Decorating with the Great I am

This, I've noticed, is not the land of 'Do it Yourself.' Instead, it is the land of 'Let Me Give You the Number of Handyman X So He Can Do It While You Mindlessly Surf the Internet'. It's nice but it's taken some getting used to.

Wanna hang curtains? Frau Z will bring her "design team" to your flat to "Hmmm. Hmmm." in every room, frantically measuring while simultaneously suggesting "fantastic" ideas, paint colors, and fabrics that you must have(Dahling). As the hours turn into days of planning, you begin to wonder whether said curtains will outrank your entire apartment in price.

Wanna paint your walls? Herr Y can paint and buy all of the supplies for the low-low price of your first born child (auf Euros, bitte.) That is, as long as you don't mind that he leaves for 4 hours mid-paint to do God knows what without prior notice and expects payment in cash when he leaves 3 days later.

Need light fixtures installed? Herr Y and his eldest son will come with their tool belts and ladders ready to do your bidding. Seven light fixtures and five hours later they leave just after smashing their large metal ladder into your newly installed crystal-ish chandelier. "Oh," J says, "I never liked that damn thing anyway."

Wanna hang some pictures? Herr Y and his brother Herr Z will come to your house sometime between 7:59 and 8:00 am to critique your taste in art, discuss the basics of "art hanging symmetry," debate with said brother about whether brother's very bad taste has no place in this discussion, pester you until you take his advice about placement, measure, and your hang the art. This service is free, of course, the art hanging will only take 15 hours and cost you a pound of flesh.

So today, we're getting pictures hung, light fixtures installed, and curtain rods attached by Herr Y, and Frau Z has come by to make the final measurements on "THE MOST EXQUISITE CURTAINS EVER CRAFTED" (Dahling). In spite of their funny habits, they are very nice people and do very good work, even if I'm never quite sure of the terms of the deal.

There's this language gap, you see, particularly with Herr X. He speaks fluent Polish and German and I speak ein bisschen Deutsch, un petit pur French, and enough English to get by. So, let's just say that we have a bit of a challenge communicating.

Each time he comes to the flat, he rings up by saying "I Am..." The first few times I paused waiting for the "here" but it never came. I'm always tempted to finish the sentence or to suggest that he announce himself and then I remember our own language predictament and stop myself. Those who live in glass houses have no business throwing stones.

A few weeks ago, for example, John walked into his office visibly sweating when he ran into the HR manager. She asked how he was doing and in his desperate attempt to demonstrate his new German skills he said, "Ich bin heiss." But he was confused when she blushed, paused, and then said tentatively, "Yes." When he came home, he told me the story. I laughed because while he had literally said the right thing, in German it translates to mean, "I am hot for you." Ha. So much for office decor.

Remembering these and other blunders, I'll continue to overlook Herr X's misfires in English as he ignores mine in German. He just asked, "Excuse. You commin me show where die lamp go in sleep room." I replied slowly in German, "Yes, I with you commint." (Head shaking frequently, "Ja, ja, ja.")

This place is for the dogs

Literally. You can't go anywhere without seeing them. And I mean anywhere.

Stores, the U/S-Bahn (Berlin's upper and underground subway), most hotels, and even restaurants allow dogs. I'm not talking about just small dogs either. Not to discriminate, these establishments would even allow my big 65 pound girl if we chose to do so. Josie went with us to Hamburg three weeks ago and we stayed in a very nice hotel that offered dog meals on the room service menu. Last week, we were in restaurant and a woman brought in her Rodesian Ridgeback which was easily 75 pounds and no one batted an eye.

I would love to take my dog more places with us but she, how can I say this delicately?, doesn't play well with others.

Ok, Mom, before you email me about criticizing "Your Josie," let me be clear. My dog is the sweetest, most passive dog there is around humans. She is a great cuddler, a wonderful (and now very experienced traveler), a happy companion to our cat, and a quietly exurberant dog. She charms everyone she meets because she wants nothing more than to sleep (see exhibit A above), eat, and be loved by all man-kind but she draws the line at man. Not to be outshown, she prefers the two legged creature to her four-legged counterparts, notwithstanding fellow greyhounds.

I've always reasoned that she developed this fondnest on the race track where, for the four years of her life, her interaction was soley limited to humans and greyhounds. She will occasionally play with other dogs at a dog park but definitely prefers the company of humans to other dogs. The problem for her here is although there is a leash law, very few people keep their dogs on leash, (or pick up after there dogs, but that's for another post) and she can't stand dogs off leash. She starts rearing like a rodeo bronco and barking whenever an off-leash dog comes within 50 yards for her.

To be honest, I can't blame her. Seeing another dog off leash gives the leashed dog the disadvantage if provoked. It's just rude and my dog does not tolerate rudeness, thank. you. very. much. She's just sending the dog a warning not to mess with her and I appreciate that she barks rather than lunges. But to see the looks on the faces of some of these dog owners you would think we were raising Kudjo.

The first week we were here we were walking out with her and a neighbor walked in carrying her small black dog as we were walking out with Jos. "Der Schwartze Hund," (a black dog) she shuttered. "Blah, Blah, Blah, Blah." (something in German meaning I am afraid to death of your killer dog. Take her outside before she tries to eat my poor little Mimsy.) I tried to explain in my broken German that she was harmless but the woman wouldn't hear of it. Now everytime she sees us, she walks on the other side of the street, nervously glancing over her shoulder to make she we're not charging.

I wanted to say, "Get over yourself, lady. If your damn dog was on a leash, you'd save us both alot of heartache. Besides, my dog is smarter and prettier than you and your mangy mut put together. So there."

Turrible Tevas

I wore these shoes to walk to my German class today. I know, I know. They're awful. I kept catching glimpses of my feet--turned duck-billed platypus flippers--in the reflection of shop windows thinking to myself, "Why? Why?"

Well, the most obvious reason is that they are comfortable. I bought them in anticipation of a trip we were taking in May and although I've always thought the shoes were hideous I purchased them because they are supposedly some of the most supportive you can buy. I guessed I'd wear them during the trip and hide them in my closet when we returned. But when I never wore them, I started thinking about the waste of money and regretted the purchase. I thought, "I've got to wear them somewhere. Why not here?"

So, today, I figured if I have to walk 10 long blocks to class, I don't want blisters by the time I get back home, right? And why should I soak a nice pair of shoes if I got caught in a sudden rain storm? But there was something else. I wanted, in some small way, to conform to a Berlin trend: wearing whatever the hell you want without giving any thought to what Joe Public thinks.

By living here, I have in many ways dropped off the face of the earth. Chances are that the folks I walk by on the street will never see me again. I am anonymous and there is something very liberating about that. Very few people know me here so what better place than this to sacrifice style for substance. I'm basically free to do and be who I please without the fear of judgement or retribution. Well, at least without the retribution part.

Germans are, as a whole, known for being judgemental. It's a stereotypical thing to say but it's the truth. Thankfully, I live in the German city that is the least judgemental in the country, the city that prides itself on being open; and yet I feel judged daily. I feel like I have the word FOREIGNER stamped on my forehead because it seems everywhere I go I stand out. There are many reasons for this I am sure but I'm confident that one reason is that I dress like an American. Read: Khakis, flip-flops, polos, tank tops. You can spot us a mile away. In Europe, we are not an inconspicuous people and we admittedly cross-judge each other's taste in clothes. What we, as Americans find fashionably acceptable, Berliners do not, and vice versa.

On Saturday, in an effort to meet new people, I attended an international ex-pat book club for the first time. I had given some of thought to what I was going to wear. I wanted to look casual and look put together. I also wanted to look like a friendly person so I wore (you guessed it) khakis, flip-flops, and a three-quarter length sweater. But I shouldn't have bothered because I think I was the only one who had thought about it at all. I shouldn't have felt uncomfortable but I did. Right away, I felt out of place and uncertain about whether these girls would become my friends. We dressed so differently. Then on Sunday, we went to church and the moment we stepped inside I, once again, felt foreign. We were what we considered to be dressed down: Me in a black twinset sweater, button down shirt, black pants, and my (goody-goody) headband and J in a blue button down shirt and slacks. "Ooo-kay," he whispered as we entered the small auditorium, "glad I decided against that coat and tie." Yeah, we stuck out like sore thumbs. Just about everyone had on jeans and a casual shirt. Oh, well. We'll know better next time.

We're learning that Berlin is a very casual place. The less dressed you are, the more you fit in. No makeup on? Great. Forget to shave your legs and armpits all year? Perfect. Uninterested in looking like you live in the New Millennium? No problem. Not keen on wearing clothes at all? Even better.

So, that's what I was thinking when I walked out the door this morning. No one knows me here and no one will care because few people care about things like that here. You can be who you want to be. No pressure. I was simultaneously liberating myself from my conservative constructs and trying to connect with "the people," to blend in.

Well, folks, you'd think I was wearing clown shoes because if I thought I got jeers in my flip-flops it was nothing like today. I kept thinking, YOU want to judge ME for this and you don't give two nods to the mullet revolution taking hold? You're telling me that my, admittedly, hideous Tevas, are more offensive than the throngs of bra-less women blanketing the city? Would it help if I wore black socks with my sandals like you? Would ya approve of me then? Huh? Huh?

Sigh. I guess maybe I was wrong after all. Maybe even the Berliners have a Teva-shaped line drawn in the sand of fashion. Or maybe this is just another opportunity for me to let go about caring about what other people (strike strangers) think and I learn how to bend a little myself. We didn't move here to experience America culture in Germany. We moved here to experience, learn, and appreciate German culture.

Who knows? Maybe, I'll learn something from my current compatriots. Learn to be more flexible and open. Learn to be the person I want others to be--welcoming and less judgemental. I might make a friend I wouldn't have otherwise made or experience something I wouldn't have otherwise enjoyed. I must keep reminding myself that what is different isn't necessarily bad.

So, I guess I'll hold off on wearing these shoes and continue to wear what I would in the States until new inspiration strikes. After all, they are quite ugly--even without the fashionable black sport socks.

Peach is the new black

Have I told you that my entire apartment is painted a shade of peach?

Oh yes, my friend, peach.

Peach, that sublime color that evokes sweet memories of pureed baby food, freshly stewed squash, and the gunk you scoop out of a rotten pumpkin. A more putrid color has never existed.

So, it was with great delight that, upon entering our apartment for the first time since March last month, I realized every surface of this place was tainted in peach. The outside of our flat is flaming peach (Peaches on Fire would be the paint color); our living room is a subtle shade of peach (De Peche Mode); our kitchen is a relaxing peach (Peaches Ala Vicodin); our dining room is a warm peach (Peaches in Paradise); the base color in our bathrooms is peach with a paint technique to make the colors look even peachier in
3-D (Peaches on Herb). Even our bedroom is--you guessed it--PEACH!

Peach, the evil black sheep of the inbred Orange family.

Why, you ask, would anyone in their right mind make such horrendous decorating decisions? Because Peach is the national color of Germany. The color is literally sweeping the nation. Peach is, in fact, the new Black...at least according to die Deutsche Leute.
I thought it was only my landlord who had terrible taste until I went into a home improvement store last week and noticed that ALL of the fabric choices, the bathroom tile, AND an entire wall of paint chips were in a shade of peach. Likewise, when you go into a furniture department store you will be hard pressed to find a neutral colored sofa--that is unless you're in the market for a peach or an orange sofa. "Um, yes, I'm looking for a color that would go with everything. Something in an earth tone. Might you have something in the apricot family?"

Peach, the new neutral.

I am starting to fear for our ocular health. If we live one more day with this obnoxious color, I'm afraid our retinas with have a permanent peach colored hole burned in them. So, we've called in reinforcement--the painters. They will be spending the next three days feverishly ridding our world of salmon's mutinous twin.

Friday can't come soon enough.

Sun, Fabulous Sun

Finally, the sun shines its face on Berlin. I was wondering if I'd ever see it again. It's been too long, really.

For more than two plus weeks, the temp has hovered around 50 degrees. Not only has it been cold but also rainy, gray, and windy. The weird thing is you can't predict in the morning what the weather will be like in the afternoon. In fact, you can't predict from one moment to the next what it will be like.

There have been many mornings when we have woken up to a beautiful blue sky only to find two hours later that it had turned chilly and wet. We've already learned not to leave the house without an umbrella and a light sweater.

I wore a wool sweater on the Fourth of July. Come 'on now, Berlin. That's no way to treat us.

But these last three days have been gorgeous. Today, I walked back and forth to the gym and to German class and sweat through two shirts. I came home to take a shower and began sweating the moment I stepped out. It is sweltering here and it's great.

It is amazing how much the weather can change your outlook. After these last couple of days of blue sky, I'm absolutely giddy. Well, maybe, giddy is taking it a bit too far but I've been optimistic at least.

We indulged in all of those summer activities you fantasize about during the winter. Eating outside, walking in the neighborhood, arguing with Germans (wait, maybe I'm getting dreams and nightmares mixed up), enjoying the city, and did I mention eating?

We ate dinner Friday night at a restaurant with some of J's new friends and then walked around the neighborhood to get a feel for the area. We were mezmorized by the intersection of cafe eaters on one side of the street enjoying the good weather and the legal prostitutes on the other hoping to enjoy it as well.

Saturday morning, we had brunch at a cafe in between a lovely ivyed terrace and that night we ate at a little Thai restaurant in the city center. Then on Sunday, we met one of J's colleagues for brunch at a restaurant that faces a church courtyard. Mom's and dad's sat outside on the edge of the courtyard sipping coffee while their kids rode around on their bikes. It was a picture of the Berlin weekend I had imagined.

Good food, good company, good laughs, what more could you ask for? Maybe three more months of this fabulous summer weather?

Okay, now you're pushing it.

Where are we, again?

So, we're here. In Berlin. We made it. Five weeks down, many more to go.

After close to 30 days in Berlin without a television, phone, or the internet, we are reconnected with the real world. Well, almost.

We still have no television. ("I sorry, Herr B, but the machine is not kommt today. Maybe diese week.")

I can't figure out what the annoying German lady says on the phone when a message is left on our answering machine.

My cell number begins in a 4 and ends in a 7 but contains a "ginormous" (now an official word in Webster's Dictionary if you must know) string of numbers in between making me break out in a cold sweat whenever anyone asks me for it. "I, I. Hell, I don't know it. Let me call you and you'll get it that way."

Instead of annoying pop-ups in English, they're coming in German. I received a pop up from the University of Liverpool this afternoon. I asked for a brochure regarding their online MBA program. Do I want a MBA, you ask? Or even better, could I even pinpoint Liverpool on a map? No, but I was feeling particularly lost today.

Not lost like sobbing or homesick lost but that special sort of lost you can only feel when you move half-way across the globe with absolutely no idea what you will do with your life.

I keep asking myself, "Nikki, what do you want to do?" And then myself stares back and gives me a complicated answer in German...totally unhelpful. Doesn't she/I know I've only reached level I proficiency?

I mean, yes, I'm a wife and I'm very lucky to have married my best friend and this is an opportunity to focus on what we want in life. But I'm only 30 for heaven's sake. Is my life as a professional women over? Will I ever make any freaking friends? Will Josie and Ramsey stop following me around the house? ("Is it breakfast time? Is it dinner time? Time for a walk? Time for a scratch? Wait, you're leaving? Can we come with?")

Sigh.

But okay, if I'm honest with myself, this is what we've dreamed about for years. Moving to Europe to follow a dream. Having the opportunity to pop into London, Paris, or Madrid for a weekend (for as little as 60 Euros, btw). Meeting international friends and getting a real feel for that global nomad culture that has always been so compelling. The cheese. The bread. The pastry. Oh my.

We will be happy here. I know it. I will be happy here. I am confident that I will find something worthwhile to do here. In the meantime, I have to remind myself that everyone takes time to adjust and that with more friends and new experiences I'll figure this thing out.

As Mom loves to say:"to make a friend, you've got to be a friend." Or to paraphrase my friend Serrita: "Woman, stop second guessing people who want to get to know you and just be open to the experience."

So, this is me trying to be open to the experience. Trying to step outside of my comfort zone and my need to control everything to enjoy this wild ride like it should be enjoyed.

Hands up. Eyes closed. Nose wide-open.

"This is where Hip-Hop lives, man."

After riding Berlin's equivalent of the subway yesterday , J comes home flush with excitement. We're finally living in a place that truly appreciates music, he says.

"I was walking out of the subway station and as I was rounding the corner, I started hearing this music blasting. I thought, "Wait a minute. Is there a music store in here?" But as I continued walking, I realized, it wasn't a store but some dude listening to DMX on his radio. It's not the version you've heard though, it was the uncensored version. They don't play here, man. They're not down not with that mainstream, Erikah Badu, John Legend, stuff. They like their music raw, unedited, and for mature audiences only. This is where Hip-Hop lives, man."

No, I told him, this is where you live, man.

It really is such an interesting place. The music we call "Hip-Hop" and "R&B" is called "bleck music" here. It's not meant to be derogatory, though it's easy to perceive it as such. It's just the most direct category the Germans could give it. Music loved by black people (many others but I suppose that's besides the point.) Directness is an art here and we're getting schooled in its subtleties.

Already we have had so many "foreigner" moments....times when we so obviously have no idea what we're doing. There's the language barrier, of course, but that's a known quantity. What gets us are those little things that are part of a culture that no one ever tells you about. The simple things that go unnoticed to the initiated take the uninitiated a lot of time and energy. Plus, deep down I'm a bit afraid to ask for help. You never know whether you'll be smiled at or shut down. "Sprechen sie, Englisch?," I'll ask. "Nein," and a brisk turn of the head is many times the response.

I keep telling J that I want a shirt that says "I'm not a Tourist. I live here." These are some of the things we've learned the hard way since moving here:


Parking is complicated. Always assume that what you're doing is prohibited and be prepared for a ticket.

You weren't a perfect driver in the US so you certainly won't be one by German standards. Welcome the angry honks. Become one with the preceding rants.

Bring cash everywhere. No one wants to have to wash the restaurant's dishes after their meal.

You'll never learn the language if you don't speak it. Prepare to make lots of mistakes and be open to learning something new each time.

No matter how great the weather looks when you wake up in the morning rain, snow, sleet, or hail could occur. Never leave home without an umbrella.

Hot water comes standard in the kitchen. Light fixtures and curtains do not. We lived without running hot water in the kitchen for the first three weeks because we couldn't figure which way to turn the faucet to make it come out. Turns out we forgot to turn on the hot water heater. Ah, ha. But we still have dangling light bulbs and no curtains.

You can make a really comfortable life for yourself if you work at it. There is never a shortage of things to do here. Between entertainment activities and tasting all of the types of bread, cheese, and wursts, oh my, you can remain occupied for quite some time.

Still, some of us are working harder on making themselves at home than others. Maybe Ramsey can give me some pointers.....