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.

A New Understanding of "Cleaning Streak"

The following words appear in the form of a notice on our bathroom wall. They've been a source of entertainment for me this year, though I'm not sure what to make of them. My initial thought was that our landlords' son lived here before us and perhaps they had a little struggle with cleanliness expectations. Then I noticed that both employee bathrooms at work had more succinct, less sarcastic admonitions about cleaning things up so the next person wasn't repulsed. I began to think that the Germans have a fixation on their toilets. Though the German culture isn't nearly as stick-to-the-rules as the American stereotype suggests, there are definitely instances that suggest a stronger orientation towards order in their culture than our own. I think it all boils down to their phrase for "Is everything okay?" ("Alles in Ordnung?") meaning literally "Is everything in order?"

In any case, I enjoy glancing between these instructions and bikini-clad Heidi Klum wishing me a good summer as I sit on the pot. Here's the translation:

The Toilet Brush…

…a simple guide

(With the toilet brush one distinguishes between ‘top’ and ‘bottom.’ It is conventional to designate the bristled portion as ‘bottom’ and the handle part as ‘top.’ These definitions will be used in the following.)

Taking Care of Business

After a completed large sitting (defecation), the toilet brush is calm and collected, and with a quick glance the extent of the pollution in the toilet bowl is established.

Execution

Now the bottom part of the toilet brush is introduced in the toilet bowl and with scrubbing movements the pollution is brushed away.

Attention:

A back-and-forth movement that is too strong is to be avoided. This commonly leads to sprays outside the toilet bowl – an unpleasant feeling, when one gets it on the skin.

The toilet bowl should be free of toilet paper scraps. The soggy toilet paper has the unpleasant tendency to establish itself in the bristles. The sight of such a spoiled toilet brush will with high probability deter subsequent toilet users from using the toilet brush.

Post-processing

The toilet brush is now often quite wet. In order to not drop the liquid on the floor, one should gently tap the toilet brush on the edge of the toilet bowl a few times (Warning: alluded spray danger!) and then quickly replace it in its stand. Experts can also disengage the water with neat, skilled “lightning turns” of the brush between the fingers of one hand (similar to the turning of a spinning top) through sheer centrifugal force! In this process, one must take care that the whole bristle section is situated underneath the top edge of the bowl. (Spray danger!) This method might require a little practice, but is silent and no damage to the bristle portion or the bowl or toilet seat can occur.

Distribution

The whole process has lasted not even a minute and the toilet looks vastly more appetizing. Please also work towards the dissemination of this knowledge about the use of the toilet brush and ensure the cleanliness of our home toilet. For a better toilet world for all!

No Pictures, Please.

We have returned from a two-week adventure with our final visitors. Vy and Camille, from the Bay Area, joined us on a 13-day, 5-city jaunt, in which we were greeted enthusiastically and mostly warmly where ever we went. We began in Berlin and, we assume, in anticipation of Bryce’s birthday were met by enormous crowds on May 1^st. They held signs against fascism and capitalism, telling all the neo-nazis to leave Bryce alone on her special day. The crowd developed a life of its own, however, and the riot police were necessary. The method to defuse situations was for the police to run in two lines towards the commotion. Once it was broken up, they would regroup elsewhere. Many of these two-line units were seen all around several neighborhoods. We stayed and watched until some of the bottles being thrown began heading in the direction of the police we were standing behind. Later in our stay, we were delighted to have Felipe Calderon, the President of Mexico, join us in Berlin, although, after snapping a few paparazzi shots, we made sure he had other plans as we had a busy schedule ourselves.

We then made our way by train to Cologne. Here we were able to get away from the crowds. We did find one person unexpectedly calling Bryce’s name while walking along the old cobbled streets. Realizing it was Bryce’s childhood friend, Kathryn, who lives nearby but was believed to be out of town, we enjoyed a couple hours with a tour guide before she needed to be on her way. A side note on Cologne: pretty sure it is the mullet capital of Europe.

After two days in Cologne we rented a car to have a bit more autonomy and spent two days along the Rhine and Mosel rivers on our way to Frankfurt. We stayed in Sankt Goar in a vacation apartment owned by people who made their own wine (which we sipped the first evening). Enjoying old German towns, tasting wines, and pointing out the many castles set above the steep, vertical vineyards, through the enormous sunroof of our Peugeot, we had a peaceful getaway along the picturesque rivers and valleys.

In Frankfurt, it was back to the crowds and adoring public, celebrating us with a May and Wine festival. We even had an additional 4 people join us in our room at the Hostel, although all at different parts of the night. We woke up early the next morning and hugged Camille goodbye, as the remaining three travelers set off for Portugal.

We were surprised to find that our flight had been cancelled upon arriving at the airport. This was not the treatment we were used to. After the ash that was in our way moved on, we caught the next flight and made it to Lisbon only a few hours late. We were able to have seats on the now-over-booked flight in part, I believe, because some other travelers insisted we be on ahead of them. I did not understand what was being said, but there was much yelling between this group and the flight staff. I think they were making it clear that we should travel before them and they were willing to give up there seats if necessary.

In Lisbon, we snuck in before the crowds realized we had arrived, but from our bus could see that they were all eagerly watching the TV in bars and restaurants. I am not too familiar with Portuguese customs, but from what I saw, wearing red shirts and scarves with Benfica printed on them must be a greeting and celebration tradition. And celebrate they did, waiting for us to finish dinner they drove around (possibly in loops around where we were) hanging out the car windows honking horns, waving their banners. Kids were kicking soccer balls in the streets; people were marching back and forth, chanting, singing, and blowing plastic horns. It was a joyful, if not rowdy celebration. We were fortunate to be staying in a fabulous hotel with double windows because the sounds went on through Sunday evening until after 2 am Monday Morning.

We transferred to the more “familiar” hostel for the following two nights. Spending the days wandering around the beautiful tiled city. We climbed hills, saw terrific views, tasted port wine, and got lost several times. On Monday we were able to catch the choir and soloist practicing for the massive celebration they had planned for us the next day. When Tuesday came, so did the crowds for one more commemoration of our visit. We could hear singing from everywhere, and even saw communion being given. Leading this honor was Papa Bento himself. Sure enough, the Pope travelled to Lisbon to make sure he could join us in our adventures. He even decided to have the Pope-mobile drive right under our Hostel window so he could get a good view of us.

We again arose early on Wednesday to avoid the masses, flew back to Frankfurt, said goodbye to our fellow journeyman, Vy, and took the train back home. So now we need to adjust back to reality. You know, a 4-day weekend before a long work week of Monday, Wednesday, Thursday. Luckily we have a 5-day weekend after that, then work Wednesday, Thursday and the following Monday before our contract is over. Then we begin our 4-week travels around Europe. Hopefully we will be able to avoid the publicity this time.

Did You Know?

We saw Mark and Judy Becker off to the train station yesterday morning to catch one of the last flights out of Germany before the ash clouds from Iceland closed down airports. Though they had a short one-week visit, we were impressed with how many activities we fit in. They arrived last Wednesday evening, and we spent Thursday reconnecting them with Wittekindshof and our small town, which they visited 5 years ago. Then Friday we had a brisk morning walk up to the bus stop, and caught the bus just on time to get to our train to Wittenberg. We spent Friday in Wittenberg, seeing the Luther sites and sprucing up our Luther trivia. Saturday we trained to Berlin and stayed there 4 days, with a side trip to Potsdam. Our touring included stops at the following: Checkpoint Charlie, Berlin Wall Documentation Center, East Side Gallery, Hackescher Markt and Hackescher Hoefe, memorial for the Nazi book burnings, Kaiser Wilhelm Memorial Church, Alexanderplatz/TV Tower, Potsdamer Platz, The Caller, Brandenburg Gate, Holocaust Memorial, Unter den Linden, DDR Museum, Reichstag, Park Sanssouci, Neues Palais (and Uni Potsdam where I studied abroad in 2007), Schloss Sanssouci, Cecilienhof (site of the Potsdam Conference), the Dutch Quarters and Brandenburger Strasse. The trip was very educational, largely because of the historical significance of Berlin during the 20^th century. Judy enriched our trip further by reading Rick Steves and filling us in along the way. We found ourselves saying many times, “I didn’t know that…” We thought we’d share a random compilation of the facts that at least one of the four of us didn’t know, and maybe you’ll learn something, too!

Katharina von Bora, Luther’s wife, was an entrepreneur. She made wine and beer, invested in real estate, farmed and owned the most livestock of anyone in town.

Luther preferred wine to beer.

Indulgences were written in Latin with blank lines to fill in names; the townspeople who bought them couldn’t even read what this ticket to heaven said.

The ICE train will get up to at least 249 km/h.

The major immigrant group in Germany and especially Berlin is Turkish.

Many apartments in Berlin (including the one we stayed in) were constructed in the 30s by the Nazis for their workers. They stipulated that the buildings had to have a courtyard at least 50 meters wide to prevent firestorms (like what happened in Dresden) in the event of a bombing. They were obviously planning ahead. Today, however, this allows for a peaceful green space in the middle of the complex.

With 4 people, it is a bargain to purchase the small group day card for 16 euros for unlimited transportation on all public transit.

The Hackescher Hoefe off of Hackescher Markt are a set of connecting inner courtyards in the middle of the big city. These are the only courtyards open to the public and reveal the hidden life of the big city.

The Brandenburg Gate is the last of 14 gates around the city from the Prussian empire.

The lady atop the gate was originally called the Lady of Peace. Napoleon stole her, but the Prussians got her back after defeating him in 1813. She was then renamed Lady of Victory.

Hotel Adlon, near the gate, is where Michael Jackson dangled his baby out the window.

Before the wall was erected in 1961, 100,000 East Germans were fleeing to the West per year.

Some buildings were incorporated into the Berlin Wall, including apartment buildings. Some tried, with and without success, to flee to the West from their windows. One successful woman was 77 years old and jumped 3 stories into a fireman’s net.

Building the wall even included digging up old graves and relocating them because they were in the way. In the 80s they demolished a church to fortify the wall, as well. There’s got to be some symbolism in there…

The location of Hitler’s bunker has remained undisclosed in order to prevent it from becoming a mecca for Neo-Nazis.

The Holocaust Memorial is made of anti-graffiti material and sits atop Goebbel’s bunker, which was discovered during its construction.

1 in 6 Germans in the former East have a Dacha (garden home) today; only 1 in 16 Germans in the former West do.

Something about nude beaches…Mark’s still not sure because he was embarrassed to stand in front of the naked picture display.

East German farmers earned almost as much money as engineers.

In the DDR, kindergartners had to take group potty breaks, and no one could leave until the last kid was finished. (Talk about peer pressure! I would have been so pee shy!)

There was an Easter German car called the Wartburg, which had a 2-stroke engine.

The TV Tower at Alexanderplatz was originally built to be the tallest building and also to represent the secular culture of the city because most other structures in the skyline were church bell towers/steeples. Ironically, when the sun hit at the right angle, it cast a cross-shaped shadow.

The Reichstag will hold your utility knife for you while you venture to the top of the dome, They aren’t, however, eager to give it back until you are certain you are walking through the exit doors.

The best way to get Mark high places? Don’t be very clear about what exactly you are doing. Get him to the top of the glass dome overlooking the city before he realizes it’s more than a mere trip inside the government building.

The German parliament elects the Chancellor; the people elect the parliament.

Hitler never stepped foot into the Reichstag.

Perhaps because of recent rebuilding after war damages, the city has been able to incorporate a lot of energy-saving construction. For example, the glass dome atop the government building is open air, which allows cool air to circulate and allows hot air to escape the chambers below. It also has a series of mirrors with a shade that rotates throughout the day to reflect the sun for natural lighting below.

Hiroshima happened after WWII was over in Europe.

The Berlin Wall stretched all the way into Potsdam and crossed in front of Cecilienhof.

Of the original Big Three, only Stalin attended all of the conferences deciding the fate of post-war Germany; Churchill was defeated in the election and Roosevelt died.

Stalin was considered the host of the Potsdam Conference because Potsdam was in the East. He had red geraniums planted in a star shape in the front, which is still carried out today.

And finally, there is good reason that we get completely mixed up about which Friedrich or Wilhelm or Friedrich Wilhelm did what and lived where. Here’s a little timeline of the Prussian rulers:

o 1640 – 1688 Friedrich Wilhelm

o 1688 – 1713 Friedrich III, renamed King Friedrich I

o 1713 – 1740 Friedrich Wilhelm I

o 1740 – 1786 Friedrich II

o 1786 – 1797 Friedrich Wilhelm II

o 1797 – 1840 Friedrich Wilhelm III

o 1840 – 1861 Friedrich Wilhelm IV

o 1861 – 1888 Wilhelm I

o 1888 Friedrich III

o 1888 – 1918 Wilhelm II

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Ah. There we go. So my mom arrived two weeks ago and as soon as she was rested up, we headed for Ireland. We started off in Dublin, where we enjoyed a couple Guinnesses, listened to much live music, and watched traditional Irish dancing. We visited many of the highlights, including the Guinness Storehouse. The self-guided tour was crazy informative and a great mix of visual, audio and olfactory stimulation. We learned the secrets of a perfect pour, which we’re guessing is why it tastes different in the US, then enjoyed a complimentary pint at the top of their tower while overlooking the city. The other major highlight was the writers’ museum, which sent us off yearning to read so many classics. None of us realized how many major authors hailed from Dublin and Ireland: Yeats, Shaw, Beckett, Wilde, Swift, Joyce, the list goes on.

After two days in the capital, we picked up our rental car and the true adventure began. As someone who gets motion sick ridiculously often, there’s nothing like being the passenger on the left side of the car while driving on the opposite side of a narrow windy road lined with rock walls to really throw off your perception and inner ear…but my stomach made it through. I did find that in times of mounting motion sickness, I was all the more likely to become my mother and grab for the glove box or my door or seat or whatever was in reach. You know, the logical response to perceived danger.

We headed towards Galway, and stayed in the small town of Spiddal, chosen for the glorious bed-and-breakfast we’d booked there. We stayed in a thatched cottage (Cloch na Scith, if anyone happens to go to Ireland) run by an Irish family. The husband was born at the cottage, as well and his father and grandfather. The woman was a joyful do-it-yourselfer who gave us a soda bread baking demonstration and was proud to have Gaelic as her mother tongue. (The Galway area is definitely a good place for linguists.) We spent both days driving around the area, taking in the scenery, which consisted of many rock walls that stretched far into the distance, many sheep walking in the middle of the road, and many thatched cottages. Each night we enjoyed bread, cheese and wine next to the turf fire. Our first full day there, we stopped at a local craft fair, then drove up to Connemara and explored the area. The next day we left for the Cliffs of Moher, passing through The Burren along the way. The Cliffs were impressive, especially in the massive rainstorm we were caught in. When we bundled into the car again, we stripped down our layers and laid them across the hatch to dry as we started the journey back to Dublin. We stopped only to grab a late lunch at a hole-in-the-wall café with quirky mismatched lampshades that were really pieces of art.

It was a great trip, better than we had expected, and we wished it could have been longer. The people were incredibly nice (…plus their awesome accents helped), the sights were gorgeous, and our ears and tastebuds were pleased, too. Every bit of it was stimulating. Plus, we’re thinking it was good prep for the city of the Celtics, Boston. Next year Dan will be at Boston College’s Graduate School of Social Work for his Masters of Social Work, and I will be at Harvard University’s Graduate School of Education for my Masters through the Language and Literacy Program. We’re both excited, but I think Dan’s mostly looking forward to being closer to Kevin Garnett.