisement of the Harry Potter connection, aside from a small plaque outside, and no one really seems to bother about it. (Unlike another café in town which claims to be the "birthplace of Harry Potter," and has that title splashed all over the place.)
I also enjoyed another café, Artisan, which sported this sign:
Edinburgh turns out to be a literary city all around (not just in the realm of young adult fantasy novels) and completely by accident, one entire day of my explorations was literature themed.
There were the Burns monument, the Sir Walter Scott monument and the Writers' Museum (dedicated to native sons Robert Louis Stevenson, Sir Walter Scott and Robert Burns). The new parliament building with a copy of a 13th century (!) parliamentary document in it, the National Library with an exhibit on censorship through the years and the Central Library with an entire floor dedicated just to Edinburgh, Scotland, and the Gaelic and Scots languages. The antique map shop (they thought California was an island for 120 years or so!) and the antique children's book shop.
And I learned that Sir Walter Scott thought playing chess was a "waste of time," because it was time that could be spent learning a new language. Love!
What can I say, any city that builds its greatest, most ornate monument to a novelist is okay my book. The Sir Walter Scott monument:
Then there was the Royal Oak, a little bar with a musicians sitting around drinking a pint and exchanging tunes. And the City Café, which essentially looked like a diner, but with very British food (beans on toast, mushrooms on toast...) And the bar at the super posh Balmoral Hotel, where I tried not to laugh as the obsequious doorman even pulled out my chair for me, even though I was there in the only outfit at my disposal: jeans and hiking boots.
And of course there was Indian food, because you have to go for Indian food when you're in the U.K. And the really good bra shop because, well, ditto.
And oh, did I mention that everything in the city is grand and historical and looks like a castle? I'm not even usually the type for going gaga over castles (you do get over castles, once you've lived in Europe for a while) but, wow.
But as always, most of all I enjoyed the people I met.
There were Elena and her friend Elias, both from Greece, who took me to the Royal Oak, and as we were listening to the Scottish musicians, a random Canadian and his Spanish friend started chatting with us, and then a very drunk Scottish guy wandered over and started speaking to Elena in GREEK, and as all our jaws dropped at this improbable development, Elias turned to me and said, "See? I told you the strangest things happen at this bar."
I met up again with Tim, world-traveler I crossed paths with on the Isle of Lewis, who joined me for an Indian buffet lunch, and with Alan, who I've determined is either a friend of a friend or a friend of a friend of a friend, depending how you define it, but in any case took me and another visiting American on what seemed like a tour of all the kinds of places you could possibly go drinking in Edinburgh, including in his kitchen with his strange but entertaining flatmates.
And on my last day, I came across a band busking on the street: three young guys on drums, electric bass and...bagpipes. And it was awesome.
Gratuitous picture of Edinburgh Castle (the actual castle, not all the things that just look like one) at night:
Thursday, September 22, 2011
Updates from the Isles III
The next morning a lovely English couple, Andrew and Pippa, gave me a ride from the Uig hostel over to the ferry pier, which is inconveniently located on the other side of the bay and, as usual on Skye, none of the bus and ferry schedules coordinated with one another.
Destination: the Isle of Lewis, one of the Outer Hebrides, an arc of far-flung and low-populated islands further off the coast than Skye, which belongs to the Inner Hebrides. Where a significant portion of the population still speaks Gaelic!
The "Isle" of Lewis is actually only half of an island - the other half is Harris, which is likewise known as the Isle of Harris. Even life-long residents couldn't explain this to me, so I'm content to allow it to remain a mystery.
Lewis is all dramatic, windswept coast and moorland dotted with lochs. As an added bonus, it possesses standing stones! Real, true, very exciting standing stones!
Another momentous thing happened on Lewis: I rented a car.
I rented a car, something I'd never done before. I rented a car in Europe, where I'm anxious about driving, since I have next to no experience doing it here - pretty much the only time I drive is during the couple weeks each year I'm back in the US. And I rented a car in Britain, where you may remember that they drive on the WRONG SIDE.
I didn't really want to do it. But, for one thing, the Outer Hebrides are deeply Protestant and everything shuts down on Sundays - even the buses. I arrived on a Saturday and had to leave on a Monday. And for another thing, the anxious-about-driving, oh-no-I-couldn't-possibly-rent-a-car-I'm-fine-sticking-with-buses-honest-I-am thing was reaching epic, avoidance-tactic proportions, and I decided it was time to do it and break through the mental block.
So I rented a car on Lewis and I survived!
The first day of driving around alone and seeing the sights (standing stones, ancient fort, restored traditional house complete with peat fire, jaw-dropping double rainbow, lots of expanses of moor and sky and pounding coast) was fine, but for the second day, I recruited travel buddies at my hostel: Rachael, cop-in-training from Newcastle, and Tim, round-the-world traveler and blogger from Montana. The sights are a lot more fun with friends!
Together, we drove up the the northernmost tip of the island, which looked like this:
This week I'm back in Edinburgh and loving it - but that's a post for another day.
Destination: the Isle of Lewis, one of the Outer Hebrides, an arc of far-flung and low-populated islands further off the coast than Skye, which belongs to the Inner Hebrides. Where a significant portion of the population still speaks Gaelic!
The "Isle" of Lewis is actually only half of an island - the other half is Harris, which is likewise known as the Isle of Harris. Even life-long residents couldn't explain this to me, so I'm content to allow it to remain a mystery.
Lewis is all dramatic, windswept coast and moorland dotted with lochs. As an added bonus, it possesses standing stones! Real, true, very exciting standing stones!
Another momentous thing happened on Lewis: I rented a car.
I rented a car, something I'd never done before. I rented a car in Europe, where I'm anxious about driving, since I have next to no experience doing it here - pretty much the only time I drive is during the couple weeks each year I'm back in the US. And I rented a car in Britain, where you may remember that they drive on the WRONG SIDE.
I didn't really want to do it. But, for one thing, the Outer Hebrides are deeply Protestant and everything shuts down on Sundays - even the buses. I arrived on a Saturday and had to leave on a Monday. And for another thing, the anxious-about-driving, oh-no-I-couldn't-possibly-rent-a-car-I'm-fine-sticking-with-buses-honest-I-am thing was reaching epic, avoidance-tactic proportions, and I decided it was time to do it and break through the mental block.
So I rented a car on Lewis and I survived!
The first day of driving around alone and seeing the sights (standing stones, ancient fort, restored traditional house complete with peat fire, jaw-dropping double rainbow, lots of expanses of moor and sky and pounding coast) was fine, but for the second day, I recruited travel buddies at my hostel: Rachael, cop-in-training from Newcastle, and Tim, round-the-world traveler and blogger from Montana. The sights are a lot more fun with friends!
Together, we drove up the the northernmost tip of the island, which looked like this:
This week I'm back in Edinburgh and loving it - but that's a post for another day.
Updates from the Isles II
My last day on the Isle of Skye I spent around Uig ("you-ig"), a small village around a bay, whose highlight was the Fairy Glen, where a walk of a mile or two down a tiny country lane led to a bizarre landscape:
of strange little conical hills:
and little groves of twisted, tangled trees:
I later saw the Fairy Glen described as "Tolkienesque," which seems fitting.
of strange little conical hills:
and little groves of twisted, tangled trees:
I later saw the Fairy Glen described as "Tolkienesque," which seems fitting.
Wednesday, September 21, 2011
Updates from the Isles I
I swear, Scotland has the most unpredictable weather I've ever seen. You know how a lot of places claim various versions of "If you don't like the weather, wait 15 minutes"? Well, in Scotland, it's actually true.
As we left Kinlochleven (Kat and Maike to head back down to Glasgow, I to points further north and west and insular), it was the first time we actually saw what the place looked like, as days of ceaseless, pounding rain finally gave way to sunshine.
I still had some sunlight in Fort William, but by the time my train headed out toward the coast, it was pouring down so hard, I just barely got a glimpse of the Glenfinnan Viaduct as we went over it. I packed away my sunglasses - only to step out in Mallaig, on the coast, to blinding sunlight. Dig the sunglasses back out again...
Storm clouds were rolling in, though, and the first fat drops of rain started falling as we boarded the ferry to the Isle of Skye.
(Clouds over the ferry terminal)
On Skye, as I hung around on a pebbly little beach waiting for the next bus, I kid you not, one half of the sky was a stormy gray and the other half was blue with puffy clouds. There was also a rainbow. But of course.
I think I've seen more rainbows in a couple weeks in Scotland than I usually see in a year, because it's so often rainy AND sunny simultaneously.
(Stunning full-arc double rainbow, seen later on in my trip)
On Skye, I did what I apparently do best: travel alone but not alone, because I can't seem to help but make new travel buddies everywhere. In this case it was Jenny and Kristine, two outgoing and funny Californians in my hostel dorm.
It's strange how sometimes encountering other Americans while traveling makes me want to run screaming (especially if they're the obnoxiously loud sort), but sometimes there's this undeniable immediate connection, even despite myself. I suppose there are some things about sharing a common culture from birth that just can't be substituted. Also, I miss the American sense of silliness. But that's a thought for some other post.
Jenny and Kristine had a rental car, while I had done more reading up about where to go, so we combined forces and spent the day exploring the north of the island, climbing up to the rocky pinnacle known as the Old Man of Storr, tracking down the basalt columns that are sort of a counterpart to the Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland, laughing ourselves silly over some supposedly prehistoric "standing stones" that turned out to be a couple of rocks by the side of the road, and just generally enjoying the wild, wonderful coastline of Skye.
(Intrepid Americans in front of Kilt Rock, some of the basalt columns)
There's more to say about Skye, as well as the next islands I visited (even further out west! even more isolated-ly island-y! even more people speak Gaelic!) but right now I've got to run. Stay tuned for part II...
As we left Kinlochleven (Kat and Maike to head back down to Glasgow, I to points further north and west and insular), it was the first time we actually saw what the place looked like, as days of ceaseless, pounding rain finally gave way to sunshine.
I still had some sunlight in Fort William, but by the time my train headed out toward the coast, it was pouring down so hard, I just barely got a glimpse of the Glenfinnan Viaduct as we went over it. I packed away my sunglasses - only to step out in Mallaig, on the coast, to blinding sunlight. Dig the sunglasses back out again...
Storm clouds were rolling in, though, and the first fat drops of rain started falling as we boarded the ferry to the Isle of Skye.
(Clouds over the ferry terminal)On Skye, as I hung around on a pebbly little beach waiting for the next bus, I kid you not, one half of the sky was a stormy gray and the other half was blue with puffy clouds. There was also a rainbow. But of course.
I think I've seen more rainbows in a couple weeks in Scotland than I usually see in a year, because it's so often rainy AND sunny simultaneously.
(Stunning full-arc double rainbow, seen later on in my trip)On Skye, I did what I apparently do best: travel alone but not alone, because I can't seem to help but make new travel buddies everywhere. In this case it was Jenny and Kristine, two outgoing and funny Californians in my hostel dorm.
It's strange how sometimes encountering other Americans while traveling makes me want to run screaming (especially if they're the obnoxiously loud sort), but sometimes there's this undeniable immediate connection, even despite myself. I suppose there are some things about sharing a common culture from birth that just can't be substituted. Also, I miss the American sense of silliness. But that's a thought for some other post.
Jenny and Kristine had a rental car, while I had done more reading up about where to go, so we combined forces and spent the day exploring the north of the island, climbing up to the rocky pinnacle known as the Old Man of Storr, tracking down the basalt columns that are sort of a counterpart to the Giant's Causeway in Northern Ireland, laughing ourselves silly over some supposedly prehistoric "standing stones" that turned out to be a couple of rocks by the side of the road, and just generally enjoying the wild, wonderful coastline of Skye.
(Intrepid Americans in front of Kilt Rock, some of the basalt columns)There's more to say about Skye, as well as the next islands I visited (even further out west! even more isolated-ly island-y! even more people speak Gaelic!) but right now I've got to run. Stay tuned for part II...
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
The West Highland Way
Day 1:
Drymen-Rowardennan, 14 or 15 miles
Through the countryside and up a row of rounded hills collectively known as Conich Hill, for the first view of Loch Lomond. Conich's peaks also align with a string of islands running through Loch Lomond, all along a tectonic fault line (which I didn't even know existed until now) that separates Scotland's Lowlands and Highlands.
It turns out 14 miles is just a couple miles over the limit of the amount of walking I can enjoy in one day, and by about mile 12 I was ready for it to be OVER. Almost didn't manage to drag myself out into the rain again for the half mile walk back from our hostel to the village's one pub.
Days of walking and evenings in the pub, this will become a theme.
A glimpse back at Loch Lomond:
Day 2:
Rowardennan-Inverarnan, 14 miles
Beautiful views of the beautiful loch (and it turns out "loch" can mean either a lake or a sea inlet, just in case you were wondering), mossy, gnarly fairytale forests, climbing over rocks and through little streams. A whole herd of wild (and pungent) goats.
Lunch outdoors in the sun overlooking the loch, dinner at the old and atmospheric Drover's Inn. Slept at a place that had "wigwams," which, though I have doubts about their authentic wigwam-ness, were still fun as little wooden cabins.
The goats:
Day 3:
Rest day, lazy breakfast at the Drover's Inn (can we fit THREE pub stops into one day, we wondered, breakfast, lunch and dinner? Yes, we can!) Skipped ahead by bus to Bridge of Orchy, where we stayed in a hostel with one of the coolest concepts ever: built into a tiny town's converted train station. On a still-in-operation tiny town train platform. Run by a real character who used to be CEO of a railway company and regaled me with stories of his journeys on trains and ocean liners and even the Concorde.
All along the way, we crossed and re-crossed paths with other hikers doing the same route at various paces. This night, we fell in with three Scottish guys from Aberdeen, and had a roaring night at the pub with them. Lesson learned: If you allow Scottish guys to buy you a round of whisky just once, they will not stop buying you rounds until the pub closes for the night and throws them out!
With the Scottish guys in Bridge of Orchy:
Day 4:
Bridge of Orchy - Kingshouse, 13 miles
Everyone else seems to be doing 21 or 22-mile days, and thinking nothing of it. Conclusion: 12 or 13 is my perfect amount, thanks!
The day's walk was through a stunning moor landscape, wild expanses of grass and stark, dark mountains, with not another person (or road) in sight. Rain, rain, rain and wind.
The King's House Hotel was the only accommodation for miles, but it was also the perfect place to arrive after a day of slogging through rain and puddles, soaked through to the skin. I had an adorable single room down a labyrinthine corridor, everything carpeted and old and just a bit worn down, but it a pleasant way.
That night, a middle-aged Dutch guy who has a folk band and a Scottish teenage girl who plays traditional fiddle were practicing together in the hotel bar; when I asked about borrowing the guitar for a few minutes when they weren't playing, the guy insisted I come join them, and we exchanged a few songs, trying to find things we could all sing.
Kat had been bugging the guy to play the Loch Lomond song (you take the high road, and I'll take the low road), which he insisted he "didn't know" and was "just for tourists." But just as we were going to leave for the night, it turned out another man - the fiddle player's father - actually knew the verses to the song, and the Dutch guy played and the girl fiddled and everyone left in the bar sang along on the choruses.
The moor:
Day 5:
Kingshouse - Kinlochleven, 9 miles
Up the "Devil's Staircase," which was in fact neither devilishly difficult nor an actual stair case (both of which I'd been expecting), just a steep switchback rise up to the highest point of the West Highland Way. So that was actually fun, but the rest of the day's walk wasn't - it was raining harder than ever, and the path resembled nothing so much as a flowing stream, to the point that I gave up even pretending to try not to step directly in the water.
Was tired and cranky by the time we arrived in Kinlochleven, an unlovely former industrial town that wasn't visible through the rain anyway... But that night I went to bed early and slept for 11 hours, and am pleased to say that simple fact turned my mood around 180 degrees!
Days 6-7:
Kinlochleven
That was the end of the West Highland Way for us; we stayed put for a couple days, while hiking comrades from earlier points on the path caught up and passed us. We didn't do much - the tail end of an Atlantic hurricane brought torrential rains that didn't let up for days - but Kat and Maike enjoyed the indoor climbing wall, and I spent a day happily doing a couple translations from the climbing hall cafe. In the evenings, we again hung out in pubs and met locals.
Last day:
Kat and Maike departed for a last night in Glasgow before they fly out; I'm heading further north and west. Currently in Fort William (the actual ending point of the West Highland Way) and who did I run into on the town's main street? Some of the Australian hiking group we'd met one of our first days on the path. Of course!
Got a train to catch, over the Glenfinnan Viaduct (aka the "Harry Potter bridge") and out to the Isle of Skye. You'll hear from me anon!
Friday, September 9, 2011
If It's September It Must Be Scotland
And suddenly it's September, and Scotland.
Oh gosh, let's back up.
As I've mentioned, my almost constant travel in the last months has been a deliberate choice, an experiment in how much it's possible to work and travel, seeing more of the world while staying more or less available for translation assignments. I think I can now conclude that having only four weeks between fairly major trips is a wee bit nuts... two months between trips might be more realistic! Heh. My nomadic, netbook-toting life.
First came:
I. The Interregnum
...which in my case I'm defining as "the period between the rule of two different journeys." It was a wonderful four weeks in Berlin, full of friends and concerts and events and conversations, but it was also pretty crazy to be barely finished unpacking and photo-sorting and blog-posting about the last trip before leaving for the next. The "next" is actually made up of two parts, first of which was...
II. Barcelona
...in which my friends Nadia and Gerard got married! It was a beautiful wedding, very international (guests were American, Spanish, Serbian, German, Palestinian and probably various other things I'm forgetting), very quirky (decorations crafted out of recycled things) and very fitting to the personalities of two funny, curious, off-beat people who make a very good pair.
I also got to see Jose, a former apartment mate who moved back to Barcelona from Berlin and now has a great job, despite the odds against that for a young person in Spain right now.
Plus, there was a bit of time to explore the city, even work half a day from a nice cafe, and just enjoy one last hurrah of true summer before fall descends. Swimming in the Mediterranean - or anywhere, really - isn't something I was expecting to get to do again this year, so I was grateful.
And one little bonus fact: Spain, including Barcelona, is the very first place I traveled in Europe, the first place I went abroad aside from Canada and the first time I traveled without my parents (it was a chorus trip), so obviously it made a big impression. This was the first time I'd been back, despite living in pretty close proximity for five years.
I have only the vaguest of memories of that trip 13 years ago (staying up late and walking along wide boulevards... singing a Spanish mass outside the Sagrada Familia...) but there was still something both comforting and exciting about coming full circle, adding a grown-up, here-mostly-to-visit-friends experience of the city to that time as a wide-eyed and desperately excited first-time traveler.
Did I say wide-eyed and desperately excited? I think I still am. And this is no less evident in...
III. Scotland!
At the point Nadia told me she was thinking about getting married in September, I was already committed to this hiking tour in Scotland with a couple of German friends. (What can I say...Germans plan far in advance.) I was lucky that the two events didn't quite overlap, but the timing was close enough that it made sense to fly straight to Scotland from Spain. (And let me tell you, setting off for a hot weather wedding and a rainy weather hiking tour at one go is an interesting exercise in packing!)
I flew into Edinburgh late at night, and was lucky to be able to stay with another old friend - Elena, a Greek friend I also know from that first year in Germany, who now has a teaching position at the University of Edinburgh. Hadn't seen her in about four years!
The next morning, I headed straight out for Glasgow (I'll be back in Edinburgh at the end of the trip), had a few hours there to check out the city (I swear, nearly every building in Scotland is a castle, or at least looks like one!) and meet yet another friend, Honor from Canada, for an abbreviated walking tour of the university area and a game of Scrabble in a cool cafe.
In the evening, I took a bus up to Drymen (pronounced "drimmen," go figure), starting point for our walking tour, and found my travel partners - predictable in any Scottish village - at the pub. They're Kat (friend of a friend from Berlin and walking tour planner extraordinaire) and Maike (a friend of Kat's). Maike is a German who lives in America, while I'm an American who lives in Germany, not to mention that Kat is German but studied in Aberdeen and is soon moving to Cambridge...which makes it all rather complicated when people innocently ask where we're from.
We're walking the West Highland Way, Scotland's most famous and frequented long-distance path, but only sections of it.
So far, we've spent two days mostly along gorgeous Loch Lomond. Today is a bus hop ahead and a rest day. Tomorrow, we start the next leg, toward Kinlochleven and Glencoe.
It rains most of the time, but somehow it doesn't really matter when you're decked out in rain gear anyway, and a misting rain actually makes for more comfortable walking weather. The mountains are gorgeous, the pubs are quaint, and I've even tried vegetarian haggis, which doesn't seem like it should be possible. My feet hurt, but other than that I'm very happy.
You'll hear more from me along the way...but not until the next place I have internet access. And there will be pictures, if I can ever find anywhere with wifi. (I'm writing this from a hotel's ancient desktop computer, which froze up in panic when I tried to connect my camera to it.)
You take the high road and I'll take the low road, and we'll meet again on the bonny banks.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Germany Anniversary
Happy Germany Anniversary to me!
Precisely five years ago today, I arrived in Germany, wide-eyed and eager to explore (still am), but expecting to be here for only a year. Ha ha ha, that joke's on me!
That was then:
(While staying with my friend Lisa's family the very first days, before I even had a place of my own to live. Yup, the same Lisa who was my Iceland travel buddy just a few weeks ago.)
Fittingly, the first destination for my next trip (which starts, er, tomorrow already?) is to the wedding of a friend I guess I've known for, let's see, five years minus maybe three or four days – since we met on the first day of orientation, the first week of that Fulbright grant year. After the Fulbright, I moved to Berlin, she moved to Barcelona, and now she's getting married!
More about the upcoming trip anon.
Precisely five years ago today, I arrived in Germany, wide-eyed and eager to explore (still am), but expecting to be here for only a year. Ha ha ha, that joke's on me!
That was then:
(While staying with my friend Lisa's family the very first days, before I even had a place of my own to live. Yup, the same Lisa who was my Iceland travel buddy just a few weeks ago.)
Fittingly, the first destination for my next trip (which starts, er, tomorrow already?) is to the wedding of a friend I guess I've known for, let's see, five years minus maybe three or four days – since we met on the first day of orientation, the first week of that Fulbright grant year. After the Fulbright, I moved to Berlin, she moved to Barcelona, and now she's getting married!
More about the upcoming trip anon.
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