I think I may have found out why I love Germany, at least on paper, so much- from my own narrow American perspective on things, the opportunities for someone to make a wonderful life here, either single or in a relationship, are pretty much boundless. Just some of these things:
- healthcare insurance that is very affordable and state-supported (although taxes are higher, of course)
- colleges that only cost €500 a semester for tuition, which rounds out to about €8,000 per year for a reasonably comfortable living situation
- a compulsory draft- not the most comforting idea, but one that provides Germany with security and also makes defense everyone's concern- and is also easy to get around by doing a Zivilleistungsdienst- basically a state-supported service project, which can be anywhere in the world and just about anything, so long as it benefits society and you don't get paid for it
- more and better-funded welfare-like safety nets for the unemployed and injured
- paid post-childbirth vacation- for women and men
- Autobahns and highways that are 3 times as well-maintained as the US's, and cars that can safely take advantage of higher speed limits
- a nationalized train system that makes in-country travel fast, safe, dependable and cheap, especially for teenagers and young adults
- this is one country that knows how to take care of the environment: separated trash disposal and recycling, smaller and more efficient cars, nature parks everywhere, wind farms, much concern over new energy research, etc. etc.
So from my perspective, life here is easier to manage, as long as you inform yourself and plan far into the future for vacations, college, car purchases, etc. That's not to say that I think US conditions are impossible, just harder to manage. We have to privately insure ourselves in every way (which Germans admittedly must do for select things, like autos), pay ridiculous amounts and go deep into debt just to get an education, and homosexual couples still can't get the same legal rights as married straight couples in America. Thus we develop as Americans a self-reliance and ability to work unhealthy amounts of hours at our jobs to give ourselves and our families the lives we envision.
The problem is, I don't think Germans recognize how good they have it. Despite the fact that almost anyone born in Germany can get a college education in Germany, a small percentage of people end up unemployed coming out of school, either through sheer laziness or a degree that doesn't immediately lend itself to a job. In fact, unemployment in the eastern half of Germany, the former Soviet side, is still high- last time I heard, somewhere in between 10 and 15%. Part of the reason for this is that the east's economy is still trying to catch up from the state the Soviets left it in. It's still unsettling personally because of all the opportunities and wonderful arrangements the Germans have that we don't as Americans. What I can guess is that, like anybody, Germans grow up used to such things, and may expect things to just fall into place on their own. That would be only a minority of people, though- Germans are also notorious planners, laying out careers, families and vacations 5 years in advance sometimes.
The Germans have a great saying that may help to sum this up- "Wer die Wahl hat, hat die Qual." Seven words that describe how a multitude of choices (Wahl) can be literally anguishing (Qual) sometimes. When the world is completely open to you, I think it can make finally choosing a path all that more difficult in the long run.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Friday, August 1, 2008
Leider fast vorbei!
Today I write to you from the home of the Gnirck family, friends of a friend that helped me move out of the Uniklinik apartments yesterday. As usual with most Germans I've gotten to know well here, they have been much too kind to me, treating me as family, helping me with my German and generally being great. Despite the superficial steely expressions that Germans wear when moving through a normal day and work, they are completely different creatures when one gets to know them.
I don't think I've written about my work at the Uniklinik at all here, or at least not since May. Since it's already at an end, it'd be good to sum it up. I was employed as an intern in the psychiatry and psychotherapy department, working on a research investigation that had many facets- mood and emotion, olfactory function and effects on cognition, a neurological condition called essential tremor, stroke in the thalamus and cerebellum, etc. The full explanation may put people to sleep, but some of the highlights and anecdotes of the experience are worth telling, I think.
Some of our subjects that we tested had deep-brain stimulation machines implanted to treat essential tremor, which has many symptoms similar to Parkinson's disease. The machines are basically an electrode that zaps the thalamus, a deep part of the brain, with a couple volts of electricity via a power source implanted in the chest. I got to observe a surgery to implant one and watched as several patients used it during our testing. The surgery was one of the most bizarre things I think I've ever experienced- the patient was awake, with all kinds of things stuck in his head, and was asked to perform simple motor tasks as the voltage hitting his thalamus was slowly adjusted. In practice, the machine operates simply enough, with a TV-remote-looking device that is held to the chest and turns the machine on. That's almost the only external sign of the entire system. But the results are sometimes amazing- I saw one of our subjects turn his on, and within a second or so his constant hand tremors had significantly stilled, without any outward side affects.
I tested ever single patient using German, since we were testing older natives who were not likely to know much English. Despite the fact that my supervisor, Andreas, said that I definitely still sound American when I speak German, I got asked by at least 3 subjects if I was Dutch, from another if I was Danish, and another thought I was a Brit. It could me my ability to turn red in the face at any moment, but at any rate, at least it means I'd have a chance of fitting in over here if I had to.
The Uniklinik itself is a historical landmark- first designed in the 70s, it was supposed to express a vision of the hospital of the future. It originally was supposed to have more than 9 stories, but the building started to sink into the ground it was built on, forcing the builders to stop there. Thus today it's got exposed elevator shafts that originally were for serving upper floors sticking out, with external heating and ventilation ductwork crawling all over it. The inside is covered in green: green carpet, green walls, even a strange green horse in the balcony above the main entrance hallway. More ductwork runs through every ceiling, and the bare metal frame of the building is painted red, silver, neon yellow and other wild colors. It's supposedly either the biggest single hospital building in Europe, or maybe just Germany. I had a local friend tell me that it's really a transformer, ready to defend the border if the Dutch decide to invade Germany. Who really knows.
German society is way more hierarchal than what we'd consider normal in the states. The Oberartzt, or doctor that ran our department, had an official title of University-Prof. Dr. Dr. Schneider, Ph.D. Yes, they really do list all their high-level degrees like that on official documents. And despite the fact that I'm obviously an under-30, t-shirt wearing intern, the neurologist we cooperated with to do our research still called me Herr Kroener til the day I left. It even affects the way normal office work is done- money and documents sometimes pass through so many hands, that no one can tell you what's going on at all. Anything that steps outside these co-workers' personal responsibilities and knowledge is someone else's problem, even though they do try to help the best they can.
Like most things in life, I think learning more about the professional culture of Germany has left me with more questions than I had to start out with.
I don't think I've written about my work at the Uniklinik at all here, or at least not since May. Since it's already at an end, it'd be good to sum it up. I was employed as an intern in the psychiatry and psychotherapy department, working on a research investigation that had many facets- mood and emotion, olfactory function and effects on cognition, a neurological condition called essential tremor, stroke in the thalamus and cerebellum, etc. The full explanation may put people to sleep, but some of the highlights and anecdotes of the experience are worth telling, I think.
Some of our subjects that we tested had deep-brain stimulation machines implanted to treat essential tremor, which has many symptoms similar to Parkinson's disease. The machines are basically an electrode that zaps the thalamus, a deep part of the brain, with a couple volts of electricity via a power source implanted in the chest. I got to observe a surgery to implant one and watched as several patients used it during our testing. The surgery was one of the most bizarre things I think I've ever experienced- the patient was awake, with all kinds of things stuck in his head, and was asked to perform simple motor tasks as the voltage hitting his thalamus was slowly adjusted. In practice, the machine operates simply enough, with a TV-remote-looking device that is held to the chest and turns the machine on. That's almost the only external sign of the entire system. But the results are sometimes amazing- I saw one of our subjects turn his on, and within a second or so his constant hand tremors had significantly stilled, without any outward side affects.
I tested ever single patient using German, since we were testing older natives who were not likely to know much English. Despite the fact that my supervisor, Andreas, said that I definitely still sound American when I speak German, I got asked by at least 3 subjects if I was Dutch, from another if I was Danish, and another thought I was a Brit. It could me my ability to turn red in the face at any moment, but at any rate, at least it means I'd have a chance of fitting in over here if I had to.
The Uniklinik itself is a historical landmark- first designed in the 70s, it was supposed to express a vision of the hospital of the future. It originally was supposed to have more than 9 stories, but the building started to sink into the ground it was built on, forcing the builders to stop there. Thus today it's got exposed elevator shafts that originally were for serving upper floors sticking out, with external heating and ventilation ductwork crawling all over it. The inside is covered in green: green carpet, green walls, even a strange green horse in the balcony above the main entrance hallway. More ductwork runs through every ceiling, and the bare metal frame of the building is painted red, silver, neon yellow and other wild colors. It's supposedly either the biggest single hospital building in Europe, or maybe just Germany. I had a local friend tell me that it's really a transformer, ready to defend the border if the Dutch decide to invade Germany. Who really knows.
German society is way more hierarchal than what we'd consider normal in the states. The Oberartzt, or doctor that ran our department, had an official title of University-Prof. Dr. Dr. Schneider, Ph.D. Yes, they really do list all their high-level degrees like that on official documents. And despite the fact that I'm obviously an under-30, t-shirt wearing intern, the neurologist we cooperated with to do our research still called me Herr Kroener til the day I left. It even affects the way normal office work is done- money and documents sometimes pass through so many hands, that no one can tell you what's going on at all. Anything that steps outside these co-workers' personal responsibilities and knowledge is someone else's problem, even though they do try to help the best they can.
Like most things in life, I think learning more about the professional culture of Germany has left me with more questions than I had to start out with.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Norddeutschland update!
Once again I've been slacking off in the postings- finding time to blog, especially while being on the road, is much harder than I thought it would be. But I've experienced a lot only in the last week, which I think will do well for this entry.
My boss at the Uniklinik had a trip to Tuscany with his wife planned long before my arrival in Aachen, so he was very cool and let me take a whole week + a weekend off. I decided to save some money and see more of Germany, so I took off in search of some of the famous cities and places in the north. I started in Hamburg, Germany's quintessential port city (actually it might be the largest port in Europe) and a town uniquely wrapped up in it's lifeblood, the North and Baltic Sea shipping trade. It's actually got quite a spacious and beautiful downtown surrounding the Binnenalster and Aussenalster lakes, but just a short S-Bahn ride away are the huge, ornate brick Speicherstadt shipping warehouses and HafenCity, which will be one of the largest planned urban renewal projects when finished. I think it may rival the Big Dig in Boston in size and complexity.
I met up with John, another DAAD RISE program participant, to travel around the city and try to experience Hamburg. We did the typical tourist stuff- the Sunday morning fish market (rock covers, beer and fish and chips at 5 AM!), a walk through the Reeperbahn red light district to see where the Beatles had their first gigs (Grosse Freiheit 36), and even rented a row boat and tried not to get rammed by the much speedier sailboats on the Aussenalster. We even took a day trip to Luebeck, a tiny preserved medieval town north of Hamburg that was once the city of the 13th century Hanseatic League (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hanseatic_League). But I found Hamburg itself not particularly touristy, which suited me just fine- because the people there are some of the most open and fun-loving in Deutschland. It's not just because they have the Reeperbahn here- I managed to meet some local university students (unfortunately on my last day there), and we had a great time just walking around the town. Plus, that ugly harbor, full of cranes and container ships the size of football fields, gets really pretty at night. Hamburg is somewhere I could definitely live for a few years.
Then I was off to Ruegen Insel, with a short stop in the nearby 'gateway' city (and also former Hanseatic member) of Stralsund. Ruegen is the island right at Deutschland's northeastern tip, surrounded by the deep blue Ostsee (Baltic Sea) and can thus lay claim to some of this country's most beautiful landcape- imposing chalk cliffs, alternating white sand and stony shorelines, windswept fields of grain and wildflowers and a web of bike paths through it all. I used the latter to visit the famous Koenigsstuhl and Victoria-Sicht Kreidefelsen (chalk cliffs) and Cap Arkona, the northernmost point on Ruegen, marked by two distictive lighthouses. Along the way there much to see as well- native seaside pine forests, swallows living in the chalk cliffs, poppies everywhere, and an artist's colony specializing in works made out of the amber and other natural materials native to the island. There was even Vitt, a tiny fisherman's village that hasn't changed in centuries.
I could have spent a whole week or more on Ruegen, but alas I had to move on- to Berlin, the heart and soul of Deutschland. I've been here once before, but I couldn't pass up the chance to see visit it once again. This city is everything Germany was, is and will be, and bears the scars from all it's survived- from Bismarck's Prussian Reich, the world wars and the Cold War, the remainders from the Wall, to today's new Reichstag and the Kanzler's building- I could go on and on. I feel as if Berlin stands at the crossroads of everywhere the western world is going as well- with it's huge alternative lifestyle neighborhoods (and the accompanying graffiti everywhere), fantastic museums, lively music and arts scene and centers of learning (Charite Medical School, Freie Universitaet Berlin, Humboldt Uni, etc).
I started my day today, for example, with a morning walk along the East Side Gallery, the longest and best-preserved section of the wall that lay originally on the eastern side of the divided Berlin. After the 'Wende' (literally 'the turn', what Germans call the re-unification), artists came to this place and painted some very famous graffiti, of which sadly little has stood the test of time (and the work of competing later artists). Still, it was powerful just to touch the Wall itself and think about what it meant for the world, and what it could still mean. There's a eerily similar eyesore being erected in Jerusalem right now- but that's for another day.
And yet, in other places of Berlin you wouldn't distinguish it as different from any other cosmopolitan European capital- especially in places in like the completely new Potsdamer Platz, with such architectual icons as the Sony Center's glass-and-steel canopy. But this place was also part of the no-man's land between the East and West sides of the Wall for 30 years or so, and you only have to look where you're walking to see a double-row line of bricks weaving randomly through streets, apartment complexes, even in front of theaters- the line of the old Wall.
I've also had the chance to spend time with some great friends here- the Gnirck family, whose father I stayed with here two years ago, the time when the city first burned itself permanently into my memory. Together, we've tasted typical Germany cuisine from around the country, visited the Juedisches Museum (definitely a must-see here, although budget more time for it than we did), and watched Christoph, one of the two Gnirck sons, run in the the Jugendmeisterschaft for Leichtathletik (track and field) at the enigmatic Olympiastadion, cite of the infamous 1936 Olympics and Jesse Owen's triumph over Hitler's 'Aryan' athletes. Christoph ran well for his first time at the event, even besting his own 800m time by 3 seconds in this Deutschland-wide junior track championship. We even saw a great performance of Gershwin's Porgy and Bess at the Deutsches Oper Berlin, played by an all-black South African cast- a typical Berliner mix of culture and history.
I've still got all of tomorrow to experience Berlin, but somehow I know I'll never get enough of this city. It's not only that there's so much to see and do here, but that I really feel 'zu Hause' here, at home, as the Germans say. True, it's huge, somewhat bizarre, and sometimes neglect of it's minority communities spawns ugly events (particularly in the Turkish community), but overall it's really livable, and it's size helps you escape your fellow tourists once in a while. And because Berlin really is the heart of Deutschland, the German people are always concerned with taking the city in the right direction- something I don't always think is a concern in Philly, for example.
The other Gnirck son, Markus, has just returned from a year of social service in an AIDS orphanage in South Africa. In getting to know him better this weekend, I can see how a year in such a strange and often tragic situation has fundamentaly changed him. I've not experienced anything near that traumatizing over here, but it some way I feel myself changed in some way as well. He hardly speaks of Africa, despite being really a joker and extroverted, and his native land somehow feels foreign now. I think it's going to be a long flight home for me as well.
My boss at the Uniklinik had a trip to Tuscany with his wife planned long before my arrival in Aachen, so he was very cool and let me take a whole week + a weekend off. I decided to save some money and see more of Germany, so I took off in search of some of the famous cities and places in the north. I started in Hamburg, Germany's quintessential port city (actually it might be the largest port in Europe) and a town uniquely wrapped up in it's lifeblood, the North and Baltic Sea shipping trade. It's actually got quite a spacious and beautiful downtown surrounding the Binnenalster and Aussenalster lakes, but just a short S-Bahn ride away are the huge, ornate brick Speicherstadt shipping warehouses and HafenCity, which will be one of the largest planned urban renewal projects when finished. I think it may rival the Big Dig in Boston in size and complexity.
I met up with John, another DAAD RISE program participant, to travel around the city and try to experience Hamburg. We did the typical tourist stuff- the Sunday morning fish market (rock covers, beer and fish and chips at 5 AM!), a walk through the Reeperbahn red light district to see where the Beatles had their first gigs (Grosse Freiheit 36), and even rented a row boat and tried not to get rammed by the much speedier sailboats on the Aussenalster. We even took a day trip to Luebeck, a tiny preserved medieval town north of Hamburg that was once the city of the 13th century Hanseatic League (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hanseatic_League). But I found Hamburg itself not particularly touristy, which suited me just fine- because the people there are some of the most open and fun-loving in Deutschland. It's not just because they have the Reeperbahn here- I managed to meet some local university students (unfortunately on my last day there), and we had a great time just walking around the town. Plus, that ugly harbor, full of cranes and container ships the size of football fields, gets really pretty at night. Hamburg is somewhere I could definitely live for a few years.
Then I was off to Ruegen Insel, with a short stop in the nearby 'gateway' city (and also former Hanseatic member) of Stralsund. Ruegen is the island right at Deutschland's northeastern tip, surrounded by the deep blue Ostsee (Baltic Sea) and can thus lay claim to some of this country's most beautiful landcape- imposing chalk cliffs, alternating white sand and stony shorelines, windswept fields of grain and wildflowers and a web of bike paths through it all. I used the latter to visit the famous Koenigsstuhl and Victoria-Sicht Kreidefelsen (chalk cliffs) and Cap Arkona, the northernmost point on Ruegen, marked by two distictive lighthouses. Along the way there much to see as well- native seaside pine forests, swallows living in the chalk cliffs, poppies everywhere, and an artist's colony specializing in works made out of the amber and other natural materials native to the island. There was even Vitt, a tiny fisherman's village that hasn't changed in centuries.
I could have spent a whole week or more on Ruegen, but alas I had to move on- to Berlin, the heart and soul of Deutschland. I've been here once before, but I couldn't pass up the chance to see visit it once again. This city is everything Germany was, is and will be, and bears the scars from all it's survived- from Bismarck's Prussian Reich, the world wars and the Cold War, the remainders from the Wall, to today's new Reichstag and the Kanzler's building- I could go on and on. I feel as if Berlin stands at the crossroads of everywhere the western world is going as well- with it's huge alternative lifestyle neighborhoods (and the accompanying graffiti everywhere), fantastic museums, lively music and arts scene and centers of learning (Charite Medical School, Freie Universitaet Berlin, Humboldt Uni, etc).
I started my day today, for example, with a morning walk along the East Side Gallery, the longest and best-preserved section of the wall that lay originally on the eastern side of the divided Berlin. After the 'Wende' (literally 'the turn', what Germans call the re-unification), artists came to this place and painted some very famous graffiti, of which sadly little has stood the test of time (and the work of competing later artists). Still, it was powerful just to touch the Wall itself and think about what it meant for the world, and what it could still mean. There's a eerily similar eyesore being erected in Jerusalem right now- but that's for another day.
And yet, in other places of Berlin you wouldn't distinguish it as different from any other cosmopolitan European capital- especially in places in like the completely new Potsdamer Platz, with such architectual icons as the Sony Center's glass-and-steel canopy. But this place was also part of the no-man's land between the East and West sides of the Wall for 30 years or so, and you only have to look where you're walking to see a double-row line of bricks weaving randomly through streets, apartment complexes, even in front of theaters- the line of the old Wall.
I've also had the chance to spend time with some great friends here- the Gnirck family, whose father I stayed with here two years ago, the time when the city first burned itself permanently into my memory. Together, we've tasted typical Germany cuisine from around the country, visited the Juedisches Museum (definitely a must-see here, although budget more time for it than we did), and watched Christoph, one of the two Gnirck sons, run in the the Jugendmeisterschaft for Leichtathletik (track and field) at the enigmatic Olympiastadion, cite of the infamous 1936 Olympics and Jesse Owen's triumph over Hitler's 'Aryan' athletes. Christoph ran well for his first time at the event, even besting his own 800m time by 3 seconds in this Deutschland-wide junior track championship. We even saw a great performance of Gershwin's Porgy and Bess at the Deutsches Oper Berlin, played by an all-black South African cast- a typical Berliner mix of culture and history.
I've still got all of tomorrow to experience Berlin, but somehow I know I'll never get enough of this city. It's not only that there's so much to see and do here, but that I really feel 'zu Hause' here, at home, as the Germans say. True, it's huge, somewhat bizarre, and sometimes neglect of it's minority communities spawns ugly events (particularly in the Turkish community), but overall it's really livable, and it's size helps you escape your fellow tourists once in a while. And because Berlin really is the heart of Deutschland, the German people are always concerned with taking the city in the right direction- something I don't always think is a concern in Philly, for example.
The other Gnirck son, Markus, has just returned from a year of social service in an AIDS orphanage in South Africa. In getting to know him better this weekend, I can see how a year in such a strange and often tragic situation has fundamentaly changed him. I've not experienced anything near that traumatizing over here, but it some way I feel myself changed in some way as well. He hardly speaks of Africa, despite being really a joker and extroverted, and his native land somehow feels foreign now. I think it's going to be a long flight home for me as well.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Kannst du nicht reden, ohne zu schreien?
One of the great things about spending quality time in a foreign land is that it brings all of our American quirks into sharp relief. For example, many of the American's perceived rudeness to Europeans is our enlarged sense of space, especially in the personal sense. Germans, for example, will come closer to you in an effort to hear you better, which when not expected is a bit strange for an American. Why are you gettin' so close man?!?! I overexaggerate a bit, but then again, dinner with my American friends here showed me another side of things.
Nine of us sat down in a Turkish restaurant to grab some döner and send off a friend of ours who was returning to the States yesterday. Everyone's having a good time talking and joking, until my concentration starts to wander (quite a normal occurance) and I notice that the sound of our voices is reflecting around the diminutive dining room, at least twice as loud as any other table's. All of a sudden, our laughs sound rude and raucous to me, when in the States it would be normal for young 19-20 somethings. I can see the peeved gazes of other guests, especially the older German crowd, staring us down and silently condemning our rudeness.
Again, I exaggerate a bit. German kids also get real loud, just like American ones. Talking loudly with your friends while enjoying beers outside a cafe is well-tolerated here. But once indoors, Americans seek to preserve their sense of personal space by sitting back from the table and yelling across it. Germans (in general) keep things within earshot of only their friends and let other guests enjoy their conversations without having to compete.
Another good example is public transportation- in Europe, you definitely may end up standing in a tight crowd on a given bus ride, or seated next to someone you don't know on a long train, or seated on the floor of a packed rush-hour train with others all around. About the only thing Americans ever experience close to this is on flights. There are many reasons why we in States love our cars, but I would suspect that a small part of that is our desire not to have to put up with other's music, smells, activity, or mere presence when we're traveling. In order to get around cheaply in Europe, you've got to give some personal space to let everyone ride the bus- that's why when Germans are at home or hanging out, they build a quieter, private space of their own for friends and family through quiet conversation.
Now, those of you who know me know that I can be as loud as any American. And there are exceptions over here- Spanish women can raise a racket when they want to. But at the risk of sounding like some old fart, I think it would be great if Americans quieted down, got over themselves and learned to live with each other's presence. Maybe then we'd learn to tolerate each other better, and actually get to know our friends. That couple holding hands and kissing each other's necks on the bus is not gonna kill you. And that dude's piercings and long hair make him happy, so why not let him have his way when he lets you have yours? And have you ever noticed that when Americans are inside in large groups, the din is almost unreal, as if we're competing for soundspace?
Ok, I'm done. But think about it.
Nine of us sat down in a Turkish restaurant to grab some döner and send off a friend of ours who was returning to the States yesterday. Everyone's having a good time talking and joking, until my concentration starts to wander (quite a normal occurance) and I notice that the sound of our voices is reflecting around the diminutive dining room, at least twice as loud as any other table's. All of a sudden, our laughs sound rude and raucous to me, when in the States it would be normal for young 19-20 somethings. I can see the peeved gazes of other guests, especially the older German crowd, staring us down and silently condemning our rudeness.
Again, I exaggerate a bit. German kids also get real loud, just like American ones. Talking loudly with your friends while enjoying beers outside a cafe is well-tolerated here. But once indoors, Americans seek to preserve their sense of personal space by sitting back from the table and yelling across it. Germans (in general) keep things within earshot of only their friends and let other guests enjoy their conversations without having to compete.
Another good example is public transportation- in Europe, you definitely may end up standing in a tight crowd on a given bus ride, or seated next to someone you don't know on a long train, or seated on the floor of a packed rush-hour train with others all around. About the only thing Americans ever experience close to this is on flights. There are many reasons why we in States love our cars, but I would suspect that a small part of that is our desire not to have to put up with other's music, smells, activity, or mere presence when we're traveling. In order to get around cheaply in Europe, you've got to give some personal space to let everyone ride the bus- that's why when Germans are at home or hanging out, they build a quieter, private space of their own for friends and family through quiet conversation.
Now, those of you who know me know that I can be as loud as any American. And there are exceptions over here- Spanish women can raise a racket when they want to. But at the risk of sounding like some old fart, I think it would be great if Americans quieted down, got over themselves and learned to live with each other's presence. Maybe then we'd learn to tolerate each other better, and actually get to know our friends. That couple holding hands and kissing each other's necks on the bus is not gonna kill you. And that dude's piercings and long hair make him happy, so why not let him have his way when he lets you have yours? And have you ever noticed that when Americans are inside in large groups, the din is almost unreal, as if we're competing for soundspace?
Ok, I'm done. But think about it.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Hup Holland Hup!
As a coda to my Valencia travels, I spent the following Saturday in Maastricht, an ancient river town in the very southern tip of the Netherlands, right near Aachen. Not nearly as beautiful as Valencia but also with really nice, quirky people, Maastricht has ruins of Roman and medieval walled forts on the western bank of the River Maas, spacious cobblestone squares and an ancient church with many references to seafaring and its dangers. I had no plan, so I mostly wandered around the town just looking down side streets and trying to soak in the Holland vibe. Examples of the weirdness:
- a guy, undoubtedly dared by his friends, walking through a busy shopping area in sneakers, briefs and a towel;
- the appropriately named 'Botel', a sort of floating hostel on the Maas;
- an old cathedral turned into a gigantic bookstore on the inside;
- a wall on the 'Jan(e) van Eyck Akademie' with "quotes" in graffiti from some famous people, including Picasso and Keith Haring (see picture at right);
- colorful sculptures randomly exhibited in a large square, which looked like they were made out of gobs of clay;
- a tin 'cow' that was being milked by laughing locals for water;
- the most orange clothing and paraphernalia I have ever seen.
The orange was, of course, in support of Holland's Europameisterschaft game against Russia that night, and if you should know one thing about the Dutch, it's that they love their football. I met up with a friend from Aachen to take part in the craziness in a very Dutch way: in a large bar with only standing room, due to the massive turn-out of orange-bedecked fans. Gulping small glasses of delicious Dutch beer and cheering with the locals was a great way to spend the night, but sadly the mighty Dutch national team fell to the Russians, postponing further madness until the next World Cup. Despite the fact that it'll be in S. Africa, I think the party will be in Holland...
- a guy, undoubtedly dared by his friends, walking through a busy shopping area in sneakers, briefs and a towel;
- the appropriately named 'Botel', a sort of floating hostel on the Maas;
- an old cathedral turned into a gigantic bookstore on the inside;
- a wall on the 'Jan(e) van Eyck Akademie' with "quotes" in graffiti from some famous people, including Picasso and Keith Haring (see picture at right);
- colorful sculptures randomly exhibited in a large square, which looked like they were made out of gobs of clay;
- a tin 'cow' that was being milked by laughing locals for water;
- the most orange clothing and paraphernalia I have ever seen.
The orange was, of course, in support of Holland's Europameisterschaft game against Russia that night, and if you should know one thing about the Dutch, it's that they love their football. I met up with a friend from Aachen to take part in the craziness in a very Dutch way: in a large bar with only standing room, due to the massive turn-out of orange-bedecked fans. Gulping small glasses of delicious Dutch beer and cheering with the locals was a great way to spend the night, but sadly the mighty Dutch national team fell to the Russians, postponing further madness until the next World Cup. Despite the fact that it'll be in S. Africa, I think the party will be in Holland...
La Aventura en Espana
I think it's been almost two weeks since I've last written here- a longer pause than I ever intended. I think I'll start catching up with some travels in Espana.
Two weekends ago, I finally got to fly to Valencia (note entry below). Third largest city in Spain and right on the Mediterranean coast, this is a prime vacation spot for Spaniards, and appropriately I heard almost zero English the entire time. Such a lack of English is completely normal for me- but this was the first time I could honestly say I had no idea what was going on in conversations, being outside of Deutschland. The language barrier was tough and very frustrating at times- it took me about ten minutes of negotiating to figure out how to order a single serving of paella, Valencia's delicious signature rice dish. All the same, I found the Spaniards all really friendly, and next time I visit (which is definitely now a future plan) I'll come prepared with some Espanol of my own.
Valencia's combination of rustic elegance and great beach more than made up for the language barrier. Centuries of monarchies and feudalism in this blissful climate spawned shady palm-tree-lined plazas with with marble fountains, rose marble sidewalks, extravagant gilded and white sandstone architecture and a several-kilometer-long garden running through a former river bed, which is crossed by historic bridges and dotted with orange groves and Romanesque
facades. At the end of said garden, near the coast, rises one of the most strange and beautiful architectural works I've ever seen- Cuitat de las Artes y las Ciencies, or the City of Arts and Sciences, (check it out- http://www.cac.es/home?languageId=1) . 
Almost completely white and surrounded by a reflecting pool of azure water, it resembles some resurfaced part of Atlantis, with unbelievable organic lines and vaguely sea creature-like profiles enclosing a science museum, an aquarium, a concert hall and an art musem, among other things. I was impressed with the science museum and aquarium's exhibits- especially the huge exhibitions of genetics, the biology, psychology and politics of the female life (strange in what is traditionally portrayed as a masochistic society) and the aquarium's many underwater glass tunnels- but the buildings themselves are the real thing to see here.
Of course, I took some time to lay on the beach, swim in the warm Mediterranean and talk to some locals, the latter of which was mostly unsuccessful but always interesting. Also strange was the fact that I kept running into Germans everywhere- two of the girls who worked the front desk at my hostel were German expats, and I hung out with a group from Munich for the two nights I was there. Great people, but personally I was disappointed in my lack of skills in connecting with any locals, something I'll try to fix next time around. Also, I will order a full paella this time- its so good!
By the way, while I was in Valencia Germany managed to miraculously beat Portugal 3-2 in their quarterfinal Europameisterschaft match. It was easily their best-played game of the EM... although by now you may know that they lost the whole thing to Spain in the final. But that's for another post.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Freiburg und der Schwarzwald
As the result of a lucky mistake in travel planning on my part, I spontaneously headed to Freiburg, Baden-Wuerttemburg this past weekend. It's informally known as the gateway to the southern Black Forest and has all the scenery and mountain trails any outdoor nut could want. (I originally wanted to plan a trip to Valencia, Spain- that's for the weekend to come.)
After a speedy ride on a ICE train from Koeln (these trains reach 165 mph!!), I stepped out of the Hauptbahnhof into what seemed like a whole different country- a town with cheerful, red brick- and colorfully-painted houses, the giant Muenster cathedral, whose style of church I've never experienced before, 1-liter beer steins, and a ring of conifer-shrouded hills surrounding the town on two sides. Freiburg is definitely high on the scale of visual charm for Deutschland, so much so that I had to force myself to stop taking pictures sometimes (coming soon as well). Down it's ancient cobblestone streets (the town was founded around 1200!!), one finds bright mosaics in front of shops indicating what's sold or made there- diamonds for jewelry, tools for woodwork, even symbols of Freiburg's sister cities, one of which is (oddly enough) Madison, Wisconsin. More interesting things I saw:
- A real 'badische' wind band playing in the town square, in front of the old Rathaus (now a visitor's center).
- A farmer's and craft market surrounding the Muenster, with every kind of hand-made wooden and ceramic craft imaginable, and a massive assortment of local food specialites.
- A local meeting house for adherents to Tibetan Buddhism, where I got to see ancient relics of long-past buddhas and how they're linked to worship and meditation. One guy even got his dog blessed by a monk.
- Brass plaques on the sidewalks, indicating businesses that Jews had once owned before the Nazis took power in Baden-Wuerttemburg.
- Too many views of the Black Forest to count- but one especially great one from the top of the Schlossberg, where an old French fortress used to sit.
- Germans in a club dancing to music from "Grease." The transition from pounding house music to "Tell me more" still makes me laugh.
- More bikers than I think I've ever seen in my entire life, except when watching the Tour de France on TV. Apparently Freiburgers are some of the most fit people in all of Germany. Or at least they have monster quads. Anyway, my feeble attempt at mountain biking through the Schwarzwald showed that I'd need some practice to take on these people's trails.
After a speedy ride on a ICE train from Koeln (these trains reach 165 mph!!), I stepped out of the Hauptbahnhof into what seemed like a whole different country- a town with cheerful, red brick- and colorfully-painted houses, the giant Muenster cathedral, whose style of church I've never experienced before, 1-liter beer steins, and a ring of conifer-shrouded hills surrounding the town on two sides. Freiburg is definitely high on the scale of visual charm for Deutschland, so much so that I had to force myself to stop taking pictures sometimes (coming soon as well). Down it's ancient cobblestone streets (the town was founded around 1200!!), one finds bright mosaics in front of shops indicating what's sold or made there- diamonds for jewelry, tools for woodwork, even symbols of Freiburg's sister cities, one of which is (oddly enough) Madison, Wisconsin. More interesting things I saw:
- A real 'badische' wind band playing in the town square, in front of the old Rathaus (now a visitor's center).
- A farmer's and craft market surrounding the Muenster, with every kind of hand-made wooden and ceramic craft imaginable, and a massive assortment of local food specialites.
- A local meeting house for adherents to Tibetan Buddhism, where I got to see ancient relics of long-past buddhas and how they're linked to worship and meditation. One guy even got his dog blessed by a monk.
- Brass plaques on the sidewalks, indicating businesses that Jews had once owned before the Nazis took power in Baden-Wuerttemburg.
- Too many views of the Black Forest to count- but one especially great one from the top of the Schlossberg, where an old French fortress used to sit.
- Germans in a club dancing to music from "Grease." The transition from pounding house music to "Tell me more" still makes me laugh.
- More bikers than I think I've ever seen in my entire life, except when watching the Tour de France on TV. Apparently Freiburgers are some of the most fit people in all of Germany. Or at least they have monster quads. Anyway, my feeble attempt at mountain biking through the Schwarzwald showed that I'd need some practice to take on these people's trails.
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