Well, I'm headed back to Atlanta tomorrow for my girlfriend Sydney's wedding. If I'm honest with myself, I've had mixed feelings about the trip. Of course, I can't wait to see my parents and all of my friends. I'm anticipating doing alot of retail therapy and getting that rush when I step back into a mall. Eating at all of our favorite restaurants will be great as will just being comfortable in my skin again. How great to get the chance to be domestic again, instead of foreign.
On the other hand, three weeks away from J will not be fun. Sure, we've been apart longer but it is always so painful to be separated. Long distance phone calls about our days seem to fall a bit short and there will inevitably be things we leave out. I've tried to tell myself that the sooner I leave the sooner I'll be back in Berlin but it will be slow going and tough.
Another thought has also crept into to my mind. What if going back makes facing the next two years here more difficult? Just this past week, things have begun to feel a little bit less foreign. I know now that I have to take an Euro to the grocery store if I want to use a cart. My brain doesn't hurt quite as much when I'm translating food on restaurant menus and a couple of acquaintances have inched a bit closer to the "friend" category. So what if it's all a hoax? A cruel joke that my mind has been playing on me to get me through the last three months. What if I come back and have to start over again? The ex-pat blues have their way with me at last?
Well I won't know until I come back, will I? I guess we'll just have to see and hope for the best.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Sunday, September 9, 2007
No Golf for You!
We went to dinner with some friends of friends the other night. As is so often the case these days, we found ourselves across the table with yet another set of complete strangers whose only relation to us is that we have an acquaintance in common.
The husband is a high ranking employee of an international German company and he and his wife were in town to check on the house they are building on the Wannsee. You know the deal, it was an interview thinly disguised as a social engagement. You use your best table manners and wear your most conservative clothes and agreeable smile. You talk about work, travel, and hobby's. You do not overeat or drink more than one glass of wine and you do not talk about politics, religion or other sexually transmitted diseases.
We had just finished the work segment of the tryout and had comfortably moved into the hobby's portion of the exam. For the sake of convenience, we used the standard issues cheatsheet that states that golf is an appropriate topic to discuss. The conversation went something like this.
Them: "So, do either of you play golf?"
Us: "Yes, we do play poorly." (Insert J's standard issue story about the time he shattered the East Lake Country Club's gift shop window after he lobbed the ball 200 ft. on the eighth hole. Leave it to my man for being the first to ever hold that distinction.)
Them: "(A hearty) Ha, ha, ha. Well, we've just taken up the sport ourselves. In fact, my wife is taking classes now."
Us: "Really, how is it going?"
Them: "It's going well. She passed the test."
Us: "Oh good for you. What test did you passed?"
Wife: "The test to play golf."
Us: "The test to play golf, where?"
Wife: "The test to play golf in Germany."
Us: "What a second. You're telling us that there is a test you have to take to play golf recreationally?"
Them: "Yes, of course. You must take a test on proper etiquette, the game rules, and your handicap can be no higher than 54 on the day of exam. It is quite difficult, actually."
Us: "Yeah, it sounds like it. We had no idea. What happens if you fail?"
Them: "Well, you can't play golf in Germany, obviously."
Us: "Oh, of course. Obviously, we wouldn't want substandard players on the course." (Waiter, another round of drinks, please.)
Like J said later, only in freakin' Germany would they figure out a way to restrict people from participating in a recreational activity. Who do we look like, freakin' Tiger Woods? I mean is there no activity they haven't found a way to regulate. In this country, they actually make you carry around a card signifying that you passed an asinine golf test? "You failed test! No golf for you!"My Lord. Do you think for a second I'm going to carry my shiny butt to a German golf course after hearing that? Not bloddy likely.
Freakin' Germany...so freakin' typical.
The husband is a high ranking employee of an international German company and he and his wife were in town to check on the house they are building on the Wannsee. You know the deal, it was an interview thinly disguised as a social engagement. You use your best table manners and wear your most conservative clothes and agreeable smile. You talk about work, travel, and hobby's. You do not overeat or drink more than one glass of wine and you do not talk about politics, religion or other sexually transmitted diseases.
We had just finished the work segment of the tryout and had comfortably moved into the hobby's portion of the exam. For the sake of convenience, we used the standard issues cheatsheet that states that golf is an appropriate topic to discuss. The conversation went something like this.
Them: "So, do either of you play golf?"
Us: "Yes, we do play poorly." (Insert J's standard issue story about the time he shattered the East Lake Country Club's gift shop window after he lobbed the ball 200 ft. on the eighth hole. Leave it to my man for being the first to ever hold that distinction.)
Them: "(A hearty) Ha, ha, ha. Well, we've just taken up the sport ourselves. In fact, my wife is taking classes now."
Us: "Really, how is it going?"
Them: "It's going well. She passed the test."
Us: "Oh good for you. What test did you passed?"
Wife: "The test to play golf."
Us: "The test to play golf, where?"
Wife: "The test to play golf in Germany."
Us: "What a second. You're telling us that there is a test you have to take to play golf recreationally?"
Them: "Yes, of course. You must take a test on proper etiquette, the game rules, and your handicap can be no higher than 54 on the day of exam. It is quite difficult, actually."
Us: "Yeah, it sounds like it. We had no idea. What happens if you fail?"
Them: "Well, you can't play golf in Germany, obviously."
Us: "Oh, of course. Obviously, we wouldn't want substandard players on the course." (Waiter, another round of drinks, please.)
Like J said later, only in freakin' Germany would they figure out a way to restrict people from participating in a recreational activity. Who do we look like, freakin' Tiger Woods? I mean is there no activity they haven't found a way to regulate. In this country, they actually make you carry around a card signifying that you passed an asinine golf test? "You failed test! No golf for you!"My Lord. Do you think for a second I'm going to carry my shiny butt to a German golf course after hearing that? Not bloddy likely.
Freakin' Germany...so freakin' typical.
Friday, September 7, 2007
How do you spell relief?
C-a-r-e P-a-c-k-a-g-e! We could have lived without these small treasures but we'd prefer not to. They are just some little things that provide a bit of nostalgia, a bit of comfort, and a bit of home.
Thanks, Bennetts! Your timing was perfect.
Love, Two Homesick Americans
Thanks, Bennetts! Your timing was perfect.
Love, Two Homesick Americans
Wednesday, September 5, 2007
Black is not back
On the advice of my German teacher, I decided to stop into the local Turkish market for vegetables this afternoon. Germany has the largest population of Turkish residents in the world outside of Turkey itself, so Turkish groceries, mosques, and donors abound.
Why hadn't I thought of this earlier? I wondered. The market was great. A ton of variety, fresh produce and cheap! From the start, the grocery situation here has been a little depressing. Fruit flies thrive and it's hard to tell how long some of the meat has sat around, so it was a relief to find such a gem.
I was reveling in my great find when someone on the street yelled to the grocer standing on the corner, "Gehen nach Hause!" Huh? I breathed in a quick breath. That woman just told the shop owner to go back home to Turkey. How rude. How awful. I quickly grabbed my food and headed home.
The drive back got me to thinking about how we are perceived here and how similar the Turks (and other minorities) are treated in Germany as many African-Americans (and others) are treated in the States. In the comfort of your own country, you tend to think that yours are the only ones that matter. The only place where injustice and inequality exists. As ex-pats, we're learning alot about global perceptions--those we have and those that others have about us. In Switzerland, we were disturbed to see signs marketing their new immigrations policies which depicted three white sheep KICKING a black sheep over the Swiss border. It doesn't get anymore clear cut than that. Black is definitely not back.
With that said however, we've kind of let our guard down a bit. It's clear that we're not perceived like "those Africans" or "Turks" or "Middle Easterners." We're considered to be Americans first and colored second. In fact, right before hearing the hateful yell, the butcher asked me in rapid succession whether I was black (yes), whether my parents were black (yes), which one? (both), and then why my skin was so light (ahh, can't tell ya, sorry). Everywhere you live, it seems someone trying to put you in a category. Black (check), American (check).
So, we're learning about bit about the universal aspects of human behavior and our innate desire to implement class systems. The optimist in me hopes we can collectively get over all of this infighting and focus more on what unites rather than divides. But for now, we'll do our best to be as inconspicious as two black people can be in a very white country. Who knows? Maybe we'll learn something to change our own judgements and misperceptions in the meantime too.
Why hadn't I thought of this earlier? I wondered. The market was great. A ton of variety, fresh produce and cheap! From the start, the grocery situation here has been a little depressing. Fruit flies thrive and it's hard to tell how long some of the meat has sat around, so it was a relief to find such a gem.
I was reveling in my great find when someone on the street yelled to the grocer standing on the corner, "Gehen nach Hause!" Huh? I breathed in a quick breath. That woman just told the shop owner to go back home to Turkey. How rude. How awful. I quickly grabbed my food and headed home.
The drive back got me to thinking about how we are perceived here and how similar the Turks (and other minorities) are treated in Germany as many African-Americans (and others) are treated in the States. In the comfort of your own country, you tend to think that yours are the only ones that matter. The only place where injustice and inequality exists. As ex-pats, we're learning alot about global perceptions--those we have and those that others have about us. In Switzerland, we were disturbed to see signs marketing their new immigrations policies which depicted three white sheep KICKING a black sheep over the Swiss border. It doesn't get anymore clear cut than that. Black is definitely not back.
With that said however, we've kind of let our guard down a bit. It's clear that we're not perceived like "those Africans" or "Turks" or "Middle Easterners." We're considered to be Americans first and colored second. In fact, right before hearing the hateful yell, the butcher asked me in rapid succession whether I was black (yes), whether my parents were black (yes), which one? (both), and then why my skin was so light (ahh, can't tell ya, sorry). Everywhere you live, it seems someone trying to put you in a category. Black (check), American (check).
So, we're learning about bit about the universal aspects of human behavior and our innate desire to implement class systems. The optimist in me hopes we can collectively get over all of this infighting and focus more on what unites rather than divides. But for now, we'll do our best to be as inconspicious as two black people can be in a very white country. Who knows? Maybe we'll learn something to change our own judgements and misperceptions in the meantime too.
Monday, September 3, 2007
In der Schweiz
We just got back from a great trip to Lucerne, Switzerland. John visited Lucerne with his parents when he was 14 and never forget what a beautiful city it and was determined to go back there someday. The fact that it was a dream of mine to go and a secret promise made to himself to return, it was as if we were both seeing the city for the first time.
Our timing was perfect as it was the final weeks of Lucerne's international music festival. The first night (Thursday) we were there we went to see the Berlin Philharmonic under the direction of Simon Rattle. Neither one of us had been to the Symphony in a while so we didn't have very high expectations. It didn't help that we got a bit turned around walking to the concert and arrived 2 minutes after it was scheduled to start....only to find out our seats were in the very middle of the seating. (Ooops, pardon us. Um, sorry, oops, sigh.) But we were pleasantly surprised. When was the last time you were sitting in an orchestral concert and the conductor stopped to say "Does anyone know what the hell is happening here?" Ours did and it made the night very memorable. In fact, John thought that comment was so funny he had to stiffle back a laugh (after his first very one).
Friday we rented bikes and rode along the Lake to Kriens, the Beverly Hills of Lucerne. I huffed it up a few hills at John's very enthusiastic "Come on, Babe, you can do it!" and was rewarded with great views of beautiful house, clear blue water, and mountain ranges. It was hard not to fling open and my hands and belt out "The hills are alive..." Julie and I have never been so close. Bike rentals were relatively cheap and the ride afforded us both fatty Swiss dinners that night of Lamb (for me, fatty Kathy), Fish ( for Jack Sprat), and chocolate mousse. How do you spell heaven? S-W-I-S-S M-O-U-S-S-E.
On Saturday, we took a 2 hour ferry, and 30 minute railroad trip (steepest in Central Swiss) up to the highest point of Luzern--Mt. Pilatus. The trip was exhausting and unfortunately the view was disappointing. A balmy 6 degrees on the top of the mountain and you could barely see your hand in front of your face. You're SUPPOSED to be able to see all of Luzern, five lakes, and some of central Switz.....for us, not so much. To recover, we took a gondola half way down the mountain to ride Switzerland's longest Luge. It was alot of fun and satisfied the thrillseeker in us both. I have to admit it was tempting not to ram John from behind but I didn't want to get thrown out of another themepark for so-called "aggressive driving." Ha. Later that night, we went to a traditional Swiss restaurant with the locals for some more fat free food. Fish for John and creamy, delectable Beef Stroganof for me. Fat girl food, yes, but worth every artery clogging calorie. Man, if I had been born Swiss, I'd be dangerous.
Sunday, before catching our train back home, we walked in vein to continue John's never ending hunt for American food in Europe. It really frustrates him that Eurobreakfast consists of fruit, muesli, yogurt, cheese, bread, and deli meat. No matter how hard he tries he just can't seem to find American pancakes (not crepes) scrambled eggs and bacon. Oh well, I was happy anyway. The stranger and more varied the food, the happier I am. (Does anyone notice a theme, here?)
So, two big thumbs up for Luzern. This will definitely not be our last time in Switzerland. It's a little country but there's alot to see....and eat.
For more of Luzern than anyone other than my mother wants to see, follow this link to my Flickr site http://www.flickr.com/gp/9997610@N02/6GS2jF.
Our timing was perfect as it was the final weeks of Lucerne's international music festival. The first night (Thursday) we were there we went to see the Berlin Philharmonic under the direction of Simon Rattle. Neither one of us had been to the Symphony in a while so we didn't have very high expectations. It didn't help that we got a bit turned around walking to the concert and arrived 2 minutes after it was scheduled to start....only to find out our seats were in the very middle of the seating. (Ooops, pardon us. Um, sorry, oops, sigh.) But we were pleasantly surprised. When was the last time you were sitting in an orchestral concert and the conductor stopped to say "Does anyone know what the hell is happening here?" Ours did and it made the night very memorable. In fact, John thought that comment was so funny he had to stiffle back a laugh (after his first very one).
Friday we rented bikes and rode along the Lake to Kriens, the Beverly Hills of Lucerne. I huffed it up a few hills at John's very enthusiastic "Come on, Babe, you can do it!" and was rewarded with great views of beautiful house, clear blue water, and mountain ranges. It was hard not to fling open and my hands and belt out "The hills are alive..." Julie and I have never been so close. Bike rentals were relatively cheap and the ride afforded us both fatty Swiss dinners that night of Lamb (for me, fatty Kathy), Fish ( for Jack Sprat), and chocolate mousse. How do you spell heaven? S-W-I-S-S M-O-U-S-S-E.
On Saturday, we took a 2 hour ferry, and 30 minute railroad trip (steepest in Central Swiss) up to the highest point of Luzern--Mt. Pilatus. The trip was exhausting and unfortunately the view was disappointing. A balmy 6 degrees on the top of the mountain and you could barely see your hand in front of your face. You're SUPPOSED to be able to see all of Luzern, five lakes, and some of central Switz.....for us, not so much. To recover, we took a gondola half way down the mountain to ride Switzerland's longest Luge. It was alot of fun and satisfied the thrillseeker in us both. I have to admit it was tempting not to ram John from behind but I didn't want to get thrown out of another themepark for so-called "aggressive driving." Ha. Later that night, we went to a traditional Swiss restaurant with the locals for some more fat free food. Fish for John and creamy, delectable Beef Stroganof for me. Fat girl food, yes, but worth every artery clogging calorie. Man, if I had been born Swiss, I'd be dangerous.
Sunday, before catching our train back home, we walked in vein to continue John's never ending hunt for American food in Europe. It really frustrates him that Eurobreakfast consists of fruit, muesli, yogurt, cheese, bread, and deli meat. No matter how hard he tries he just can't seem to find American pancakes (not crepes) scrambled eggs and bacon. Oh well, I was happy anyway. The stranger and more varied the food, the happier I am. (Does anyone notice a theme, here?)
So, two big thumbs up for Luzern. This will definitely not be our last time in Switzerland. It's a little country but there's alot to see....and eat.
For more of Luzern than anyone other than my mother wants to see, follow this link to my Flickr site http://www.flickr.com/gp/9997610@N02/6GS2jF.
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