Finding the Californian in Me

I’ve never much fancied the idea of surfing. Okay, fancied maybe, but not realistically. I am not what one would describe as a thrill seeker. I like my life to feel secure. There are enough thrills in the everyday anyways – Will I miss the bus? Will I get dehydrated if I forget my water bottle? You know, the usual worries. I like to imagine my life as a relaxed person who enjoys adventure. Surfing fits into these scenarios easily, but if I’m honest with myself, it’s not part of my reality.

My relationship with surfing is not only hindered by my inability to try something I perceive as dangerous, but further hindered by its integral role in the stereotyping of my home state, California. And I’m not just from California, but southern California. Better yet, Orange County. Nothing gets me worked up quicker than a packaged description of California. Well, I say that about a lot of things, but it’s definitely up there on the list of do-not-do-around-Bryce things. The number of these assumptions I was subjected to severely increased with the integration of Dan into my life, and with it all of the Midwesterners who became my loved ones. I tried to be patient; there are only so many comments about perfect weather, tans and beaches that I can take. The last 5 years were probably good training for our time in Europe, though, where people are quite convinced of their American notions, number one amongst them being the So Cal life. I generally think of myself as rather unpatriotic. I see many faults with our country and long for many deeply complicated yet fundamental changes. But nothing makes me question this more than the feistiness I feel at the spouting of comments on perfect weather and beaches. I have a deep pride in the mountains that span my home state, and its offering of every climate, including that white stuff that comes around in the winter, yes, snow. I pride myself on defying the stereotype of a California girl, too. No, I don’t have blond hair, a plastic body, a closet full of designer clothes and a year-round tan, and above all, I do not surf.

Or do I? I fear I may have given in to the image a bit. A few months ago, we joined the online network at couchsurfing.org. We’d heard of it on and off throughout the last few years and only heard positive reviews. If you are unfamiliar with the concept, couchsurfing is a network that connects people internationally as an alternative way to find lodging in and experience a city. Members make a profile with basic info, like interests and jobs, post photos, and list their expectations from participating in the program, down to the basic how many people can fit on their couch per night. When traveling, members search for their destination city and start looking through profiles to find a host. You send a friendly message, requesting to stay on your specified dates and wait for a yeah or neigh.

Now this is a type of surfing I can really get behind. One might think it’s not in keeping with my personality. It is a bit of a thrill-seeking activity, after all, to stay on a stranger’s couch, and admittedly I’d be more selective in my requests if I were a single female traveling alone. But what thrill could be better for mankind today? People hunger for a black and white reality, something that is explainable and thus more secure, and with that, arise many stereotypes and prejudices, as well as individualism. Through individualism, we begin a cycle of bigger-better-faster-stronger, one against the other, and eventually whole cultures are divided from one another. Animosity forms. People attack in desperation, but incidentally stereotypes are strengthened and separatism ensues. The cycle gains speed, and instead of holding others in love and grace, we allow fear to dominate. Couch surfing is a simple and unique way to deconstruct these barriers person by person. One woman we contacted through the website stated that her current mission was to do her “little part to increase the global trust.” To start with, it is an exchange of faith to open your home to a stranger and to spend the night at a stranger’s home (with things like your passport sitting in the living room). It perhaps places more faith in an individual to acknowledge that she has something to share with you, to enrich your days.

Staying with locals allows you to get a picture of the everyday life of people in that city. You share in their daily patterns, from eating to sleeping, and have the opportunity to sit around the table together, discussing politics, religion and other complex issues largely affected by culture. In doing so, you not only learn more about the culture of the place you are visiting, but also have the opportunity to share your own experiences and opinions. There’s a certain assurance in jumping into these topics with couch surfers, too – everyone has a common interest in traveling and exploring, which makes the chances of finding someone open and eager to engage in this mutual sharing more likely.

Dan and I have tested the waters twice now on our month of European travels, and both experiences were more than positive. We’re hoping to find at least one other couch to surf on this trip and to open our apartment to travelers once we settle in Boston. Much of the joy of traveling is realizing how much there is to see and appreciating the diversity of the world and her people. While couch surfing helps highlight this diversity, it also brings out the opposite beauty in traveling – acknowledging and honoring a very common and shared humanity with people thousands of miles away despite the urges in today’s society to separate. This acknowledgment is a thrilling relief to me.

So I guess I’ve tested my adventure-seeking abilities and it looks like I’m not as adverse to it as I may have thought. I must say I am enjoying surfing so far - and hey, maybe it makes me a better Californian.

The Begending

Remember in the first Matrix movie where Keanu says, “this isn’t the end, but the beginning”? Well my learning of German is not like that; at least I hope it produces better outcomes than sappy Christian metaphors and raindrops hitting eyeballs in super-duper slow-mo. When we moved to Germany and I began studying the language, I had visions of carrying on jovial conversations in Deutsch, cracking people up with my witty German banter. Alas, this did not end up being the case, but I am not especially disappointed in myself. I feel that I have learned a satisfactory amount. Having not spent more than two semesters in Spanish class, I had not realized how extensive learning a language is. I had expected that learning as much as I learned in these 7 months I would be able to be more fluent.

So here is where I am. Most of the time, when someone is speaking to me in German I can figure out the meaning of the conversation. I can piece together enough of the words that I can make a guess to what someone is saying. However, this can lead to being completely wrong if someone says “not something” and I hear “something.” When I need to be sure, as in getting our deposit back from our landlord, I am less able to figure out what is being said, and less willing to guess. When another English speaker is around, I more readily give in and look to him or her for help. When a conversation lasts more than a few sentences without a break I begin to lose where I am and sometimes ask someone to speak slower. If it is in a group, I usually begin to daydream. This is especially the case in church. Going to church, or in a work meeting, spoken in German brought me back to what I felt like as a child. Everything takes sooo long, and is mostly boring. My imagination, however, got a good workout in each of these settings (only on a couple occasions did I need to refrain myself from laughing after daydreaming about something that I had found humorous previously). I was also reminded of childhood while reading newspapers. I remember never understanding why people enjoyed newspapers, and here, again, I would read the captions and look at the pictures, make my way through the headlines, and spend extra time on people I recognized, specifically the US celebrities that would show up regularly in the Bad Oeynhausen paper. (So if you have kids that get bored easily, remember it is difficult to pay attention when you don’t understand everything that is going on.)

Speaking was quite different than listening and understanding. If I was able to follow along in a conversation I would often reply in English, as I was not quick enough to develop a sentence in German. I could mostly develop sentences that would make sense with what I wanted to get across, although not all of them were understandable, and it would take time to begin the next statement or sentence. When someone would ask if there were parts of the language that I had learned or if they requested me to say something, I would often reply with the sentences I had practiced the most. This included: “I don’t know,” “I don’t understand,” or “what would you like on your bread.”

In truth, I had the best conversations and learned the most from the residents at my two positions. I am grateful for the patience and grace that each would give me as they attempted to make clear to me what was on their mind. They would not become annoyed or feel uncomfortable if I needed to ask them to say something again, or to speak more slowly. They were also willing to wait as I tried a couple times to get across what I wanted to say. Not everyone is as practiced at these skills as the individuals that helped me learn very many things.

Switching jobs when we did also helped me turn a corner with my language learning. In my first job, I was not expected to know any German and was treated accordingly. In the second placement, the manager told the staff to not speak English to us because we wanted to learn German. This was good, although added some stress and separation into the work environment. Possibly the best part about switching positions was the opportunity to go back to the first placement. When visiting I would show off my newer German skills and cause statements such as: “I didn’t recognize him because the man that was here before didn’t speak German.”

Overall, I felt that some people think that I learned very much German in the seven months we lived in Bergkirchen and others thought I learned next to nothing. It depended on how much English I could speak with them initially (what habit we formed from the beginning) as well as how much German I spoke with them, or how long our conversations were.

So I want Keanu to be right, my hope is that this is not the end of my language learning, but the beginning. I hope to develop my skills further and gain new vocabularies and understand more rules. I do not know if I will use this practically in the future, but what I may have learned most (and had assumed before) is that learning a language is valuable regardless of whether I use it or not.

-Dan

All for now...

Well, Monday was our last day of work at Wittekindshof. We say goodbye to our town of Bergkirchen at 8 am tomorrow to begin our month of travels. This means two things. First, that it is really time to write a hearty blog with lots of reflection. Second, that we have been way too busy to sit down to write a hearty blog with lots of reflection. So for now, here's what we've been up to: packing, cleaning, repacking, saying goodbyes, going to doctors appointments for school health forms, closing our bank account, eating really good meals at work festivities or friends' homes, and wishing we'd done a little more hiking and biking aimlessly through the countryside.

We promise something a little more stimulating once we get a chance to sit down, but know that missing you is making it easier to leave the home we made here.