First Day of Class

Am fried. Not so much because I couldn't handle the half hour straight of "Guten Morgen's" versus "Guten Tag's" but because:

a) I'm really not used to sitting in class anymore, especially one that starts at 8:30 am and doesn't end until my stomach is screaming at 12:45pm.

b) I am also not used to half a day of class followed by half a day of any kind of work. Today, it was taking care of a baby who wanted no one but his mom. He most definitely did not want me. The wails and subsequent stream of boogers made that pretty clear. Poor guy.

So I guess it was the eight hours of heavy concentration that have led to these weary eyes. Eight hours of trying to understand everything the Frau in front of class was saying plus trying to think of every possible trick I could pull out of my sleeve to make a seven-month-old stop crying. Hence, details on Deutsch class shall have to wait. It is now 8:30 pm and now that my tummy is full, I might just fall asleep sitting up.

Every Volcanic Cloud Has a Silver Lining

Let's be honest, my Spanish pretty much stinks. I mean, considering the amount of time I spent in Spain (although to be fair, I spent most of my time with other English speaking foreigners), I feel like I should be further along than I am. Don't get me wrong, I can get by. I can communicate my questions, find myself to la aeropuerto or whatever but don't expect me to discuss why the United States doesn't have decent health care around a lively dinner table. I, apparently, am a slow learner when it comes to languages.

So for the past few weeks, I've been trying to make myself sponge-like, picking up a few German words here and there. Yet, for all I know, when my German friends speak in their native tongue, they could be having a whole conversation about what a dolt I am. I have no clue. Being surrounded by a language that renders one helpless (and oftentimes, hopeless), it's hard not to want to sometimes shut down completely, especially when your mind is somewhere else, like how to secure a (*@&%! Anmeldebestätigung.

So the other day, I was a bit caught off guard when a couple approached me near Museum Island, asking me in English, where the Pergamonmuseum was. (Incidentally, as a person who is not a huge fan of museums, this one is kind of awesome.) Not clear on my own location, I stammered out where I thought it might be. As I watched them stare at my mouth and listened to them slowly repeat back what I was saying, I couldn't help but notice the Spanish accent. I also realized that English was not their strong suit. As Spanish is for me, English was just better for them than attempting any German. So I switched.

"Vamos a ver....creo que necesitan cruzar el puente y entonces..." and I was off. I was screwing up my verb tenses. I was using the informal "tu" instead of "usted" but I could tell from their faces that I wasn't offending. They were just thrilled that I was making their lives at all easier. And I realized just how much this mattered when they explained that they were stuck in Berlin longer than planned, due to the ole' volcanic ash problem. (Talk about a phrase I never thought I'd use in my life, "the volcanic ash problem.")

I also realized how good it felt to communicate in a foreign language, to actually be able to use basic vocabulary and articulate my point. I suddenly did not feel horribly embarrassed about my elementary Spanish.

"Well then," I said, "Espero que te gusta Berlin!" For a brief second, I shamed myself for the grammatical errors in that sentence but as they smiled and waved goodbye, I knew it really didn't matter. I also was reminded that it's not impossible for me to learn another language at this stage in the game. (Sometimes, I convince myself that my brain is simply not open to such new information). Granted, it has taken me years to be able to hand out some basic directions in Spanish but I guess there is some hope for me in learning a bit of German. I mean, I do stare at the pink post-its every day. And I just learned how to say, "That's a shitload of butter" when my roomie and I were baking yesterday. Useful phrases, no?

Day by day, phrase by phrase, curse word by curse word, I might even be able to give some German tourist directions to the museum someday. Now that's being hopeful.

The Ole' Anmeldebestätigung (One of Many German Words I Cannot Say)

I am seconds away from cracking open a beer to celebrate one small step forward. Folks, American bureaucracy is bad. I ain't gonna lie. Anyone remember this little breakdown of mine last year due to the fine customer service I received from Dell? Anyway, even though everyone warned me about the difficulties I'd face trying to arrange anything legally in Germany (I shudder to think about what happens if I do something illegally!), I had no idea I'd feel like I was back in high school Algebra, racking my brain, trying to understand what was going on around me.

Then again, at least in Algebra, there's a formula. You just need to figure it out to get your answer. But when it comes to bureaucratic bullshit, such a neat, tidy formula does not exist. It simply depends on which particular office you visit, who you talk to, the time of day, and apparently the location of the sun and the alignment of the stars.

I have a long road ahead of me if I want to stay here in Berlin so I've been more than happy to get cracking on the initial steps. Before visas or residency permits, I discovered that first and foremost, I needed to first get my heinie to the local Einwohnermeldeamt and register my residency so the police know where to go looking if this American decides to cause some mayhem. Okee dokee. I'm all set up now with a friend and can do this, kein problem, right? Well, I'm not even going to go into the specifics of the first visit which got me nowhere (and I even had a friend with me as interpreter!) but suffice it to say, I was not sure how to move forward. They wanted paperwork that I simply did not have, paperwork that caused many others to say, "What? I've never been asked for that!"

Sigh.

Then I started asking around and reading chat forums on the matter and quickly found out that due to the vast array of experiences at these offices, there were approximately 638 different pieces of advice on how I should proceed.

Last night, as I verbalized my gigantic "to do" list to my roomie, I suddenly got very angry. I wasn't moving forward with anything. And as awesome as my friends have been, I've been relying on them to serve as my own personal interpreter which is not only kinda crappy for them but also a bit tricky when folks tend to hold full-time jobs. So I suddenly made up my mind.

"Screw it," I said and slammed down my whiskey. (Okay, so maybe it was actually a sage tea with a bit of lemon). "Since everyone says it just depends on who I get, I'll go just go into the office by myself tomorrow and see if something different happens."

Long story short since the full story will be described at length in my tell-all book about life as an ex-pat in Germany (heh heh), I got my Anmeldebestätigung. In other words, some intimidating woman who did a lot of sighing and glaring while I shrunk down in my chair finally humored me and stamped a form for me that basically states, "Rachael lives here."

Finally, one teeny piece of success! After a whole lot of stomach aches, I managed to feel a temporary sense of relief. I practically ran home. I swear, I am prouder of obtaining this stupid form than my college diplomas. Finally, despite it being difficult and extremely uncomfortable, I accomplished something on my own here! I didn't understand 99% of what she said to me but I did manage to recognize a few key words which allowed me to thrust the appropriate form at her when she asked for it. But most importantly, I know to say, "Vielen Dank" and smile broadly when you are at the mercy of government workers. Someone once told me that my big blue eyes and smile would help me someday. At the time, this comment really ticked me off. But when it boils down to playing charades while trying to get one simple task accomplished, I guess I'll be working these eyes and smile the best I can.

Oh, Milwaukee!

I know it's disgustingly egocentric of me but when I first came to Berlin, I must admit that I half-expected most Germans to know about the heavy concentration of German descendants in Wisconsin, especially Milwaukee. After the requisite questions about what I was doing in Berlin and where I had come from, I would wait for that spark of recognition, that special moment of camaraderie when my German acquaintance would exclaim, "Ahh, Wisconsin! Why, of course! We are practically blood!" and then s/he would embrace me, a symbol of solidarity (after, of course, we downed a liter of beer together).

Instead, I often get a polite stare in return.

Okay, okay so I no longer expect everyone in the world to know that Wisconsin is a microcosm of Germany, another land of cheese, beer, and brats. However, it's now become some sort of personal objective of mine to educate all Germans regarding this fact. Hence, I am always very excited to stumble upon any proof of the matter.

Well, the ole' Shepherd Express comes to the rescue once again! Of course, the headline immediately caught my eye: Milwaukee's Schwabenhof Keeps German Heritage. (Germans in Wisconsin! Germans in Wisconsin! You can practically hear my sing songy-ness, can't you?) I especially enjoyed the bit about the Friday fish fry, an apparently popular German Catholic tradition, although those of us born and raised in the north woods will take lake perch over cod any day.

Anyway, I am always pleased to hear about German descendants embracing their culture and I am ever so happy to pass it on. Maybe it makes me feel like less of a nut, trying desperately (as cheesy as it sounds) to get in touch with my roots? Then again, reading this article has reminded me that I have much more to to do in order to touch those roots. I mean, I've never had a potato pancake in my life. I can hear you gasp now but rest assured. This can be easily solved. I think.

Err, who's taking me out?

A Fluorescent Pink Wonderland

My poor roomie's been cooped inside our apartment, sick the past few days. Not only is she feeling crappy and mind numbingly bored, she's also unwittingly being held captive as my very own personal German dictionary. She cannot be happier! I know, I know but I can't help it. Why in the world would I waste my time walking to the other side of the room to look something up when she can spew out the correct word for me in 0.5 seconds? It's especially bad when I'm out and about by myself for a few hours, an illiterate loose on the streets. I'll come back and start hurling out phrases I've seen on signs or finally ask what lecker means since I seem to I see it on every other corner.

It doesn't hurt that she's a genuinely sweet, helpful person either. I had joked the other day that I needed to start putting post-it notes on every object in the apartment so I could learn the appropriate German word. (I did this when I was learning Spanish and I most definitely looked like I was experiencing a downward spiral into dementia but it did help). So the other day, she cheerfully came home with a pack of brightly colored post-it notes. Yesterday, amidst soup and tea, the poor girl's boredom apparently hit a new level and she so kindly began to label things in our kitchen on neon pink square shaped notes.

I was thrilled to find out that a toaster is der Toaster. I was also excited that a calendar is der Kalendar. I was not excited, however, to hear that the fridge is der Kühlschrank.

"Oh man, I'm never gonna remember that!" I whined. "How about a phrase to get into my head? How about 'Our fridge is empty?'"

"All right," she replied and scrawled down Unser Kühlschrank ist leer onto a post-it and slapped it onto the fridge.

For the next fifteen minutes or so, she labeled and slapped notes onto objects throughout the kitchen. I tried my best to actually pronounce every word. I think I did okay. I mean, I can say das Geschirr (the dishes) all right but her reaction to the word, die Küche (the kitchen), tells me that I have some work ahead of me.

But that's okay. I start my class next week. I'm excited about it even though I'm quite certain I'll come home crying the first day, citing that I AM CLEARLY NEVER GONNA LEARN THIS LANGUAGE at which point I will wonder out loud to no one in particular why all languages can't just use "the" instead of assigning private parts to all articles.

But I'm not going to get too far ahead of myself. Right now, I will enjoy the fact that Unser Kühlschrank ist leer, Unser Kühlschrank ist leer, Unser Kühlschrank ist leer. Wait...what? Oh, no! And it's Sunday (aka Anti-Shopping Day), too. Brunch anyone?

Misery Loves Company, I Guess

I was whining to an acquaintance about German bureaucracy and he sent this video clip my way. For some reason, I find it incredibly creepy. Maybe because I see that I could be headed toward complete lunacy soon enough, too?

Let's Settle This Once and For All

No, it is not loud here.

This is the very first question out of everyone's mouth when I tell them where I live. Every, single time.

In fact, I wouldn't even classify this area as kinda loud. Busy? Yes, in a steady stream-of-traffic-and-occasional-siren kind of way. However, I've been sleeping like a happy, little baby at night, no problem. I'm not yelling out my bedroom window to PLEASE KEEP IT DOWN OVER THERE nor am I praying that the dog next door will PLEASE STOP BARKING FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! My thoughts are not interrupted every six seconds due to a car alarm that no one is overly concerned about nor am I jolted by the piercing laughter of a pack of giddy, teenage girls on the street.

See, I just moved here from Brooklyn. I had most recently lived in a neighborhood that I loved in many ways but was not exactly known to be the symbol of tranquility. Really, it was more the symbol of ear splitting sound systems. I realize for Berlin, this part of Kreuzberg might be considered a a somewhat lively neighborhood and maybe come summer, I will be eating my words. However, compared to what I am used to, I feel like I'm in a monastery. A monastery that most definitely does not loop distorted bass lines at the most inopportune times.

So I'm not gonna complain. In fact, maybe I'll meditate instead. God knows I've got a few good hours before the next car horn interrupts my thoughts.

From Bread to Cookies

I didn't end up enjoying German theater or opera last night because well, it was all in German. Duh. Well, actually, I had hoped that the program would include more dance and perhaps some ex-pat, English speaking theater. There was one English theater company, F40 representin' but by the time I realized it, I was too late. Next year?

Today's been a lazy Sunday and although I planned on going out, I have yet to allow even one tiny toe a venture outside our flat. Staring at overcast, dreary skies, I decided instead to catch up on emails, my napping, and most importantly, my baking. However, with the shops perpetually closed on Sundays (DAH!), I was a bit limited in what I could whip up. But when I came across this recipe in my files, I decided I'd make it work. I'm not sure where it came from originally but I know I copied it down while babysitting for a family in Milwaukee eons ago. I found these little fiber packed guys quite tasty and a bit healthier than the tried and true oatmeal cookie recipe from the Quaker Oats container. Hence, my so very witty title:

Health(ier) Cookies

1/2 c. white sugar

3/4 c. brown sugar
(In Germany, they tend to use raw sugar instead of brown sugar. This works fine in most recipes, I've noticed. I used nearly a cup of brown sugar and eliminated the white sugar altogether and still, they were plenty sweet. Next time, I will hike up the amount of dried fruit and reduce the sugar further. Another idea would be to use a low sugar but flavored yogurt like vanilla.)

1 cup (8 oz) plain low fat yogurt

2 egg whites, lightly beaten

2 T. vegetable oil
(Olive oil, though not ideal, seemed to have worked okay.)

2 tsp. vanilla
(Okay, I went through this last fall. Back then, I had asked a dude in the grocery store for help with this. He said that they don't do vanilla extract here. Instead, he gave me this packet of what's essentially vanilla flavored sugar. We didn't have any of that in the house today but my roomie found almond extract which I used instead. Our kitchen now smells absolutely nut-tastic!)

1 tsp. baking soda
(So the baking soda issue in Germany is also confusing. Some say that baking soda doesn't exist here but the internet tells me otherwise. It's called Natron apparently but I have yet to find the stuff. I've been using Backpulver instead which is baking powder and I've been okay in my recipes thus far. I'm sure bakers everywhere are tsk tsk'ng me right now for being so nonchalant about the difference between the two but cut me a break...I'm just trying to make cookies in a foreign land!)

1 tsp. cinnamon

3 c. oats

1 c. raisins
(A half cup of some random chopped prunes along with a bit of shredded coconut, I have found, will work just fine).

Bake at 350 on an ungreased pan for 28-32 minutes. Ta da!

Cookies are done, roomie is happy, tummies are satiated, and now it's time to finally get my arse outside for a walk. It's not dark yet!

For a Whopping 15 Euros?!?

I'm not hatin' on NYC because I do love that city. However, each time someone has asked me why I love Berlin so much, one of the first things I cite is the amazing art scene. In contrast to NYC, music, theater, and the visual arts are very much accessible (read: affordable) to a low earner like me.

Take this, for example, the Lange Nacht der Opern und Theater (the Long Night of Opera and Theater). For only fifteen euros, one can tool around town for six hours, popping into theaters here and there to enjoy a litany of 30 minute performances. Not a bad way to spend one's Saturday night. Anyone in with me?

Speaking of Burgers

Is this really a surprise? Ugh.

So Much for the Commitment to Vegetarianism

Okay, I sort of knew that this was bound to happen. Just like eating in Spain where every "garden" salad is topped with oil soaked tuna, I am finding it a bit difficult to avoid eating animals in Germany. They're everywhere!

Thin layers of salami are tucked into what initially appear to be simple cheese sandwiches. Hearty soups tend to get their heartiness from some sort of meat chunks. And then there's my very simple problem of enjoying a good tenderloin or chicken breast every now and then. I am not proud to admit this. As an animal lover and a green freak, turning 100% vegetarian is undoubtedly one of the best things I could do for the planet as well as for all animal-kind. And although my vegetarianism ways have typically been at the 90% mark, this past week alone must have tipped the scales back a good 30 points. Clearly, I am experiencing some problems with those little things we call convictions.

People tell me that if I want to get serious about being a card carrying Veg Head, I should watch horrifying documentaries such as Food, Inc.. But I simply can't bring myself to do it. Not yet. Last year, I reread one of my favorite books from my high school literature class, The Jungle and I must admit that after finishing it, I went quite some time without eating any meat products. But honestly, I don't need to read any more books or watch any more movies. Unless I know that the chicken or cow I am about to devour had a free ranging, hormone free life, I am not going to feel okay about it. And being aware of the ongoing devastation of our planet due to the pollution of livestock, I know that the very best thing for me to do is to become a vegan.

Yet for some unknown reason, I found myself laying in bed last night, googling "burgers in Berlin" and found this link. I remembered that an American friend told me about The Bird last fall. She said that they had the best burgers in town. On one hand, I was disgusted by the descriptions of their beef cuts. ("Flank steak is cut from the belly muscle." Belly muscle? Ugh.) On the other hand, the thought of diving into their Ghetto de Luxe alongside a plate of fries almost made my tummy rumble.

So what's a gal to do? Vegetarianism? Well, I can try. Veganism? For a girl from Wisconsin who just landed in the mother of all Dairy Lands, I'm not sure I can go that far. However, there is a platter of roasted veggies in the fridge calling my name. That, I can get behind. But can I avoid the seductiveness of The Bird forever? Maybe I can do without the big greasy burger. As long as I can have the cheesecake.

And That's a Whole Lot of People Not Getting Divorced Either!

I will admit it. I have idealistic romantic thoughts of someday finding my soul mate. After putting yet another bouquet of flowers in water, we'd gaze into one another's eyes over cappuccinos in a cozy bohemian, European apartment and live in general martial bliss. Now feel free to stop the hysterical laughter because I'm also not a complete idiot. I'm acquainted with enough married couples who barely even sit down for toast with one another, let alone laze around with frothy, caffeinated beverages to know that marriage is also darn hard work. In fact, it is such hard work that fewer and fewer people are willing to go that route at all. Take the Germans....they seem to be some of the most non-committal folks you'll ever meet.

I guess it's perfect timing for me to be embracing my single status.

Some Things Never Change

I just realized that yesterday marked my very first foreign Easter celebration. Easter has never been a huge deal to me. It falls way behind in the sentimentality of Thanksgiving or Christmas. However, I have to admit that I felt a bit blue upon waking yesterday, knowing that I was missing out on Easter egg hunts with my niece and God only knows, a big, fat dinner around my mom's table with the fam. But don't worry, I made the best of my situation here in Berlin.

First of all, I'm always excited to learn about the holiday traditions of other cultures. I was quite surprised to discover that the Easter holiday in Germany is really a weekend event. Starting, of course, on Good Friday, people celebrate into the following Monday. I am doing my best not to be annoyed by the fact that almost everything has been closed for the several days, especially when I see our toilet paper supply dwindling before my eyes.

I've also learned about the Easter fires which I think is a truly lovely tradition. Out with the old and in with the new! I am a bit ashamed to admit, though, that as the holiday draws to a close, I have yet to sit around a bonfire, eating wurst as many apparently tend to do.

However, I most certainly ate.

My German roomie and I decided to open our spacious apartment on Easter Sunday to all of our ex-pat friends who are far from home. Considering the financial status of each and every one of us, a potluck seemed like the most logical way to go about an Easter feast. Saturday night, our kitchen was a carb centric heaven as my roomie and her friend mixed, kneaded, and baked typical (and amazing!) German breads and cakes. I, meanwhile, sat on the sidelines with my mouth open, realizing that as much as I have baked, I have never made something as basic as bread in my life. Mental note: Before leaving Germany, learn to make some delicious, brown, seedy German bread...

The next day, I tried my best to mimic my German friends as we raised our mimosas and declared, "Frohe Ostern!" but I was quickly reminded that I have a longggggg road ahead of me when it comes to proper German pronunciation. ("Rachael, it's not Froh-hah," they gently told me with sympathetic eyes as I attempted this word for a full 30 seconds).

Soon enough, I had reverted back to "Happy Easter!" as I greeted the dozen or so guests who came to our door, bearing a ridiculous amount of food. In good German fashion, most people came with bread and at one point, our kitchen table was transformed into a gluten wonderland. Baguettes, cakes, banana bread, pretzels and so on and so on. And although each one of us complained about our engorged bellies, we couldn't seem to stop ourselves from the constant noshing.

And suddenly, I wasn't so homesick. A constant stream of food? Sweets galore? A pile of cheese, a good ole' potato salad and a whole lot of laughter? It was as if my mom and aunties had stepped right into my kitchen. Of course, those dear to you are never replaceable but it helps to remind yourself that you can open your heart to others, creating new memories and perhaps even new traditions. And as always, a comforting bit of warm bread on the side doesn't hurt either.

Celebrate April Fool's Day with a Beer!

Last fall when I was in Berlin, I thought it would be interesting to compare the beer culture of Germany and Milwaukee (aka Brew City). Check out the fruits of my "labor" in the latest edition of the Shepherd Express.

And lucky me, I'm now back in Berlin and ready to prepare for beer garden season. Happy Spring!