6 Random Facts (The German Version)

The divine Danie tagged me all the way from India. She’s asked that I do a random facts meme with a German twist. So, here it goes.

Random Fact #1
Most people hate to look at themselves in photographs, but I feel just the opposite way. For some reason, I photograph well and usually look better on film than in person (especially now with digital, I can instantly delete a disappointing photograph of myself rather than having to wait for it to come back from the processing lab, already developed, before destroying it.).

But on my second day in Germany, I had the *the worst* photograph taken of me. I was jet lagged, without a functioning, 230V blow dryer, and swollen from all the peanuts and pretzels I had inhaled from the plane ride over. I would have preferred to wait a few days before having my photograph snapped, but NOOOOOO---I was required to register with the government on the first, working day after arriving and my truly horrible photograph (which had to meet strict requirements) would become part of every day life in Germany. It’s on my residency visa, my driver’s license, and every any official document I have acquired since coming to this country.

Have I mentioned it’s a really, really bad photograph? Sometimes the guys at Frankfurt International Airport’s passport control do a double take and smirk when they see it.

But just to show you I’m not as vain as you and I think, I’m willing to post it. But first, you'll have to ask really nicely and promise not to laugh. This, however, might be asking too much.


Random Fact #2
I am really starting to love it here in the Rheinland Pfalz. Everywhere I look I am surrounded by beauty—the rolling hills, the vineyards, the flowers, the cobblestone, the vineyards, the beautiful old churches, the vineyards (yes, it’s worth repeating). I like it so much that I can actually picture myself living here longer than the four years Max’s company has stipulated. But please, don’t tell my mother, ok?

Random Fact #3
Despite a promise to myself, I have yet to unpack my bicycle--the very same one Max put together for me--and take it for a whirl around town. Germany offers many wonderful bike paths. I could literally peddle from my house, through a couple lovely vineyards, all the way to the center of town without the bike tires ever hitting the streets. With gas prices hovering close to $8.50 a gallon here, I should be using my bike more often. I am ashamed to admit I don’t.

Random Fact #4
Speaking of gas prices… When Max and I arrived back in December, it cost 64 euros to fill up our Mini Cooper (about $100 in the U.S.) at the pump. Last night, we spent over 84 euros ($132) to fill up the tank, and prices are predicted to go even high in the coming months.

Random Fact #5
I love love love the taste and consistency of the yogurt here in Germany. Some days I start and end my day with yogurt, having it for both breakfast and dessert. And I wonder why I have put on the pounds!

Random Fact #6
I think German people, as a whole, are among the most misunderstood group. Before I came here, I was warned about all the usual stereotypes you hear about. But in my experience, none of this has held true. We have been so warmly welcomed by the local community! I have also discovered this is a country where the people find any reason to celebrate. And as proof, here in German you can find a well-attended, town or city festival on any given weekend. I think it's pretty terrific, really.

So that's my list. Now it's your turn. I'm tagging the following folks.

An American in Norway
Blogging Mama
Lynda in Lulusbay
Jeweled Concrete
Just a Trumpet Player

There’s always a 'but'…

My house, like most in the Pfalz, has exactly two sources for cooling when the temperature rises—screen-less doors and windows. With all the Vitamin D I’ve been soaking up as the sun glows, I forgot the one downside of airing out and cooling down on a breezy day. Bees. They terrify me. And yesterday, I had three of *three * swarming around.

I feel ashamed to admit this (especially with other expatriates, like Danie, who wrote about her viper and cobra-invested yard in India), but I almost passed out when I saw the bees. In fact, I probably wouldn’t have remained conscious if it hadn’t been for my language teacher, who took pity on me and saved the day by bringing over a fly swatter and a can of Raid Wespen Spray. Even as I type these words, I keep these within arms reach as I also look warily around for any trace of the evil creatures.

It’s bad, people. I am not one to commune with nature, especially when were talking about the buzzing, stinging, and swarming variety.

So I ask you: How am I going to get through the summer? My usually wise teacher said I’ll just have to get use to living with bees and wasp just like the average German, but this seems a tad harsh. I’ve had this fear (not an allergy) since I was a child. How am I suppose to just get over it?

My only other option is to suffocate, keeping the doors and windows tightly shut though June, July, and August. Or, maybe my landlord would let me put a few screens over the windows?

Are or were you every afraid of something? How did you get over it? Are there any expats out there in the same boat??

Blue skies smiling on me

April’s gloomy, rainy days have passed, making way for beautiful May weather. Until this week, I hadn’t seen a string of sunny, warm days since I’d left North Carolina. As the weather warms up, I feel rejuvenated. I also sense renewal from the local town, Bad Dürkheim.

There is indeed new life here. Once dormant fountains now spew forth cool waters. Cyclists of all ages have come out in full force, busying themselves by exploring the many paths along the wine street. Small tables covered with new and colorful plastic clothes now clutter the already narrow cobblestone streets. Everyone, it seems, prefers to be outdoors, and poor pedestrians (or those of us trying to walk our dogs without getting run over by bicyclists) are left to compete for real-estate alongside the patrons of the many wine bars, cafes, bistros, restaurants, and gelaterias.

It’s almost magical here.

It’s taken me five, long months to touch upon the real charm of this country. Buildings I once thought of as old and drab now look to have aged so much more gently against the blue skies and green ivy. Fresh, colorful flowers proudly adorn every weathered windowsill. Maybe it’s a side effect from all the asparagus being eaten, but people are smiling more these days. I smile more these days.

I didn’t realize how badly I needed spring until it finally arrived this week. And just to be sure my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me, I checked the forecast on Weather.com to confirm what I was experiencing. I’m happy to report it’s all blue skies from here.

Veggie Tales

All this time, I mistakenly thought German cuisine consisted of two major staples, meat and potatoes or, at the very least, bratwurst and beer. This was an obvious assumption to make because all winter long and aside from a small salad with yogurt dressing, I have hardly seen a vegetable served at any of the neighborhood restaurants.

However in the last couple weeks, the dietary habits of the locals have changed dramatically. Everywhere I look—in the grocery stores, restaurants, and numerous, small, roadside stands—one particular vegetable has taken over. It is not just any vegetable, mind you. It’s what the Germans call the königliches gemüse (or royal vegetable) known as spargel.

In the English-speaking world, we call it asparagus.

From April through early June, Germany produces 57,000 tons of the stuff. Thanks to a process known as hilling--where asparagus is completely covered with soil to prevent photosynthesis—most German spargel is white and much sweeter to the palate than its greener sibling. But what really amazes me is that the spargelsaison ( or asparagus season) is not only a growing season, but also a time when the people attend festivals and special dinners in honor of this king of the vegetables. Seriously, folks--it’s only the first week of May and I’ve been invited to three spargel dinners and have already happened upon my first Spargel Fest.

Served with a special cheese, béarnaise, or hollandaise sauces, coupled with ham or lox, pulverized into a creamed soup, or made into a sandwich—I’ve had more asparagus in two weeks than I’ve eaten in a lifetime, and there is still a full month of the season to go. I am certainly not complaining. German spargel is by far superior to any other asparagus I’ve tasted. And once June passes, I’ll be anxiously awaiting the next spargelsaison.

Sometimes Mother Nature makes me smile...

Look who just move into our neighborhood. Charlie is a bit disturbed by their presence, but I think they are adorable. Now I need to come up with names. Any suggestions?

The Road Less Traveled

I am becoming a licensed driver in Germany. Ordinarily, this would be laborious and expensive process because Germans see driving as a privilege and not right. As a result, new and prospective drivers face $1500-2000 in fees, after a minimum of 25-45 hours of professional instruction plus 12 hours of driving theory.

But not me. I have a license from Virginia, one of several American states that have an agreement with the Federal Republic of Germany. German expatriates living in Virginia can get a valid license without jumping through too many hoops, and Virginian drivers have the same consideration here. As a result, I paid a measly 80 Euros to secure my status as a bona-fide, German driver.

However, being sanctioned by the local government as someone qualified to navigate the many straßen and autobahns, doesn’t mean that I am really able to do so. Just like everything else here in Germany, rules of the road are similar enough to give you a false sense of surety, while the subtle differences will kick you in the ass until you really learn what you are doing.

Aside from speed, I don’t have too many difficulties driving on the highways. However, place me in a car in the center of town, and I become a nervous Nelly because I haven’t gotten the hang of the right-of-way rules.

When approaching an unmarked, four-way intersection, people where I come from practice the ‘whoever gets their first’ theory of right-of-way. However, in Germany and unless otherwise posted, the driver coming from the right at an intersection always has the right of way regardless of who got there first.

The rule may sound simple in theory, but it’s easy to forget when you’ve been driving for 24 years under a different premise. If I let my mind wander for even a second while driving, I might just barrel into a car coming from the right. So I do what I can to eliminate distractions. I refuse to grab a Coke via drive-thru anymore. My cell phone and radio remain off while driving. In fact, the only voice I allow is that of my GPS system, who sadly doesn’t seem to know her way around very well either.

As a result, driving, even in my cute, convertible Mini, isn’t a pleasurable experience unless I see my favorite German road sign. It displays yellow diamond, which tells me I am on a road that has priority. I see it as the ace of diamonds of street signs, the one the trumps the German rules of right-of-way. It’s also my personal sign, that then and only then, can I relax as I face the road less traveled.

Waste not, want not

Although it may look like a perfectly fine, almost spring-like morning, today, February 28, 2008, cannot be counted among the blessed days for this Bad Dürkheim resident. In fact, when I looked at my city-services calendar, I actually cursed this Thursday.

It’s not a ‘restmüll’ day.

For those of you who haven’t been introduced to the German sanitation system, restmüll is rubbish--literally. And although what constitutes restmüll differs from town to town, here in Bad Dürkheim it can be defined as any garbage that isn’t plastic, glass, paper or biological waste. You’d be surprised by all the things in your trash, which don’t fall under these categories. You’d be even more shocked at how much restmüll accumulates in the two-week period between pick-ups.

Even though we are just a couple, Max and I have been particularly bad litterbugs. Hosting three dinner parties hasn’t helped our cause. We still have a full week before the next garbage day, and piles of trash bags lay waste in a corner of our kitchen. In an otherwise stunning home, it’s an eyesore—and a smelly one at that.



Back in the States, this wouldn’t be an issue. Besides the fact that recycling isn’t as stringent, if not nonexistent, every day can be a restmüll day, especially if you have access to a dumpster. But here in Germany, trash collecting, almost an art form unto itself, is reserved for only the most special of days.

And today ain’t it.

Don’t misunderstand me. I’m all for recycling. It’s just that I’m not particularly good at it. Sometimes when I go to throw something away, I feel like Henry Kissinger brokering a treaty. I spend an inordinate amount of time negotiating which container is best suits my waste.

“This candy wrapper is shiny like metal, but it feels more like plastic. Does it go in the yellow bag or the white bag?”

The mental workout my garbage gives me is exhausting, really. And when I can’t decide where a piece of trash should go, it goes in restmüll. And therein, my friends, lies the problem. Put a dunce cap on me, and stick me in the trash corner. I haven’t been properly schooled in waste sortation.

Ask and ye shall receive

Last night I told my husband I was finished with emotional eating and drinking. I’ve been binging on comfort foods a little too often since arriving in Deutschland. Although I refuse to step the scale to confirm this fear, I know I’ve packed on the pounds. My daytime wardrobe of comfortable, stretchy pants stands as a testament to this reality. If you put a cigarette in my hand and teased the hair, I’d look like an Atlantic City local, not an American expat in Europe.

But “beginning Monday”, I promised Max, things would be “different.” Food and wine would no longer be the primary means to sooth my soul. This day would mark the start of a new and healthier routine. Diane Mandy was going on a another strict and lasting diet lifestyle change.

Now, many of you have suggested I write about German cuisine and drink. Brilliant! What a magnificent way to distract me from thinking about food and wine.

I don’t pretend to be an expert on German food. When Max and I choose to dine out, we often pick Italian eateries, which are tasty and abundant, or Supan, an upscale Thai restaurant, which offers the best tom kha gai in nearby Mannheim.

The problem is I’ve never been a meat and potatoes girl, and Germans are all about these staples. Fertile soil and ample watering holes make for excellent grazing, and as a result, Germany boasts abundant cattle, sheep, and pigs farms. Game birds and rabbit are also considered traditional fair, with mustard and horseradish as popular condiments. Stereotypes do hold true for Germany. Sauerkraut and schnitzel rule. Moreover, the markets offer the largest selection of wurst I have ever seen.

But stereotypes aside, I have also learned local cuisine differs depending on what part of the country you happen to live. I feel fortunate to reside in Rhineland-Pfalz, the wine-growing and Palatinate region, where a lighter cuisine with strong influences from France, Italy, and Austria can be found. In this area, German grains and noodles, such as spatzle, are often substituted for potatoes.

My favorite of the local Palatinate specialties, zwiebelkuchen, literally translates “onion cake," but is actually a one-crust pie, similar to quiche, and made with onions, diced bacon, cream, and caraway seed. Although you can find it anytime in almost any German eatery, zwiebelkuchen is traditionally served in the fall with the “new wine” called federweisser, or “feather wine,” a cloudy, sweet, effervescent, not quite wine that is still in the fermentation process. I find the pairing of these local delicacies quite delightful.

However, you don’t have to settle for new wine, which begins at only 4% alcohol. More mature wines, with a heavier alcohol content, are both abundant and cheap. In fact, for about 3 euros, you can buy a decent bottle of local wine.

I never cared for rieslings until I came to Germany. Back home in the United States I always found the wine to be much too sweet for my taste buds. However here in Germany, I never hesitate to order a glass of the house riesling so long as it is “trocken” or dry. Of course not all German wines are resilings or even white. Max and I are hoping to do a formal wine tour once the weather cooperates, but so far my favorite local vineyard is Fritz Ritter, which is located just a couple miles from my house.

Have I written enough on this topic already? Put you to sleep yet? I, for one, am much to hungry to continue any longer. Excuse me while I go and feed my empty tummy with a little something and wash it down with a glass of wine. Yes, people I have a date with Fritz Ritter and will be dressed in only the finest stretchy pants for the occasion. Thanks for that!

Grandma Moses

Tonight, I fulfilled every, American pre-pubescent, male, learner-permit holder’s wet dream.

I drove on the Autobahn….

and lived to tell about it.

To be honest, I’m not sure how I survived the ordeal because my nerves certainly did not. Either the objects in my rear-view mirror were closer than they appeared, or German motorists take driver’s education classes at Formula One.

Psychologically, I think driving in kilometers feels faster. Throughout my journey, I kept reminding myself that 130kph is really only 80mph, which explained why car after car whizzed by me as if I was Grandma Moses on wheels--puttering along, both hands clutching the steering wheel, closely hugging the road’s right shoulder out of fear of accidentally straying into the left lane.

Did I also mention the noticeable absence of street lighting in this part of the country?

Yeah, it’s good to be home.

My Sunday in Pictures

Max and I try to spend Sundays touring around one of the small towns along the Weinstrasse. Today we visited medeival town of Freinsheim, which sits only a few kilometers from our house. Part of the town still features the old wall, which once protected it from invaders.

My Sunday In Pictures

Max and I finally got a chance to walk the streets of our small little village. I thought I'd share a few photographs of the day. I'm glad we had a chance to relax. Monday we begin week long language training, which is quite intensive. I just hope I come out of the program speaking more German than I do today. Wish me luck!

I'm leaving on a ...

Predictions

I couldn’t resist cracking open a complimentary fortune cookie after lunch today. Ordinarily, I don’t believe in mystic practices whether it is horoscopes, fortunetellers, dream interpretations, or the like. But now that I am about to embark on a life that is filled with unknowns, I’ll take a little guidance and sudden insight from just about any source.

Besides, after unwrapping and reading the contents of my cookies, I couldn’t help but believe its proverb.

“Adventures can be a real happiness.”

This simple fortune reminded me of how I first felt when I learned of our relocation. I saw it as an agent for change and embraced the move to Europe as an opportunity for a wonderful adventure. And deep, deep down, I still feel this way. I’m sure once Max and I actually move, my mood will be less emotional and more excited.

So I apologize for all my whining as of late. In my life outside the Martini Lounge I try to maintain a sunny disposition and stiff upper lip. But here in my more private, virtual world, I can let me emotions come through. For this, I am grateful.

That would be a negative

Sorry to leave you all hanging, but I got caught without Internet during my holiday travel. Besides, there wasn't anything to report. No rabbits dying over here. My test came back negative. This is a little worrisome because I never did get my monthly cycle, but will chalk it up to stress at this point. We'll see what next month brings.

I still have to get through this week--my very last here in the U.S. for quite some time. It's going to be hard saying goodbye to everyone and everything I hold so dear. Oh, I am dreading this!

Over the weekend, I did get a bit a happy news. Jules booked a ticket to Germany for the end of the month. So I will have a buddy with me during the dreaded 4-0- birthday. And at least when it comes to one of my friends, I'll be able to offer a casual "see you later" and really mean it.

New developments

When you don’t have anything substantial to say, do you say anything at all?

I could bore you with all the details of my move, but it doesn’t seem necessary. You all know I’m a little busy these days, right?

Monday the movers come to take our furniture away. Beginning Thursday Max, Charlie, and I will be living with Jules until December 1.

Everything is happening so fast!

Well, not everything. The house remains unsold and the market is in free fall. So with this being said, I’m exciting about a possible twist as it relates to my home. At our monthly homeowners’ meeting the neighborhood builder approached me about renting the house for two years as the new sales office. Development begins in February on phase two the neighborhood and my unit sits across from the site.

I agreed to discuss the matter, and representatives from the company are coming to look at my place TODAY!

Keep your finger’s crossed. If this works out, move preparations will be complete. And I’ll be ready to focus my energies on saying good bye friends and family I leave behind.

Life is Good

The days continue to tick down for Max and me. We only have twenty-five days to go before exiting the good ol’ United States.

Everyday, I work to physically prepare for this move. This past weekend, for example, Max and I spent an entire day filling out an inventory sheet for insurances purposes. We took photographs of every item being stored and shipped, counted towels, dishes silver, pots, and pans, and put a dollar figure against everything. Better safe than sorry.

Through the process, I learned, despite my efforts to pair down and clean out, I own 48 pairs of shoes. Max and I also counted 30 bath towels, 3 aprons, and 7 cooking mitts. Who needs 7 cooking mitts? I do. I want to take as much of my stuff as possible. Maybe this new attachment to worldly possessions has been heightened because I feel like I am leaving behind so much—my career, my family, my friends, my favorite restaurants, my house.

Speaking of house, it shows an average one time a week. This weekend a young couple showed interest in the property, but still no offers. It looks as if my home will stand empty until it sells. I’m stressed out about this fact. Life would have been so much better had the house sold before we left.

But I’m not going to spend this post complaining. Life is good. We found a beautiful place just outside in Bad Durkheim, Germany, to call our home. Living thousands of miles away will not dampen the closeness I feel toward my family and friends. Max will work and travel less, giving us much needed quality time together. And soon, I will have time to blog to my heart’s content.

Really, could it get much better?

It's ours!

It looks as if Max and I have found our new home in Germany--the rennovated house originally built in 1020 A.D. and owned by the architect. It will take a couple weeks to formalize our verbal contract, but it looks like a done deal. I can't tell you how much better I feel knowing where we'll be living. And Max and I couldn't be more excited!

Wow!

Housing update

The architect who renovated the beautiful 1000 year-old house is willing to deal. Stay tuned!

Back Home Empty Handed

One day of access to the Internet from my hotel room costs over 30 dollars. Outrageous! However, the only English-channel I have had access to since arriving in Germany is CNN World, and if I have to watch Larry King or Anderson Cooper one more time I worried I might do something dangerous. I tried to branch out in my TV viewing habits, watching 20 full minutes of an Arab-language version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire before succumbing to my desire to be connected. I rationalized that $30 is a paltry sum in comparison to my mental health and well being and will submit the Internet fee to Max’s company guilt-free.

Where to begin?

I saw eight apartments during my weeklong visit to Germany. After serious contemplation, my husband and I have decided to take temporary living arrangements during the month of December. I would rather wait in the hopes of finding an apartment that easily suits us, rather than settle.

I learned one important lesson during this first visit. Germans in this part of the country love to have an afternoon break of coffee and cake. I could easily gain 20 pounds living here. The food is delectable (although a lot of it is fried); the wine is fabulous (and cheap). I don’t have to worry about how I’ll spend my time when I’m no longer working—I’ll be at the gym trying to work off my ever-bulging belly.

I have so much more to tell you, but have decided to wait until we move to share stories of daily living. Trust me—there will be stories. At first glance life in Germany seems very similar to life in the United States, but subtle differences are bound to keep things interesting for months to come.

That’s all from here! I fly out this morning and arrive home by dinner tonight. I’m anxious to see my new American citizen—Max.

As we say here in Mannheim…

“Cheers!”

I died and went to…

On my second to last day in Germany, Roswitha took me by one of those homes that is known to be available only through word-of-mouth and, then, only to a select few.

Twenty-five miles from the industrial city of Mannheim lay one of the most beautiful areas of Rhineland-Pfalz--the wine country. While you can take the autobahn to quickly get to point A or B, Roswitha chose the ride along the narrow and winding street called the Weinstrausse, or wine street, of Southern Germany, which showcases the region. As you drive, rolling hills of vineyard after vineyard hide old, quaint villages until you almost happen upon them. Every couple miles you come to a new little town, and just as quickly you leave it.

It was in one of these small villages, Roswitha showed me a house that dates back to 1000 A.D. The architect who worked 10 years updating the house met us at the door. His 80-year-old parents, who actually own the property, joined him. In the sweetest and most approachable of ways, I was being interviewed.

“I met Roswitha and trusted her instincts instantly,” the architect explained. “I asked her to keep this house in mind, if she found a client that might be good for it.”

I was the first client Rositha had ever brought to see this house. And now I wish she hadn’t.

Stepping from the courtyard into the main foyer is like stepping forward through time. Even though the original rock serves as decorative wall throughout, everything on the inside is thoroughly modern, like something out of an archictural digest.

Just to honor this family’s privacy, I will only post a couple photographs. These photos don't do the home justice, anyway, but hopefully you'll get an idea. Some features include a huge tub that slides out to be centered under a sky roof (so that someone can appreciate the stars while they bathe), windows that automatically adjust depending on the weather, spiral staircases made of galanized steel, a loft bedroom, and marble tile flooring from Italy. I was so mesmorized by the interior; I had to take a second tour just to understand the layout.

As much as I liked the place, I could tell the family also liked me. By the end of the visit, I was sharing photos of Charlie and Max, and they were sharing photos of the restoration process.

I only wish I had known what the rental costs of the unit was before I fell in love with it--$3300 dollars a month, which included all the utilities, the closets, kitchen, bathroom fixtures light fixtures (normally you have to buy all of these items yourself. Apartments in Germany come completely bare).

If I were looking to buy a home, than I’d be willing to spend this sort of money. But for a rental--for something that I will get no return on my money-- I cannot fathom it. Besides, my house still hasn’t sold and we run the risk of having to support two households in the next 6 months. I need to be practical. Max and I don’t want to be house poor, especially when we need the cash for all our future travels in Europe, right?

Needless to say, every other apartment has paled in comparison to the home on the Winestrausse. And just to heighten my sense of longing, the architect sent me a lovely note via e-mail this evening.

"The meeting this afternoon with Mrs Roswitha and you was very nice, really!

After you showed me the picture from your husband and your little dog, my parents and me had a really good feeling, that we could give the house to you without some problems - if you want to...

You are very natural and sympathic and your husband seems to be the same way..."

They want me; I want the house. Roswitha thinks the family will come down on the rent.

But really, what are the chances???