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:
 |
| BINZ! |
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:
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:
 |
| 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:
 |
| 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.)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)