Hot, heiße, hot, heiße...

Last week, I got to be in the concrete jungle of NYC when the temperature nearly touched the 100 degree mark (err, for the rest of the world, that's 38). So I was pretty ecstatic when I made it back to Berlin and found myself greeted by 80 (27!) degree weather. But a couple of days later, that all changed. We are now in the day four of sticky, record breaking heat. Tell me, is it possible to melt to death?

Now forgive me for getting a little feisty here but I'm finding myself more than a little annoyed about the limited cooling options available to me. First, let me preface this by saying I am not a huge fan of air conditioning. I can go quite a while before having to turn it on and when I do, I'll set it to a comfortable 80 degrees. And I understand that in general, the ole' AC is not too widespread in Europe. Overall, I very much dig that because let's not forget that the environmental effects are crazy bad. (Here's a little reminder).

So don't get me wrong, I did not expect that either of my summer flats in Berlin would have a little AC unit stashed in my bedroom window, as one would expect in most American apartments, to utilize only four days of the summer. HOWEVER (!!!), I did expect a little rotating fan to be a regular fixture in one's flat...you know, something sitting in the corner next to the infrequently used but equally important toilet plunger. Americans, if you don't have AC, count the number of fans in your home! Yet, neither of our flats have had even one! (Although quite frankly, my roomie and I would probably be at one another's throats if we had to share a fan).

Throughout the years, I have come to learn a lot about differences in American and European cultures. I adore the fact that overall, Europeans are much more environmentally conscientious and energy saving. But this, THIS is beyond my comprehension! Are you really telling me, Germany, that it never gets hot in the summer? How do you people sleep? Well let me tell you about my little secret for sleeping these days; Benadryl. Yep, not only does it make for a remarkable sleeping aid but it's also helping to manage what appears to be a lovely heat rash which comes back every day with a vengeance.

Hot, sticky, and itchy. Let me repeat: awesome.

But can I tell you how glad I am that I wasn't one of these poor souls? Talk about my worst fears coming to life!

I am also quite glad that I haven't had any class or appointments lately because folks, I haven't been out of the house since Saturday night. I had stepped out for a bit Saturday afternoon to do some shopping (foolishly assuming that the grocery stores and drugstores or at least the U-Bahns might offer some cooling relief, ha! ) and I pretty much wanted to die when I repeatedly discovered that everywhere I went, I was only greeted by more blasting temperatures.

So for the past 36 hours, my strategy has been to move as little as possible. I mostly just go to the kitchen to refuel with cold water and then to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my arms and legs to cool down. (This is my alternative to taking showers every six minutes). What a way to spend your free days in Berlin. But let me repeat...100 degrees, sticky, and no breeze. WWJD??

Well, a friend did tell me that the big shopping retailers are piping in the AC so I might wander around there a bit. Or I might spend another 24 hours inside. I mean, Roomie and I had also talked about getting ice cream last night but then we, err, sat down instead and couldn't seem to get up for the rest of the night. Maybe there's an ice cream delivery service?

Okay, time to make more ice.

Your melty correspondent,
Rachael

And Then the Whole Country Went into Mourning...

I was back in Berlin a whole 36 hours when I was thrust into the World Cup semi-finals. To make matters worse (because sleep deprivation's not enough), the match was between Spain and Germany. Up until now, my loyalty has always remained with Spain (in the plains, ha ha...). I mean, I lived there and it was in Madrid that I attended my first real deal fútbol game.

But I'm in the motherland now and I felt like I'd be committing a class A sin if I didn't root for Deutschland. Plus, I was going to watch the game with German friends in their German home. There could be no uncertainties. Well, unless I didn't care to be thrown out with my six pack of Radeberger.

Oh, kidding. Besides, my gut really was there with Germany although when Spain scored, I had to smile a teeny bit, picturing my entire host family back in Madrid crowded around their TV, screaming for their team. And when time ran out, I couldn't help but be a little thankful for Germany's loss. Thankful, that is, for quiet streets after three nights in a row of crap sleep coupled with my usual crippling case of jet lag.

But oh, was it sad to see those heartbroken fans wander the streets! So downcast yet still proudly wearing their flags, their red, yellow, and black leis and pretty much anything else in the tricolor family you can possibly imagine. In my opinion, the German fans were surprisingly non-fanatical and quite upbeat (although breaking bottles of beer seemed to be cathartic for many), considering all the hope they had wrapped up into this game. But tomorrow is another day, or wait...that's today, isn't it?

Stupid jet lag.

Anyway, my condolences, Deutschland but at least for the next round, I'll be guilt free. Go España!

See You Soon

The Nightway is going on a bit of a hiatus. We all need vacays, no? Berlin, see you in a few weeks. This girl is heading home for a bit sans laptop. (Gasp!) Which home would that be, you ask? Well, one home being her friends in NYC and another being the fam back in Wisconsin. And the third home? Next time, Milwaukee, I promise.

Time for some peace and tranquility under the country stars, a lots of laughter with old friends and a bunch of playtime with a certain adorable niece. I shall melt, contemplating those warm fuzzy thoughts once I actually pack and can think. Speaking of...

Bis bald.

Reflection

I think some of us keep journals and write blogs not only for the sake of recording our thoughts but also to reflect on where we've come and where we are going. I've also realized that reading past entries like this one can be a good reality check. It's so easy to get wrapped up in the stress of our daily lives and forget about the goodness that is present, even if it's tucked away in the back of our minds or at the bottom of our hearts. Likewise, when we are chronically worrying about work or money, it's easy to lose sight of what real tragedy is. Although I've had many rough patches in my thirty some years, I've had an overall pretty lucky existence. Of course, we are all quickly jolted into a sense of clarity when tragedy strikes others. Sometimes, perspective slapping you hard in the face is exactly what you need. And for me, along with perspective comes reminders to myself...

I am grateful that despite my current life stressors, I am safe, healthy, loved and loving of others. I am grateful that due to the kindness bestowed upon me, I know how to return it to others. I am grateful that despite having to say goodbye to wonderful people in my life, I've had the chance to know them in the first place, if even just a little bit. And I am grateful to know that true inner peace does exist even if so many of us are currently having a hard time finding it.

Peace, tranquility, acceptance...these are all things I'm constantly searching for but seem to continually lose sight of due to my incessant focus on stressful things. But lately, I've been hearing my mom's voice in my head a lot. During hard times, she always says, "This, too, shall pass." And for this gentle reminder, I think many of us are grateful.

Well, Isn't This Handy?

Again, I'm not some lunatic fan but the excitement over here's been pretty fun.

http://www.marca.com/deporte/futbol/mundial/sudafrica-2010/calendario.html

The Ausländerbehörde- Take Two!

Funny how I used to not be able to pronounce this word. Now after saying it approximately 382 times (usually with some time of foul adjective preceding it), I've got it down pat. So here's the deal. The Ausländerbehörde is the immigration office in Berlin. It's located in the middle of an industrial wasteland in the Wedding district. I was there a couple of months ago with a friend to find out which paperwork I needed if I secured a job with a company versus working as a freelancer. Not a fun experience but not horrible either. It was mostly just a whole lot of waiting only to have a stack of papers thrown at us.

Since then, I have been offered a job. (Yah!) I will be working as a Native English speaking teacher in a bilingual kindergarten. Although I have a work contract, I do not yet have a work visa. In order to obtain this, the government must agree with my new employer that this is a position a German cannot fill. (Seems obvious but you know, hoops). With contract in hand, I went back to the Ausländerbehörde to secure this part of the deal.

Oh, and once again, I brought a German speaker with me. Actually, this time I brought a German with me. One of my best friends here, she so kindly took time from her very hectic schedule to trek to Wedding with me to do all the talking. And thank Christ.

My friend asked the woman at the front desk where we needed to go and she said, "Down to the end of this hall."

At the end of the hall was nothing but closed doors so we decided to investigate what seemed to be the general waiting area further up. We found two lines going to two doors, one marked "A-K" and the other "L-Z". My friend knocked on the door of "L-Z" while cautiously walking in. Although we saw no one, a voice from the other side of a divide yelled that this side was closed and that we needed to go to the "A-K" line. Okayyyy.

So we waited in that line for a good twenty minutes or so. A worker even allowed some Australian lady to butt in ahead of us because she had supposedly been waiting for such a long time already. By the time we got to the window, the worker took one look at my passport and said, "Wrong line." Then commenced a heated, three minute conversation between this worker and my friend which soon involved an additional worker. They informed us that there was no way they could possibly help me, my name beginning with "N" and all.

"Please go to the other line," they said firmly.

My friend, seething: "This...is...ridiculous."

So back to the other line. Although I was prepared to ultimately be given a number and wait a good three hours for someone to simply collect my paperwork, I thought it best to make sure all my papers were in order right away. I had left a few gaps due to some random questions for my friend. How do you say "for employment and studying purposes" in German?

I quickly scrawled in the appropriate responses and made a stack of every possible document they might want. Visa application? Check. Work contract? Check. College diplomas? Sure, why not? Ahh, passport photo! Don't forget! However, as we were standing there chatting with other people, I learned that during the visa process, most people come in with their paperwork and hand it all in along with their passport. All of this gets sent to the "Job Center" in Bonn where they make the final decision. Then, if all goes well, your passport gets sent back to you in a few weeks with a handy little visa stuck right inside of it.

As I was told this by my fellow immigrant acquaintance, I began to panic.

"Umm, but I'm going back to the U.S. next week. I can't surrender my passport! I thought I could get this all done today!" I'm sure my eyes were buggy.

My friend who happens to not only be a mother of a toddler but also a psychotherapist was the absolute best individual to have on hand.

"It's okay," she said soothingly. "We will figure it all out."

Finally, we made it in and I'm not sure but I think the woman behind the glass was the same person who threw these forms at me two months ago. So I threw all the forms back at her (very politely of course) along with my passport as my friend began to explain.

"Work contract...passport...Wisconsin..." were things I could understand.

Contrary to what I had feared, this woman did not scowl or scream about what a stupid non-German speaking American I was. She paged through the papers, politely engaged in a brief discussion with my friend, and then gave us a number.

In minutes, we were walking out the door. Without my passport. Gulp!

"Okay, so she's going to take down some information from your passport and then for twenty euros, you can have a little form to give your employer to let them know that the visa is in process. We just have to wait a little."

Our number was 777. They were on 776. I couldn't believe it. Fifteen minutes later, we were called. The woman gave us something that reminded me of my meal card from college and instructed us to go to the Kassenautomaten to pay for the temporary visa thing. As to where this thing was, the woman pointed upward.

So up a flight of stairs through more masses of confused looking people. Some friendly soul in the same boat directed us to the money sucking machine which was located in a far corner of a vacant room. My friend deposited the card, I handed over twenty euros and out spat a receipt. Back through the maze of people, back down the stairs, and over to the side door where the woman had said we could find her.

Knock, knock. A few seconds later, she appeared. We handed her the receipt and she gave me the very official looking Fiktionbescheinigung. When we asked what would happen next, the woman jotted down my email address on a random piece of paper and said that she would email me when the visa came in, probably in three to six weeks.

"So then I just pick it up?" I asked my friend, skeptically as we walked away.

"Yes, that's it!" she said, smiling.

I looked at my watch. We had met at the S-Bahn at 9:30. It was now 11:00.

"Lunch??" I asked.

Later, as we dove into cake and frothy milch kaffees, my friend congratulated me. "You have a job! Here in Germany! That's not an easy thing to do!"

Throughout all of the stress of going to foreign offices and trying to fill out strange forms, I sort had forgotten that part. Yes, I really had achieved something and compared to many people, very quickly.

"You're right and I should be grateful," I said.

"Not grateful. You worked hard to make this happen," she said.

I stopped for a second, chewing on that thought.

"You're right, I really did."

1-1

Let's get this straight. I pretty much hate sports no matter what package they come in. I remember those Sunday afternoons when my entire family would be huddled around the TV, screaming at the Packers while I would yawn, trying to rouse myself from my post-brunch coma to commence my English lit homework. Give me MacBeth over Favre any day. And a baseball game? Well, okay but only if it's a perfect summer day and you promise to hand me a beer and a hot dog at some point. Basketball? Just shoot me. Hockey? A little more my style but with all of that glass, I sort of feel disengaged, like I'm at the zoo. And soccer? Well, after scoring great seats at a Real Madrid game a few years ago, I have to admit that the pace and the action of it all was more my style. I actually found it a little fun.

Regardless, I'm not the type to get excited about the "big game." However, some friends here in Berlin could not understand how I wasn't getting even a teeny bit hyped up about the Americans playing the English in the World Cup. I hadn't at all considered sitting down and watching the game until last night when my roomie suggested going to the Lido with some friends (exactly one English lad included) to see it on some giant screen. Since it was 6:00pm on a Saturday night and I had no other plans in mind, I responded ever so nonchalantly, "Sure, why not? Could be fun."

People, I barely have any fingernails today.

I don't know what happened to me but I became engrossed. In a sporting event? Really? Yes, 'fraid so. I suddenly wanted to scream at those stupid people who kept getting up and blocking my view. I had visions of my Uncle Mike back home who now says in regards to Packer games, "Can't watch 'em. My ticker just can't take it anymore."

And even though the place was filled with a pretty good divide of American and English spectators, I got the distinct feeling that the Germans in the room bonding with the English over their distaste toward the Americans. Or was that just my own paranoia? And no, I didn't feel the need for my country to dominate (sheesh..if I have to defend myself and my country as a non-bully one more time...). I just didn't want to fade away with them in this sea of EU-ness.

But I guess we didn't fade away after all, did we? The English bloke and I even shook hands. Truce.

And now tonight, things will really get heated. The German flags have appeared. Although I'm sure it will be a fun time, I've decided to stay safely tucked in my apartment and go to bed early, that is if the requisite screaming and yelling in the very near future will allow me to.