And it's not because they are meant to be broken. Consider me rule-breaker-number-one. David and I self-imposed a three gluehwein limit (see earlier post) in order to protect ourselves from ourselves. Boy did we blow it. Actually, we didn't just blow it. We shattered it. I blame a lot of it on our friend, Marta. Although, to be honest, David is also partly to blame. And maybe me a little bit, too.
We decided last week that it would be fun to go to the Weihnachtsmarkts on Friday and drink a few gluehweins, absorb the festive atmosphere, and smell whatever was roasting on the open grills. So, as scheduled we arrived at the first markt where feuerzangenbowle is available (see earlier post). The crowd around the feuerzangenbowle (boy, is that hard to spell) stand was obnoxious and it is hard to manage four cups of feuerzangenbowle without spilling or burning bystanders. But, we perservered and for our troubles, we were heartily rewarded. A few times.
David decided we should move to different pastures and give gluehwein mit schuss (with a shot) a try. Everyone agreed and so we did. A few times. At a few markts. The train ride home is pretty foggy and David tells me that the conversation was pretty entertaining. I'm not sure about that. I do know that Saturday thoroughly sucked, at least until 3pm when I got out of bed.
It seems like every few years I have to remind myself why I NEVER drink any quantity of hard liquor. Somehow in between I forget. Gluehwein and feuerzangenbowle brought it all back in vivid, painful technicolor. Bleh. I should be good for a few years, anyway.
And now, modest readership, I am going to take a short winter break. The blog will be offline for two weeks. I know. I know. The horror. What will you do with yourself? I imagine you'll manage and I'll try to stay away from the gluehwein.
In the new year, we'll have tales of family visits, trips to the east of Germany and others. So stay tuned.
Of course, I still love Hamburg. But seven gluehweins mit schuss, I definitely do not love.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Damn Handy
Each night when I get home from work, I take Stella out to a little park right next to our house so she can do her business and snarf around. Depending on whether Inge has taken her on their 3-times weekly 2-hour afternoon walk, Stella's eagerness to get outdoors can vary substantially. Yesterday she had obviously been out on the town with her new best friend and was sort of leisurely making her way to the park (leisurely is a relative term with this dog, but anyway). As I followed Stella onto the sidewalk I noticed something shiny and bent down to retrieve a lost cell phone. It was a little bit wet since it is December and it is Hamburg and it has been raining on and off for the past two weeks (hint, hint Christmas visitors - bring a rain jacket). I tucked it in my pocket and headed to the park so Stella could be accosted by a giant, unwieldy, yellow lab. Not that I was sending her to be accosted, that's just how it went last night. This dog (the lab, not Stella) is a behemoth. I would guess he's well over 100 lbs and he drags his walker where ever it is he wants to go, which happened to be on or near Stella and her pee spot.
After the lab meet and greet, we headed back to make dinner and wait for the phone to ring. I sort of wondered what I would say or even how I would know if it was the owner. Or, what if the phone owner's spouse calls and some strange lady (me) answers the phone and "pretends" not to speak GErman so as to avoid an undesireable line of questioning regarding how it is that the strange lady (me) came to be answering the spouse's private line. I wasn't too worried since anyone calling didn't know who or where they were calling. I clearly had the upper hand in the matter, sucky language skills and all.
Within the hour the phone rang. I tried my best German "Hallo." The caller said a few words and I replied cheerily "Ich spreche kein Deutsch aber ich habe dein Handy." More words on his end, some I understood, others not. I managed to convey that I found his phone, I live in Eimsbuttel, work in City Nord and a few other, possibly unecessary pieces of information. I think he told me that he too lived in Eimsbuttel, worked at the Flughafen (airport) and asked where I found the phone. As I gave him my last name and address, I realized what a perfect scam it would be to drop cheapy cell phones around town and then wait for kindly folks to pick them up. The unscrupulous criminal could then arrange a quiet place to meet and WHAMO! I imagined a threw a wrench in his plans by not speaking the language.
I think I managed to arrange for him to call again tomorrow when I could pass the phone to one of my German co-workers and to arrange a time to make the exchange. God, my German is bad.
Today he called and I passed the phone and a German colleague arranged a time to make the exchange. The phone owner's sister called tonight and said "you have my brother's handy." I agreed. I think that might have been all the English she knew and since my German was no better we spent a few more minutes working out the details. When the phone rang again a few minutes later I walked out to give the phone to him half ready to bust out some sweet Thai boxing moves, if necessary. As I handed him the phone, he handed me a little box of chocolate and thanked me, visibly relieved. I imagine when your phone goes missing, you don't ever really expect to get it back. Anyway, I scored some chocolate. I think it has nuts.
What else? About 10 days until the family arrives for the holidays. I'm not really sure why I am telling you this since most of my modest readership will be here for the holidays. Or at least I hope they are among my modest readership.
Also, we are signed up for round two of Deutsch course starting in January. This time a teacher is coming to our office once a week for two hours to impart German skills. Very nice. I feel pretty ready and David is really trying at work to learn some phrases - "Wie var dein Wochenende?" I hope it helps - I am really getting tired of saying "Ich spreche kein Deutsche."
Of course, I still love Hamburg and I love free chocolate, too!
After the lab meet and greet, we headed back to make dinner and wait for the phone to ring. I sort of wondered what I would say or even how I would know if it was the owner. Or, what if the phone owner's spouse calls and some strange lady (me) answers the phone and "pretends" not to speak GErman so as to avoid an undesireable line of questioning regarding how it is that the strange lady (me) came to be answering the spouse's private line. I wasn't too worried since anyone calling didn't know who or where they were calling. I clearly had the upper hand in the matter, sucky language skills and all.
Within the hour the phone rang. I tried my best German "Hallo." The caller said a few words and I replied cheerily "Ich spreche kein Deutsch aber ich habe dein Handy." More words on his end, some I understood, others not. I managed to convey that I found his phone, I live in Eimsbuttel, work in City Nord and a few other, possibly unecessary pieces of information. I think he told me that he too lived in Eimsbuttel, worked at the Flughafen (airport) and asked where I found the phone. As I gave him my last name and address, I realized what a perfect scam it would be to drop cheapy cell phones around town and then wait for kindly folks to pick them up. The unscrupulous criminal could then arrange a quiet place to meet and WHAMO! I imagined a threw a wrench in his plans by not speaking the language.
I think I managed to arrange for him to call again tomorrow when I could pass the phone to one of my German co-workers and to arrange a time to make the exchange. God, my German is bad.
Today he called and I passed the phone and a German colleague arranged a time to make the exchange. The phone owner's sister called tonight and said "you have my brother's handy." I agreed. I think that might have been all the English she knew and since my German was no better we spent a few more minutes working out the details. When the phone rang again a few minutes later I walked out to give the phone to him half ready to bust out some sweet Thai boxing moves, if necessary. As I handed him the phone, he handed me a little box of chocolate and thanked me, visibly relieved. I imagine when your phone goes missing, you don't ever really expect to get it back. Anyway, I scored some chocolate. I think it has nuts.
What else? About 10 days until the family arrives for the holidays. I'm not really sure why I am telling you this since most of my modest readership will be here for the holidays. Or at least I hope they are among my modest readership.
Also, we are signed up for round two of Deutsch course starting in January. This time a teacher is coming to our office once a week for two hours to impart German skills. Very nice. I feel pretty ready and David is really trying at work to learn some phrases - "Wie var dein Wochenende?" I hope it helps - I am really getting tired of saying "Ich spreche kein Deutsche."
Of course, I still love Hamburg and I love free chocolate, too!
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Why not Weihnachts
It has become something of a pass time for David and I to attend the Weihnachtsmarkts in and around Hamburg. Some have been very cool, particularly those downtown. And some have been awfully lame (Alsterdorfer Adventsmarkt). But in all cases, this country has pretty much cornered the market on Christmas. You could just about bottle the atmosphere here. While there is a similar (although I think not as crazy) tendency to shop till you drop for Christmas in Germany, there is an old-fashioned traditional feeling that I've never seen in the U.S. I suppose all the Gluehwein is helping with the holiday cheer, but never mind that. The air smells like sugary treats, wood smoke and pine trees. In the few days since the markets opened, we've been to a total of seven. The big ones have really special baked goods, candy, mustard, nuts, etc and lots of handi-crafts for gifts and decorating. I feel like a total sap, but I love it.
As I mentioned, Gluehwein is the drink of choice at these Weihnachtsmarkts and boy does it flow liberally. You can always find the Gluehwein stand - it's usually surrounded 4 people deep and smells like spiced wine. It is spiced wine, so go figure. Actually, Gluehwein is cheap red wine mixed with this stuff called Kinder Punch and a bunch of spices and then heated up. You can also get your Gluewein mit schuss (a shot of rum) or ohne schuss (without the shot). The schuss takes it to a whole new level and is worth a try and also worth implementing a self-imposed limit. We've decided that unchecked quantities of cheap red wine, lot's of sugar and rum just can't be a good combination. Our limit is three. So far, so good.
There is also a drink called feuerzangbowle that I am positively mad about. The word, feuerzangbowle, literally translates to "fire tongs punch." While I believe the base of the drink is the same as Gluehwein (cheap red mixed with cheaper punch), an extra step in the process makes the drink pretty damn special. A huge cone of sugar is placed in large tongs over a giant copper pot of simmering wine. The cone is then dowsed with high-alcohol rum and lit on fire. A ladel is used to continue adding rum to the sugar cone until the cone is made very small. The resulting firey, sugary mess drips into the wein and makes an ultra-sweet, highly intoxicating hot drink. So dangerously delicious. We tried a cup (or was it two?) on Friday. On Saturday my hands still smelled like carmelized sugar.
The other treat we tried was from a stand making fresh candy canes. The candy makers rolled out a huge, warm glob of striped candy, yelling all the while like carnival barkers. Then with some sort of quick hand magic, one guy lopped off a chunk of the candy, made into perfectly uniform pillow-looking squares and passed a bowl filled with the candy through the crowd. Wow, fresh, warm candy cane. I have no words.
We have two more Weihnachtsmarkts on the agenda this weekend - an ecological market and the big market in Bremen (about 110km from Hamburg). In the spirit of the season, I also bought an Advents Kalendar. I got one as a kid every year from a family friend and it has been really fun & nostalgic to pop open each day and pull out a little bit of chocolate during the countdown to Christmas.
That's pretty much it. David is encouraging me to focus a blog entry on German ways. I think I've been here long enough that I have stopped noticing! I have to pay attention again, because I know there is lot's of good sociological stuff going on. I just haven't been tuned into the transmissions lately.
Of course, I still love Hamburg and I really love feuerzangbowle, fresh candy and Weihnachts!!!
As I mentioned, Gluehwein is the drink of choice at these Weihnachtsmarkts and boy does it flow liberally. You can always find the Gluehwein stand - it's usually surrounded 4 people deep and smells like spiced wine. It is spiced wine, so go figure. Actually, Gluehwein is cheap red wine mixed with this stuff called Kinder Punch and a bunch of spices and then heated up. You can also get your Gluewein mit schuss (a shot of rum) or ohne schuss (without the shot). The schuss takes it to a whole new level and is worth a try and also worth implementing a self-imposed limit. We've decided that unchecked quantities of cheap red wine, lot's of sugar and rum just can't be a good combination. Our limit is three. So far, so good.
There is also a drink called feuerzangbowle that I am positively mad about. The word, feuerzangbowle, literally translates to "fire tongs punch." While I believe the base of the drink is the same as Gluehwein (cheap red mixed with cheaper punch), an extra step in the process makes the drink pretty damn special. A huge cone of sugar is placed in large tongs over a giant copper pot of simmering wine. The cone is then dowsed with high-alcohol rum and lit on fire. A ladel is used to continue adding rum to the sugar cone until the cone is made very small. The resulting firey, sugary mess drips into the wein and makes an ultra-sweet, highly intoxicating hot drink. So dangerously delicious. We tried a cup (or was it two?) on Friday. On Saturday my hands still smelled like carmelized sugar.
The other treat we tried was from a stand making fresh candy canes. The candy makers rolled out a huge, warm glob of striped candy, yelling all the while like carnival barkers. Then with some sort of quick hand magic, one guy lopped off a chunk of the candy, made into perfectly uniform pillow-looking squares and passed a bowl filled with the candy through the crowd. Wow, fresh, warm candy cane. I have no words.
We have two more Weihnachtsmarkts on the agenda this weekend - an ecological market and the big market in Bremen (about 110km from Hamburg). In the spirit of the season, I also bought an Advents Kalendar. I got one as a kid every year from a family friend and it has been really fun & nostalgic to pop open each day and pull out a little bit of chocolate during the countdown to Christmas.
That's pretty much it. David is encouraging me to focus a blog entry on German ways. I think I've been here long enough that I have stopped noticing! I have to pay attention again, because I know there is lot's of good sociological stuff going on. I just haven't been tuned into the transmissions lately.
Of course, I still love Hamburg and I really love feuerzangbowle, fresh candy and Weihnachts!!!
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Weihnachts Zeit - Woohoo!
The holiday (also referred to in Germany as "Weihnachts" - not so PC, but whatever) season is upon us. In Germany, this means Weihnachts Markts (Christmas Markets), which can also be roughly translated as an outdoor festival operating under the guise of celebrating the Christmas season, when in fact it is one more excuse to drink yourself stupid and eat massive quantities of sausage, schmalkuchen and crepes. The Weihnachts Markts are really getting underway this week with the month long markets running until just before New Year's and the smaller neighborhood markts scattered throughout December weekends. Poor David has his work cutout for him. I have all but laid out the day-planner and a map. The general plan is to visit as many of these celebrations as humanly possible in a three week (4 weekend) period. This weekend it is the Rathaus (City Hall) market followed by St. Michaelis Markt and the Alsterdorfer Markt. Next weekend we are again headed south to Lueneburg for a medeval Weihnachts Markt, complete with candle-only lighting.
While I have no firsthand experience, I understand that each markt is uniquely different with a unifying theme of Gluehwein (a hot spiced wine pronounced "glue-vine") and lebkuchen (my new favorite Christmas-time treat) to bind the whole mess together. There is also the opportunity to buy handicrafts and decorations - hooey. I am all about soaking up the aroma of fresh pine and Gluewein and eating lebkuchen and stollen. There is a tiny little Weihnachts Markt in our neighborhood that David and I checked out tonight - it has precisely 5 stands and a little-bitty carousel. The plaza it is on is gaudily decorated with pine boughs (real, not plastic - high German standards), a Weihnachtsbaum (Christmas tree), lots of lights and the concrete is covered with woodchips. I'm not really sure what authenticity is provided by the woodchips, but ok. We tried our luck with a hot cup of gluehwein - delicious. Funny too is that they ask if you would like a shot of rum with your hot wine. Because apparently a big cup of wine just isn't enough to numb the pain of the Christmas season.
Ok, I am keeping this short tonight because David and I share a computer and he has legitimate work to do - duty calls. I'll provide regular updates on the status of the Weihnachts Markts. Although, even at this early stage, one thing is perfectly clear: you do not want to experience the day after a gluehwein night. And I am going to do my earthly best not to be an example.
Of course, I still love Hamburg. And I really love Weihnacht's Zeit!
While I have no firsthand experience, I understand that each markt is uniquely different with a unifying theme of Gluehwein (a hot spiced wine pronounced "glue-vine") and lebkuchen (my new favorite Christmas-time treat) to bind the whole mess together. There is also the opportunity to buy handicrafts and decorations - hooey. I am all about soaking up the aroma of fresh pine and Gluewein and eating lebkuchen and stollen. There is a tiny little Weihnachts Markt in our neighborhood that David and I checked out tonight - it has precisely 5 stands and a little-bitty carousel. The plaza it is on is gaudily decorated with pine boughs (real, not plastic - high German standards), a Weihnachtsbaum (Christmas tree), lots of lights and the concrete is covered with woodchips. I'm not really sure what authenticity is provided by the woodchips, but ok. We tried our luck with a hot cup of gluehwein - delicious. Funny too is that they ask if you would like a shot of rum with your hot wine. Because apparently a big cup of wine just isn't enough to numb the pain of the Christmas season.
Ok, I am keeping this short tonight because David and I share a computer and he has legitimate work to do - duty calls. I'll provide regular updates on the status of the Weihnachts Markts. Although, even at this early stage, one thing is perfectly clear: you do not want to experience the day after a gluehwein night. And I am going to do my earthly best not to be an example.
Of course, I still love Hamburg. And I really love Weihnacht's Zeit!
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
DJ for hire...
There is a bar in the Karolinenviertel (Caroline Quarter) of Hamburg that has no name. Friends refer to it as the Igeil bar (at least that's how it sounds. I can't confirm it, because the bar has no name). Anyway, at this bar there is a little date book for people who want to DJ. You just find a free date, put your name in the book and show up that day with the media of your choice to rock the house. A few weeks ago David and I were there with our friend, Michael, who brought the book to our table to find a free date. I thought it might be fun, so I added my name, too.
Last night was my debut as a DJ. Since all of our music is on my laptop (in the interest of traveling light when we moved) I showed up to this grungy, beat up old bar that normally employs two well worn turntables for musik machen with a spiffy Lenovo laptop. I felt sort of inadequate without big milk crates full of old vinyl and the constant tinkering on the turntables that goes along. Oh well. I parked my notebook on a stool and cued up the playlist I'd been working on all week. My theme was American rock and roots: Johnny Cash, Primus, John Prine, Bruce Springstein, Wilco, etc. As I was plugging my 'system' in and letting Windows boot up (how very uncool), the bartender, Vera, told me that DJs drink for free. Nice. But it was Tuesday and I had to work today. Far less nice. I weighed my options and ultimately I felt obligated to at least make a reasonable hourly wage. So, I threw caution to the wind with a .33L Astra (and then some).
The music I had in mind wasn't such a hit, unfortunately. Most of it anyway. I tried some Old Crow Medicine Show and slow Johnny Cash. People were sort of staring at the floor. I could take a hint and I (in my vast experience as a volunteer DJ) wanted to be at least a little responsive to the clientele. I've been at this bar when the person controlling the music has made it their personal quest to thoroughly familiarize you with their own very obscure, very important genre of music (or die trying). Not I, modest readership. I went instead with uptempo and/or a little weird. Germans like their music/books/culture a little weird & complex - think Nietzche. I still subjected them to Wilco, however. Love me, love my moody, drug addled band who pretends to be from Chicago.
What else? We took a day trip this weekend to a little town 30 minutes south of here called Lueneburg. The town was at one time one of the wealthiest in Germany thanks to salt. It is a very nice little town with lot's of historic Hanseatic architecture and stills seems pretty well-off. The most notable thing about Lueneburg is the condition of many of the buildings. Also thanks to salt. Due to the extraction methods used, the ground under the town shifted enough to make many of the buildings bulge, buckle, bend and, in many cases, look pretty comic-bookish. I guess it's all structurally sound and it certainly adds to the charm. A must see for Hamburg visitors, I'd say.
As I mentioned in an earlier post, there is no Thanksgiving in Germany. These characters are tight with the holidays, I am here to attest. I mean Thanksgiving aside. I understand that. But there just aren't many other federal holidays on the calendar. Except in Bavaria. Apparently those Bavarians like time off. I vote we move our operation to Bavaria in the interest of more holidays. That's not really the point I am getting at. The point of the Thanksgiving tangent is that we are going to celebrate on Saturday with some other Americans we know. So don't worry, we'll eat until we bust, too. Just not tomorrow.
Happy THanksgiving, by the way. And, I still love Hamburg, but I don't like their holiday schedule.
Last night was my debut as a DJ. Since all of our music is on my laptop (in the interest of traveling light when we moved) I showed up to this grungy, beat up old bar that normally employs two well worn turntables for musik machen with a spiffy Lenovo laptop. I felt sort of inadequate without big milk crates full of old vinyl and the constant tinkering on the turntables that goes along. Oh well. I parked my notebook on a stool and cued up the playlist I'd been working on all week. My theme was American rock and roots: Johnny Cash, Primus, John Prine, Bruce Springstein, Wilco, etc. As I was plugging my 'system' in and letting Windows boot up (how very uncool), the bartender, Vera, told me that DJs drink for free. Nice. But it was Tuesday and I had to work today. Far less nice. I weighed my options and ultimately I felt obligated to at least make a reasonable hourly wage. So, I threw caution to the wind with a .33L Astra (and then some).
The music I had in mind wasn't such a hit, unfortunately. Most of it anyway. I tried some Old Crow Medicine Show and slow Johnny Cash. People were sort of staring at the floor. I could take a hint and I (in my vast experience as a volunteer DJ) wanted to be at least a little responsive to the clientele. I've been at this bar when the person controlling the music has made it their personal quest to thoroughly familiarize you with their own very obscure, very important genre of music (or die trying). Not I, modest readership. I went instead with uptempo and/or a little weird. Germans like their music/books/culture a little weird & complex - think Nietzche. I still subjected them to Wilco, however. Love me, love my moody, drug addled band who pretends to be from Chicago.
What else? We took a day trip this weekend to a little town 30 minutes south of here called Lueneburg. The town was at one time one of the wealthiest in Germany thanks to salt. It is a very nice little town with lot's of historic Hanseatic architecture and stills seems pretty well-off. The most notable thing about Lueneburg is the condition of many of the buildings. Also thanks to salt. Due to the extraction methods used, the ground under the town shifted enough to make many of the buildings bulge, buckle, bend and, in many cases, look pretty comic-bookish. I guess it's all structurally sound and it certainly adds to the charm. A must see for Hamburg visitors, I'd say.
As I mentioned in an earlier post, there is no Thanksgiving in Germany. These characters are tight with the holidays, I am here to attest. I mean Thanksgiving aside. I understand that. But there just aren't many other federal holidays on the calendar. Except in Bavaria. Apparently those Bavarians like time off. I vote we move our operation to Bavaria in the interest of more holidays. That's not really the point I am getting at. The point of the Thanksgiving tangent is that we are going to celebrate on Saturday with some other Americans we know. So don't worry, we'll eat until we bust, too. Just not tomorrow.
Happy THanksgiving, by the way. And, I still love Hamburg, but I don't like their holiday schedule.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
'Bad Things Done to Good Movies' or 'Ruling Hamburg by Housecoat'
David and I were invited to a Big Lebowski night at one of the bars in the Schanzen neighborhood. We received clear instructions that housecoats were recommended and there would be white Russian specials along with a showing of the classic Coen brother's movie. This spurred a trip to the Deutsches Rotes Kreuz (German Red Cross) store to look for a good, used bathrobe for David. We were in luck as we scored a nice, heavy bathrobe that David is lounging around in as I write this - for the bargain price of 10euro (about $15). I know it's high for second hand, but that's how Germany rolls. I also picked up a pair of jeans (used, mind you) for the low low price of 20euro (about 30 bucks). I normally don't pay that much for new jeans. But then again, I didn't take the warnings of outrageously priced denim seriously before we came here and figured 1 pair of jeans for work would be fine. They are nice jeans anyway.
But that's not the point of this story. On Saturday either David asked me (or vice versa) how high we thought the odds were that the Big Lebowski would be shown in German. You see, Germans dub everything - from movies to TV shows. It's such an epidemic, I'm a bit surprised that they don't dub music while they are at it. We agreed that the chances were pretty high and both grumbled about watching such a great movie overdubbed with strange voices - it would be like old Godzilla movies, I imagined.
But, we tried to be good sports and so David put on some tan scrubs (too cold for shorts), a white v-neck t-shirt and the 10euro housecoat and away we went. As we walked into the train station, we noticed that people were looking at David. This is to be expected, right? I mean some guy walking around in his bathrobe looking for all the world like Arthur Dent is bound to attract a few glances in any city. But this was pretty over the top. One theme we noticed almost immediately is in addition to the stares, there were lots of approving smiles, thumbs up and (I swear) dropped jaws (this one from a girl on the train as it pulled away from us on the platform). I'm not sure why an innocuous blue housecoat had such an effect, but David was digging it. Some guy actually said (in English) 'good night' to David as we got off the train, I assume implying that David was heading off for beddy-bye time.
It turns out that the white Russians were at least of high quality. A necessity given the liberties taken with the Dude's voice. I wasn't sure whether laughing or crying was the order of the day, so I drank another white lady to numb the pain. Funny too, were the three stylized German characters in the movie. We asked our friend if he knew that the directors were sort of making fun of Germans. He knew. But I don't think the translated version was nearly as funny. The outlandish German accents meant to emphasize the joke were replaced with, well, oh never mind. One thing we learned in all this is that Germans are just mad for the Dude - our friends and everyone in the bar loved the movie and had seen it about 100 times a piece.
The bar we were in started getting awfully crowded with decidely un-Dude-like people, so we decided to head somewhere else. Walking down the sidewalk, David got more wide-eyed stares and approving grins. It was like he had hit a happy nerve with the folks of Hamburg. The very best part was at the last bar of the night. We walked in and in looking for a seat we walked by a table of people, who our friend Melanie overheard saying (while pointing at David) 'He must be an artist.' As you might imagine, David was growing pretty keen on the whole bathrobe idea and seemed amenable when I begged him to do this on a regular basis (maybe like once a month or something). It's so much fun watching people react positively and I swear, David could just about run for office. Or at least ward councilman in St. Pauli. As long as he did it in his housecoat. With a white Russian.
We had a few flurries tonight - winter is settling in and the weihnachtsmarkt (Christmas Markets) are just around the corner. It's very festive, although we'll have no Thanksgiving next week - boohoo. But we are going to get a Christmas tree and string it with popcorn and any other brick-a-brack we can find laying around.
Of course, I still love Hamburg and David loves his housecoat!
But that's not the point of this story. On Saturday either David asked me (or vice versa) how high we thought the odds were that the Big Lebowski would be shown in German. You see, Germans dub everything - from movies to TV shows. It's such an epidemic, I'm a bit surprised that they don't dub music while they are at it. We agreed that the chances were pretty high and both grumbled about watching such a great movie overdubbed with strange voices - it would be like old Godzilla movies, I imagined.
But, we tried to be good sports and so David put on some tan scrubs (too cold for shorts), a white v-neck t-shirt and the 10euro housecoat and away we went. As we walked into the train station, we noticed that people were looking at David. This is to be expected, right? I mean some guy walking around in his bathrobe looking for all the world like Arthur Dent is bound to attract a few glances in any city. But this was pretty over the top. One theme we noticed almost immediately is in addition to the stares, there were lots of approving smiles, thumbs up and (I swear) dropped jaws (this one from a girl on the train as it pulled away from us on the platform). I'm not sure why an innocuous blue housecoat had such an effect, but David was digging it. Some guy actually said (in English) 'good night' to David as we got off the train, I assume implying that David was heading off for beddy-bye time.
It turns out that the white Russians were at least of high quality. A necessity given the liberties taken with the Dude's voice. I wasn't sure whether laughing or crying was the order of the day, so I drank another white lady to numb the pain. Funny too, were the three stylized German characters in the movie. We asked our friend if he knew that the directors were sort of making fun of Germans. He knew. But I don't think the translated version was nearly as funny. The outlandish German accents meant to emphasize the joke were replaced with, well, oh never mind. One thing we learned in all this is that Germans are just mad for the Dude - our friends and everyone in the bar loved the movie and had seen it about 100 times a piece.
The bar we were in started getting awfully crowded with decidely un-Dude-like people, so we decided to head somewhere else. Walking down the sidewalk, David got more wide-eyed stares and approving grins. It was like he had hit a happy nerve with the folks of Hamburg. The very best part was at the last bar of the night. We walked in and in looking for a seat we walked by a table of people, who our friend Melanie overheard saying (while pointing at David) 'He must be an artist.' As you might imagine, David was growing pretty keen on the whole bathrobe idea and seemed amenable when I begged him to do this on a regular basis (maybe like once a month or something). It's so much fun watching people react positively and I swear, David could just about run for office. Or at least ward councilman in St. Pauli. As long as he did it in his housecoat. With a white Russian.
We had a few flurries tonight - winter is settling in and the weihnachtsmarkt (Christmas Markets) are just around the corner. It's very festive, although we'll have no Thanksgiving next week - boohoo. But we are going to get a Christmas tree and string it with popcorn and any other brick-a-brack we can find laying around.
Of course, I still love Hamburg and David loves his housecoat!
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Funny little contradictions
I've been noticing some contradictions here in Deutschland that I thought I might air out. Partly because they are funny and partly for therapy. The biggest incongruence that I and the few other Americans that I know in Hamuburg all agree on is this weird greeting ritual. If you've read a sampling of earlier blog entries, it won't come as news that the folks in northern Germany are reserved to say the very least. The average person will most likely absolutely ignore you on the streets of Hamburg. They might even go so far as to give you a dirty look if you try to appear friendly. A German friend of ours was shocked when we told him that David and I will often smile at people on the street. Our friend's response was an emphatic 'Don't do that! They probably think you are making fun of them.' So it was with a fair degree of confusion that I received my first greeting from a stranger. And my second. And third.
Mind you, the stranger greeting is only in certain very well defined situations (how very German). In the doctors office and the gym locker room are guaranteed 'greeting' places. I went to the doctor's office a couple of months ago for lower back pain (too many years hunched at a computer, it turns out) and as I sat in the waiting room, I noticed that every single person who entered or left the room ritualistically greeted the patients-in-waiting: 'Hallo' on the way in and 'Tschuss' (sounds like 'shoes') on the way out. Every person, every time. Weird. A few weeks later I joined the gym and it happened again while I was changing. An aerobics class was letting out and as all the ladies filtered into the locker room, I was unwaveringly greeted by them all. Funnier still was that the last few ladies to enter the locker room were IN the same class with the majority of the people they were greeting. Hmmm. Of course on the way out, every single person gave a hearty 'Tschuss!' I just looked around, totally confused.
Side note - this departing greeting 'Tschuss' sounds a little like 'Cheers' and 'Shoes' had a baby and is typically stretched into two syllables and nearly sung by women. It sounds like 'Choo-oos!'
I am quietly protesting the entry greeting and have only recently begun to sing 'Tschuss!' when I leave the room - mostly because it is fun to say.
Another oddity (in my opinion) is that you can't buy a damn thing on Sunday that doesn't come from gas station (only open until 6pm), but you can get a beer whenever you want. When ever you want. The party district of Hamburg doesn't meaningfully close on the weekends but the grocery stores close at 8pm (7 on Saturday). What gives there? I mean, I am in nearly full support of everyone having Sunday off. Although, I secretly think that the reason everything is closed on Sunday is because about 80% of the adult population is nursing a woozy of a hangover come Sunday morning. I am occasionally living proof.
There is also sort of a disconnect between how liberal Germans are on one hand (beer drinking allowed anywhere, nudity is ok, dogs are almost always welcome) and how closely everyone follows the rules (waiting interminably at a 'don't walk' sign even though there is absolutely no traffic as far as you can see - just in case).
But for all of the German idiosyncrasies, I really do like a lot about this country. It's like a higher social order - work/life balance, good social programs, lots of organic food, low crime, generous vacation. So, what they heck. I'll enjoy my beer at 5am on Sunday morning and curse Sunday afternoon that I can't buy flour.
As always, I still love Hamburg!
Mind you, the stranger greeting is only in certain very well defined situations (how very German). In the doctors office and the gym locker room are guaranteed 'greeting' places. I went to the doctor's office a couple of months ago for lower back pain (too many years hunched at a computer, it turns out) and as I sat in the waiting room, I noticed that every single person who entered or left the room ritualistically greeted the patients-in-waiting: 'Hallo' on the way in and 'Tschuss' (sounds like 'shoes') on the way out. Every person, every time. Weird. A few weeks later I joined the gym and it happened again while I was changing. An aerobics class was letting out and as all the ladies filtered into the locker room, I was unwaveringly greeted by them all. Funnier still was that the last few ladies to enter the locker room were IN the same class with the majority of the people they were greeting. Hmmm. Of course on the way out, every single person gave a hearty 'Tschuss!' I just looked around, totally confused.
Side note - this departing greeting 'Tschuss' sounds a little like 'Cheers' and 'Shoes' had a baby and is typically stretched into two syllables and nearly sung by women. It sounds like 'Choo-oos!'
I am quietly protesting the entry greeting and have only recently begun to sing 'Tschuss!' when I leave the room - mostly because it is fun to say.
Another oddity (in my opinion) is that you can't buy a damn thing on Sunday that doesn't come from gas station (only open until 6pm), but you can get a beer whenever you want. When ever you want. The party district of Hamburg doesn't meaningfully close on the weekends but the grocery stores close at 8pm (7 on Saturday). What gives there? I mean, I am in nearly full support of everyone having Sunday off. Although, I secretly think that the reason everything is closed on Sunday is because about 80% of the adult population is nursing a woozy of a hangover come Sunday morning. I am occasionally living proof.
There is also sort of a disconnect between how liberal Germans are on one hand (beer drinking allowed anywhere, nudity is ok, dogs are almost always welcome) and how closely everyone follows the rules (waiting interminably at a 'don't walk' sign even though there is absolutely no traffic as far as you can see - just in case).
But for all of the German idiosyncrasies, I really do like a lot about this country. It's like a higher social order - work/life balance, good social programs, lots of organic food, low crime, generous vacation. So, what they heck. I'll enjoy my beer at 5am on Sunday morning and curse Sunday afternoon that I can't buy flour.
As always, I still love Hamburg!
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Schlüssel fuss
As I mentioned in an earlier post, Stella has been requiring the service of people besides David and I to keep her company during the day. While we have two people lined up who walk or just hang out with our overly smart, bored and anxious dog, we've had some trouble getting each of them a key to get in our apartment since we have three keys total. It turns out that you can't just head down to the nearest Ace Hardware and have them grind a key in 5 minutes for 2 bucks. Oh no. That would be entirely un-Germanlike.
I've tried to copy our schlüssel (key) at 5 different schlüssel dienst (locksmiths) in our neighborhood with the exact same results. Each one looks at the key, turns it over in their hands, shakes their head and mutters something about security. Given my pathetic German skills, I quietly take back the offending key and leave the shop. At the third shop, it finally dawned on me that this was no ordinary key. The locksmith spoke very slowly in German and I understood about half (very exciting). The gist was that the key is a security key and is controlled by *one* locksmith in Hamburg. The next day I spoke with our secretary, Bianca, who confirmed that this was the case. She also indicatd that we would have to receive permission from the building manager and possibly the other tenants to make a copy of this blasted key.
The other two (of five) locksmiths we visited were just to be on the safe side and to see if there were any unscrupulous locksmiths who might make an illegal copy. No go. So! I had my secretary call the *one* locksmith in Hamburg (a city of 3 million) authorized to copy our key to arrange to copy my key. The locksmith referred us to the building manager who sent a fax to the *one* locksmith in Hamburg authorized to copy our key. We didn't have to get permission from the other tenants (whew!). However, I was then informed that the cost of this little transaction was to the tune of 26 euro. With the current exchange rate that's right about $38. For a key. Just one key to our apartment. It's not special. It doesn't have a tracking device on it or even a beer opener on the end. What a racket.
To make matters just slightly more nerve racking, if any of these four tightly controlled keys goes missing, we are responsible to replace the locks on the entire building since our key allows access to the stairwell and garage. If any of these four keys does go missing, I am totally telling the building manager that it was lost in a fiery car crash or it is at the bottom of the Elbe or I left it in the U.S. when I was home on vacation and my mother threw it into the garbage incinerator. The silliest part is that there is no address on the key other than the locksmith's. So, I am not exactly sure what someone who happened to find a missing housekey in Hamburg might do with it. Go door to door? Good luck with that.
To my and David's chagrine, today I turned 26 euro into a non-descript key, which I promptly gave to Laurel the dog walker. For the love of a dog.
Other tidbits - today is Halloween. The Germans are celebrating this holiday in increasing numbers each year. According to my colleagues, Halloween was essentially unknown in Germany until about 5 years ago. And tonight I saw flocks of little witches, ghosts and what-have-you working the blocks for candy. I can't believe it took German kids this long to implement a day of free candy. Silly children.
To celebrate the holiday, David took a bunch of candy to work today. He thought reverse trick-or-treating would be fun - going office to office offering a bowl of candy around. Everybody thought it was his birthday and he got lots of strange looks. Yet they took the candy. Silly people.
Finally, today I read an article that Wal-mart is kicking off the holiday season on Friday with doorbusters typically reserved for black Friday. Creepy. I've noticed the beginnings of the holiday frenzy here, too. Decorations are showing up in stores, the candy and other holiday treats are appearing on grocery store shelves. I kind of understand - Halloween is a faker holiday in Germany and there's no Thanksgiving. That basically leaves an entirely holiday-less autumn. No fun. So let's eat rum balls in October!
Happy Halloween, everybody!
Of course, I still love Hamburg.
I've tried to copy our schlüssel (key) at 5 different schlüssel dienst (locksmiths) in our neighborhood with the exact same results. Each one looks at the key, turns it over in their hands, shakes their head and mutters something about security. Given my pathetic German skills, I quietly take back the offending key and leave the shop. At the third shop, it finally dawned on me that this was no ordinary key. The locksmith spoke very slowly in German and I understood about half (very exciting). The gist was that the key is a security key and is controlled by *one* locksmith in Hamburg. The next day I spoke with our secretary, Bianca, who confirmed that this was the case. She also indicatd that we would have to receive permission from the building manager and possibly the other tenants to make a copy of this blasted key.
The other two (of five) locksmiths we visited were just to be on the safe side and to see if there were any unscrupulous locksmiths who might make an illegal copy. No go. So! I had my secretary call the *one* locksmith in Hamburg (a city of 3 million) authorized to copy our key to arrange to copy my key. The locksmith referred us to the building manager who sent a fax to the *one* locksmith in Hamburg authorized to copy our key. We didn't have to get permission from the other tenants (whew!). However, I was then informed that the cost of this little transaction was to the tune of 26 euro. With the current exchange rate that's right about $38. For a key. Just one key to our apartment. It's not special. It doesn't have a tracking device on it or even a beer opener on the end. What a racket.
To make matters just slightly more nerve racking, if any of these four tightly controlled keys goes missing, we are responsible to replace the locks on the entire building since our key allows access to the stairwell and garage. If any of these four keys does go missing, I am totally telling the building manager that it was lost in a fiery car crash or it is at the bottom of the Elbe or I left it in the U.S. when I was home on vacation and my mother threw it into the garbage incinerator. The silliest part is that there is no address on the key other than the locksmith's. So, I am not exactly sure what someone who happened to find a missing housekey in Hamburg might do with it. Go door to door? Good luck with that.
To my and David's chagrine, today I turned 26 euro into a non-descript key, which I promptly gave to Laurel the dog walker. For the love of a dog.
Other tidbits - today is Halloween. The Germans are celebrating this holiday in increasing numbers each year. According to my colleagues, Halloween was essentially unknown in Germany until about 5 years ago. And tonight I saw flocks of little witches, ghosts and what-have-you working the blocks for candy. I can't believe it took German kids this long to implement a day of free candy. Silly children.
To celebrate the holiday, David took a bunch of candy to work today. He thought reverse trick-or-treating would be fun - going office to office offering a bowl of candy around. Everybody thought it was his birthday and he got lots of strange looks. Yet they took the candy. Silly people.
Finally, today I read an article that Wal-mart is kicking off the holiday season on Friday with doorbusters typically reserved for black Friday. Creepy. I've noticed the beginnings of the holiday frenzy here, too. Decorations are showing up in stores, the candy and other holiday treats are appearing on grocery store shelves. I kind of understand - Halloween is a faker holiday in Germany and there's no Thanksgiving. That basically leaves an entirely holiday-less autumn. No fun. So let's eat rum balls in October!
Happy Halloween, everybody!
Of course, I still love Hamburg.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Hurray for Inge!
Last week Thursday I came home from work to find that Stella had attempted to eat her way out of the front door. For no good reason. At least not that I was able to discern. She knew she totally blew it, too. I no more than walked in the door and saw wood chips on the floor than she lost control and peed on the floor. This was so out of character for Stella – the peeing and the destructive behavior. She has always been slightly neurotic but it had been almost entirely confined to crowded places like the farmer’s market and in situations where people she doesn’t know try to touch her. But for some reason, her inner crazy bubbled over and she decided that she wanted to let it out (of the apartment, by the looks of it).
I have a hypothesis about her behavior. I think it is a cumulative effect from a number of factors. First of all, we left her twice on long weekends to stay in the apartment while Laurel (our dogsitter) let her out several times a day. I think she is worried that us leaving means us not returning for days while she is largely cooped up in the apartment. Secondly, Stella learned how to open the front door if we don’t slide the deadbolt. We found a note on our door a few weeks ago – ‘Do you miss your dog?’ Our neighbor, Inge, had rescued Stella from the stairwell (to where she had escaped once she busted out) and hustled her into Inge’s apartment one floor above ours, where she spent the afternoon relaxing. I thanked Inge profusely, recovered Stella, and apologized in a similar fashion. This was the first time I met Inge.
Stella managed her Houdini routine one more time and we found her in the stairwell. She was very excited to see us. Go figure. Apparently, two times was enough to hardwire Stella’s new found skill into her doggy brain. I think she must have been giving it half-hearted attempts ever since but we’d been diligent about locking the door. Last Thursday she must have gotten down to business scratching at the door and, I assume, chewing the edge once she realized that the handle wasn’t budging.
That night after I had picked up all the little door chips in hopes of gluing them back in place, David taped two large cardboard pieces around the side and bottom of the door and hung a pillow case over the handle area to minimize the scratch damage. Friday after work I came home to total cardboard annihilation. Both rectangles of cardboard were ripped off the door and shredded. For good measure, Stella tore the pillowcase off the door and chewed a perfect circle in it. There were also more scratches and the door’s volume was slightly diminished. I wasn’t sure what to do other than clean up and let her chase the tennis ball for half an hour.
David and I had a long heart to heart about a plan to deal with Stella’s craziness and we concluded that intensive training supplemented with Laurel coming around a couple of times a week to break the monotony would hopefully do the trick. So, Friday Stella started doggy boot camp: lot’s of training, no following us around the house, absolutely no barking. The usual regimen for a troubled dog. As usual, Stella enjoys training, but I still worried that she would get us evicted.
This leads me to the cupcakes. I bought a vegan cupcake cookbook before we left the U.S. (see earlier post) and I’ve committed to making a batch of cupcakes once per month. This is a compromise. I think if I were left to my own devices, I’d probably make them weekly (or more). In any event, Sunday was cupcake day and I decided on the apple cider cupcakes (the quintessential Autumn cupcake according to the recipe). The recipe supposedly yielded 12 cupcakes but by the time I slid the second 6-pan in the oven, there was still a pool of batter and I figured that 15 or more cupcakes was just asking for trouble.
So, I wrapped one up and headed upstairs to give it to Inge. She answered and asked me to come in. I refused tea and handed her the cupcake. She offered tea again, I refused and then I noticed her very cool, very eclectic apartment. Inge is a painter and her colorful artwork was all over the walls. I asked her a few questions about painting and she finally foisted tea on me. We chatted for a few minutes and the conversation turned to Stella. Inge asked how she was doing and I explained her crazy behavior. Her response wasn’t quite what I had imagined. Instead of the pat response I was expecting – ‘oh, that’s too bad. Good luck with that’ – Inge instead volunteered to walk Stella and spend afternoons with her when she was free from her busy pensioner (Inge’s adjective, not mine) lifestyle. I gladly accepted and Inge was quick to remind me that she was often busy and could only do it a few days a week. I didn’t care; anything would be bound to help.
So, Inge and Stella had their debut walk-date on Monday and apparently it went swimmingly. Stella loves Inge and vice-versa. They go for 2-hour walks to who-knows-where in the afternoons and Stella is mellow and satisfied when I get home. I don’t know how long this might go on. I am hoping to prolong the magic by plying Inge with dinners and more cupcakes. It is getting colder and darker by the day. I am optimistic that Inge is a foul-weather friend but if not, this will hopefully get Stella over the hump while she is getting trained. In any event, I am extremely grateful for Inge and her kindness. So is Stella. And David.
I still love Hamburg. Now I love Inge, too!
I have a hypothesis about her behavior. I think it is a cumulative effect from a number of factors. First of all, we left her twice on long weekends to stay in the apartment while Laurel (our dogsitter) let her out several times a day. I think she is worried that us leaving means us not returning for days while she is largely cooped up in the apartment. Secondly, Stella learned how to open the front door if we don’t slide the deadbolt. We found a note on our door a few weeks ago – ‘Do you miss your dog?’ Our neighbor, Inge, had rescued Stella from the stairwell (to where she had escaped once she busted out) and hustled her into Inge’s apartment one floor above ours, where she spent the afternoon relaxing. I thanked Inge profusely, recovered Stella, and apologized in a similar fashion. This was the first time I met Inge.
Stella managed her Houdini routine one more time and we found her in the stairwell. She was very excited to see us. Go figure. Apparently, two times was enough to hardwire Stella’s new found skill into her doggy brain. I think she must have been giving it half-hearted attempts ever since but we’d been diligent about locking the door. Last Thursday she must have gotten down to business scratching at the door and, I assume, chewing the edge once she realized that the handle wasn’t budging.
That night after I had picked up all the little door chips in hopes of gluing them back in place, David taped two large cardboard pieces around the side and bottom of the door and hung a pillow case over the handle area to minimize the scratch damage. Friday after work I came home to total cardboard annihilation. Both rectangles of cardboard were ripped off the door and shredded. For good measure, Stella tore the pillowcase off the door and chewed a perfect circle in it. There were also more scratches and the door’s volume was slightly diminished. I wasn’t sure what to do other than clean up and let her chase the tennis ball for half an hour.
David and I had a long heart to heart about a plan to deal with Stella’s craziness and we concluded that intensive training supplemented with Laurel coming around a couple of times a week to break the monotony would hopefully do the trick. So, Friday Stella started doggy boot camp: lot’s of training, no following us around the house, absolutely no barking. The usual regimen for a troubled dog. As usual, Stella enjoys training, but I still worried that she would get us evicted.
This leads me to the cupcakes. I bought a vegan cupcake cookbook before we left the U.S. (see earlier post) and I’ve committed to making a batch of cupcakes once per month. This is a compromise. I think if I were left to my own devices, I’d probably make them weekly (or more). In any event, Sunday was cupcake day and I decided on the apple cider cupcakes (the quintessential Autumn cupcake according to the recipe). The recipe supposedly yielded 12 cupcakes but by the time I slid the second 6-pan in the oven, there was still a pool of batter and I figured that 15 or more cupcakes was just asking for trouble.
So, I wrapped one up and headed upstairs to give it to Inge. She answered and asked me to come in. I refused tea and handed her the cupcake. She offered tea again, I refused and then I noticed her very cool, very eclectic apartment. Inge is a painter and her colorful artwork was all over the walls. I asked her a few questions about painting and she finally foisted tea on me. We chatted for a few minutes and the conversation turned to Stella. Inge asked how she was doing and I explained her crazy behavior. Her response wasn’t quite what I had imagined. Instead of the pat response I was expecting – ‘oh, that’s too bad. Good luck with that’ – Inge instead volunteered to walk Stella and spend afternoons with her when she was free from her busy pensioner (Inge’s adjective, not mine) lifestyle. I gladly accepted and Inge was quick to remind me that she was often busy and could only do it a few days a week. I didn’t care; anything would be bound to help.
So, Inge and Stella had their debut walk-date on Monday and apparently it went swimmingly. Stella loves Inge and vice-versa. They go for 2-hour walks to who-knows-where in the afternoons and Stella is mellow and satisfied when I get home. I don’t know how long this might go on. I am hoping to prolong the magic by plying Inge with dinners and more cupcakes. It is getting colder and darker by the day. I am optimistic that Inge is a foul-weather friend but if not, this will hopefully get Stella over the hump while she is getting trained. In any event, I am extremely grateful for Inge and her kindness. So is Stella. And David.
I still love Hamburg. Now I love Inge, too!
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Laufen, saufen & tortillas! - Hamburg style
David and I have really been jonesing for some Mexican food and Hamburg is short on Mexican ingredients, namely tortillas. I would also add red chile to that list, but our good friend Jeff took care of that on his last visit (shout out to Jeff). Refried beans are also atrociously expensive (try $6 a can) and dried pintos are a rarity. But we perservered and tracked down dried beans and cheddar cheese to make huevos rancheros. Eggs are a none issue here, as you might expect. Easy to come by and many are organic. Our only option for tortillas were these plastic looking things next to the $6 beans and as I picked up the sad bag, David said he would make tortillas. From scratch. With flour. So I laughed and David looked indignant and we put the crappy looking tortillas back on the shelf. Then Sunday came and we both felt pretty serious about the tortilla issue. David did some research on the web & scoured the Joy of Cooking for tips. We settled on a recipe and away we went.
As it turns out, the only challenging and time consuming part is rolling the damn things out. The dough is a cinch and and to cook them, it takes about 45 seconds a side in a dry skillet. Piece of cake. However, I gave up on achieving roundness after the first try. Instead I settled for 'round-like' or 'resembling a shape that has curves'. Here is a snapshot of one of the worst of the lot:
Once I got the thickness down and quit worrying about the shape, things went relatively smoothly and we managed somewhere around 15 really delicious tortillas (about half of which are waiting patiently in the freezer for the next round of huevos rancheros). David manned the skillet while I rolled - we made quite the tortilla factory here in Deutschland.
Here is a stack of way-better-than-the-crap-they-tried-to-sell-us-at-the-store tortillas:
Note the brown toasted marks that give our tortillas some serious authenticity.
And the finished product (so delicious):
Now that we have allayed our fears that we'll never have decent Mexican food so long as we live in Germany, I am ready to conquer corn tortillas. Any recommendations for a decent tortilla press?
What else? I started running with a club on Tuesdays - about 9 kilometers. It's a beautiful run through the Stadtpark and the people that run are really friendly and encouraging. Today, however, I was pretty sure I would die. It was so hard and I don't know why. Last week it was as hard as you would expect 9km to be but today was warm by Hamburg standards and I think I wore too much clothing. I really like the after-run time - I feel hungry like I actually should be hungry, not just because it's 7. And I am just bone tired. Kind of weird feelings to like, but hey, I don't criticize your idiosyncrasies. The group ends each run (laufen) with a little glass of champagne (saufen). Last week I participated in the laufen & saufen. This week, though, no saufen - the bubbles make my stomach feel awful after a run.
David started rock climbing at a gym close to our house. The husband of the lady who watches Stella is an avid climber and I think David has just been waiting to meet someone to belay him. We both feel kind of guilty because Matt (the climber) and Laurel (the dog watcher) are American. We sort of agreed that we would try to stick with German friends while we were here, but they are just so nice and our German friends are busy a lot. Or they don't feel like speaking English all the time while we speak no German. Or maybe we just smell. In any event, they are nice people and I imagine the guilt (and my last urges to learn German) will pass.
One last note. Even though most of my loyal readership are Rutkowskis or live with a Rutkowski, I want to let everyone know we are doing a Brady Christmas - all the Rutkowskis plus Carmen Borsa will be here on the 23rd. We are really looking forward to it and it should be lots of fun - Hamburg style. Although, I am committed to no all-nighters. J-Amy and the Fischmarkt at 5am nearly killed me.
Of course, I still love Hamburg.
As it turns out, the only challenging and time consuming part is rolling the damn things out. The dough is a cinch and and to cook them, it takes about 45 seconds a side in a dry skillet. Piece of cake. However, I gave up on achieving roundness after the first try. Instead I settled for 'round-like' or 'resembling a shape that has curves'. Here is a snapshot of one of the worst of the lot:
Once I got the thickness down and quit worrying about the shape, things went relatively smoothly and we managed somewhere around 15 really delicious tortillas (about half of which are waiting patiently in the freezer for the next round of huevos rancheros). David manned the skillet while I rolled - we made quite the tortilla factory here in Deutschland.
Here is a stack of way-better-than-the-crap-they-tried-to-sell-us-at-the-store tortillas:
Note the brown toasted marks that give our tortillas some serious authenticity.
And the finished product (so delicious):
Now that we have allayed our fears that we'll never have decent Mexican food so long as we live in Germany, I am ready to conquer corn tortillas. Any recommendations for a decent tortilla press?
What else? I started running with a club on Tuesdays - about 9 kilometers. It's a beautiful run through the Stadtpark and the people that run are really friendly and encouraging. Today, however, I was pretty sure I would die. It was so hard and I don't know why. Last week it was as hard as you would expect 9km to be but today was warm by Hamburg standards and I think I wore too much clothing. I really like the after-run time - I feel hungry like I actually should be hungry, not just because it's 7. And I am just bone tired. Kind of weird feelings to like, but hey, I don't criticize your idiosyncrasies. The group ends each run (laufen) with a little glass of champagne (saufen). Last week I participated in the laufen & saufen. This week, though, no saufen - the bubbles make my stomach feel awful after a run.
David started rock climbing at a gym close to our house. The husband of the lady who watches Stella is an avid climber and I think David has just been waiting to meet someone to belay him. We both feel kind of guilty because Matt (the climber) and Laurel (the dog watcher) are American. We sort of agreed that we would try to stick with German friends while we were here, but they are just so nice and our German friends are busy a lot. Or they don't feel like speaking English all the time while we speak no German. Or maybe we just smell. In any event, they are nice people and I imagine the guilt (and my last urges to learn German) will pass.
One last note. Even though most of my loyal readership are Rutkowskis or live with a Rutkowski, I want to let everyone know we are doing a Brady Christmas - all the Rutkowskis plus Carmen Borsa will be here on the 23rd. We are really looking forward to it and it should be lots of fun - Hamburg style. Although, I am committed to no all-nighters. J-Amy and the Fischmarkt at 5am nearly killed me.
Of course, I still love Hamburg.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Gerburtstag etiquette, steaming poop and Thai boxing
So David's birthday was a couple of weeks ago now and Germans have some work related traditions that involve your Geburtstag (birthday). First of all, as the birthday boy, David was responsible for bringing cake to share with everyone - the occassion of which is announced via email at the beginning of the day. I love getting those emails because they mean afternoon cake.
This cake business essentially means that I am responsible for bringing cake to share with everyone. Not that David doesn't know his way around the kitchen. He does. From the sink to the saute pan, David can navigate dinner (and breakfast and lunch). He doesn't bake, though. But! I do, coincidentally. And before I left the good ol' US of A, I picked up a copy of 'Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World.' You can imagine where this is going right?
As it turns out, carrot cupcakes with 'cream cheese' frosting were a raging, if totally puzzling, hit. First of all, no one knew what a cupcake was and there were many inquiries to that effect. Some wondered how a cupcake was different than a muffin (silly people). Many wanted to know how I got the little cakes into those fluted papers. I felt like we were introducing our colleagues to some exotic and rare dish (think poisonous blowfish, here), instead of harmless, delectable little cupcakes. Everyone managed to get over their initial shock to consume the entire double batch. I don't know about the world, but these cupcakes certainly took over Germany. I think we could go into business. I understand cupcake bakeries are all the rage in the U.S. lately.
The other funny, interesting and kind of cool thing about birthdays in Germany is that everyone who knows it's your birthday greets you with a boisterous "Congratulations!" and a handshake. This is unusual on a number of levels - Germans are pretty cool cucumbers. Not much smiling or other superficial niceties that we are used to. David and I also thought it was funny that people congratulated him on completing another year. It was like we had a baby or something. People we barely know came into the office and shook DAvid's hand and clapped him on the back. Weird but nice. We both concluded that the little cake party and all the congratulating that went on really did make his birthday kind of special, even for a work day.
Now for a completely different topic. Germany is pretty hyper-orderly. No trash on the streets or subways. Most people keep their little gardens or yards as neat as a pin. And weirdo lurkers like David and I who look in other people's windows at night will notice that houses are impecably tidy. This leaves no worldly explanation for the steaming piles of poop that dot the sidewalks and parks. It's just dog poop, but still. Yuck. If I didn't closely watch where I walk, I would have pooh-shoe all the time. In any case, I have it a lot. I'm glad that there is a spigot by the door to our building. I just can't figure out why people don't pick up after their beasts. There is actually a campaign in Hamburg. You can get free poop bags at the drugstores and other places and they have installed these nice red receptacles all over town. Still there is a lot of poop. I can't imagine what it was like before the big campaign.
I started Thai Boxing a couple of weeks ago. It is a combination fighting style that involves kicking, punching and grappling. You'll see it now and again on Ultimate Fighting. So once a week I go to this authentically ratty boxing gym, complete with loaner gloves that smell like feet. The coach looks pretty plain and innocuous until he gets into this crouching, boxer position. And then you realize that he could take the Bear's defensive line on one foot. Tom, the coach, has been Thai boxing for 15 years and his English isn't so good. Neither is my German. But he is patient and helpful and I imagine I'll be kicking ass in no time. I am also picking up a little more German. Especially words that deal with boxing-relevant anatomy: elbow, fist, knee, etc.
Ok, last bit. I have a Picass web album of our trip to Florence. Sorry, I am too lazy to lable all of the pictures, but you'll get the idea. http://picasaweb.google.com/leslie.rutkowski/FlorenceOct07
That's about it. Of course, I still love Hamburg!
This cake business essentially means that I am responsible for bringing cake to share with everyone. Not that David doesn't know his way around the kitchen. He does. From the sink to the saute pan, David can navigate dinner (and breakfast and lunch). He doesn't bake, though. But! I do, coincidentally. And before I left the good ol' US of A, I picked up a copy of 'Vegan Cupcakes Take Over the World.' You can imagine where this is going right?
As it turns out, carrot cupcakes with 'cream cheese' frosting were a raging, if totally puzzling, hit. First of all, no one knew what a cupcake was and there were many inquiries to that effect. Some wondered how a cupcake was different than a muffin (silly people). Many wanted to know how I got the little cakes into those fluted papers. I felt like we were introducing our colleagues to some exotic and rare dish (think poisonous blowfish, here), instead of harmless, delectable little cupcakes. Everyone managed to get over their initial shock to consume the entire double batch. I don't know about the world, but these cupcakes certainly took over Germany. I think we could go into business. I understand cupcake bakeries are all the rage in the U.S. lately.
The other funny, interesting and kind of cool thing about birthdays in Germany is that everyone who knows it's your birthday greets you with a boisterous "Congratulations!" and a handshake. This is unusual on a number of levels - Germans are pretty cool cucumbers. Not much smiling or other superficial niceties that we are used to. David and I also thought it was funny that people congratulated him on completing another year. It was like we had a baby or something. People we barely know came into the office and shook DAvid's hand and clapped him on the back. Weird but nice. We both concluded that the little cake party and all the congratulating that went on really did make his birthday kind of special, even for a work day.
Now for a completely different topic. Germany is pretty hyper-orderly. No trash on the streets or subways. Most people keep their little gardens or yards as neat as a pin. And weirdo lurkers like David and I who look in other people's windows at night will notice that houses are impecably tidy. This leaves no worldly explanation for the steaming piles of poop that dot the sidewalks and parks. It's just dog poop, but still. Yuck. If I didn't closely watch where I walk, I would have pooh-shoe all the time. In any case, I have it a lot. I'm glad that there is a spigot by the door to our building. I just can't figure out why people don't pick up after their beasts. There is actually a campaign in Hamburg. You can get free poop bags at the drugstores and other places and they have installed these nice red receptacles all over town. Still there is a lot of poop. I can't imagine what it was like before the big campaign.
I started Thai Boxing a couple of weeks ago. It is a combination fighting style that involves kicking, punching and grappling. You'll see it now and again on Ultimate Fighting. So once a week I go to this authentically ratty boxing gym, complete with loaner gloves that smell like feet. The coach looks pretty plain and innocuous until he gets into this crouching, boxer position. And then you realize that he could take the Bear's defensive line on one foot. Tom, the coach, has been Thai boxing for 15 years and his English isn't so good. Neither is my German. But he is patient and helpful and I imagine I'll be kicking ass in no time. I am also picking up a little more German. Especially words that deal with boxing-relevant anatomy: elbow, fist, knee, etc.
Ok, last bit. I have a Picass web album of our trip to Florence. Sorry, I am too lazy to lable all of the pictures, but you'll get the idea. http://picasaweb.google.com/leslie.rutkowski/FlorenceOct07
That's about it. Of course, I still love Hamburg!
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Admiring David and other masterpieces
Huh? I know, the title may be a bit misleading (although David has got it going on). But! The David I speak of isn't my David but THE David sculpted by Michelangelo like 500 years ago out of some discarded crappy piece of marble (or so the story goes).
We spent the last 4 days in Florence, Italy admiring art, art, and more art(hence the late weekly post). I'm not even a big art fan, but Florence is really amazing and we managed to pack a record number of activities into a short period of time. This including hikes in the Tuscan hillsides, visits to the major galleries, cathedrals and other spots of interest and undertaking a major eating tour of Tuscan food. I managed to have gelato 5 times, tiramisu twice and I lost count of how many pizzas and plates of pasta. Oh, and Japanese ramen (of course).
We took off Saturday afternoon from Luebeck leaving Stella in the capable hands of a wonderful American girl who Stella digs. Because flights on Ryanair are so dirt cheap, we bussed an hour to the airport and an hour from Pisa to Florence. One pleasant consequence of this roundabout traveling was seeing the leaning tower from the air - it really leans a lot.
Arriving in Florence we found our very plain, completely adequate hostel and went to dinner followed by a walk about town (and gelato). I know this sounds cliche (in fact saying it sounds cliche sounds cliche), BUT Florence is overflowing with amazing Renaissance art around every corner. It's also overflowing with something else, but I'll get to that in a moment. Just glance up (or down or sideways) and friezes of the Virgin Mary, sculptures of Zeus, and jaw-dropping architechture overwhelm. You would need a month (and a whole lot more patience than I could ever manage to summon) to take it all in.
Just a couple of highlights to avoid boring my faithful readership. The Academy of Art houses David and, again at the risk of sounding sappy and cliche, I really don't think I've ever felt anything about a work of art other than a vague sense of 'wow, that's pretty' or 'jeez, I could never in a million years muster that kind of talent'; however, David was an experience I just won't even bother trying to give words to. It would cheapen it. Just go (but not a day before your 60th birthday).
We also lost our minds for the countryside. I bet you've NEVER heard that about Tuscany - the quality of the light, the beauty of the hills, the cyprus, the climate, blah blah blah. Really, though - a showstopper to be sure. Cool, too, was climbing to the top of the main cathederal, commonly called the Duomo. 463 steps (no lifts - the signs warned over and over) to a great view of the city and the surrounding hills. Besides the great food, I also really enjoyed the Uffizi Gallery with 'many important works' by Botticelli, Da Vinci - the usual suspects.
This just sounds like an exercise in snobbery of the worst kind. So I'll leave what I liked at that. And stress to everyone that if you don't take a trip to Florence, you may die slightly less cultured (and likely thinner).
A few funny bits. The city is completely overrun (in no uncertain terms) with Americans in particular and tourists in general. I had heard that Florence is a vacation spot for many, many Americans but just as it is not possible to give David sufficient words, it is also a lost cause to describe the American situation. I can't imagine what high season must be like. There were also heaps of Asian tourists and a smattering of fellow Europeans. On the aggregate, it was just ridiculous. The absurdly narrow sidewalks were mostly impassable and the line to get into the big spots was hours long without reservations (lucky us - we had the inside tip about reservations). I felt embarrassed, too. Throngs of obnoxious, rich, badly dressed Americans mucking up and down the streets yammering loudly about nothing in particular with their money belts outside their clothes. It's enough to make you want to be French.
Did I mention the gelato? I just have to say a few words about it: creamy, light, excellent. I've never had any to compare. Now, I still love Hamburg. But, Florence (minus the hoards of tourists) has a little piece of my heart.
We spent the last 4 days in Florence, Italy admiring art, art, and more art(hence the late weekly post). I'm not even a big art fan, but Florence is really amazing and we managed to pack a record number of activities into a short period of time. This including hikes in the Tuscan hillsides, visits to the major galleries, cathedrals and other spots of interest and undertaking a major eating tour of Tuscan food. I managed to have gelato 5 times, tiramisu twice and I lost count of how many pizzas and plates of pasta. Oh, and Japanese ramen (of course).
We took off Saturday afternoon from Luebeck leaving Stella in the capable hands of a wonderful American girl who Stella digs. Because flights on Ryanair are so dirt cheap, we bussed an hour to the airport and an hour from Pisa to Florence. One pleasant consequence of this roundabout traveling was seeing the leaning tower from the air - it really leans a lot.
Arriving in Florence we found our very plain, completely adequate hostel and went to dinner followed by a walk about town (and gelato). I know this sounds cliche (in fact saying it sounds cliche sounds cliche), BUT Florence is overflowing with amazing Renaissance art around every corner. It's also overflowing with something else, but I'll get to that in a moment. Just glance up (or down or sideways) and friezes of the Virgin Mary, sculptures of Zeus, and jaw-dropping architechture overwhelm. You would need a month (and a whole lot more patience than I could ever manage to summon) to take it all in.
Just a couple of highlights to avoid boring my faithful readership. The Academy of Art houses David and, again at the risk of sounding sappy and cliche, I really don't think I've ever felt anything about a work of art other than a vague sense of 'wow, that's pretty' or 'jeez, I could never in a million years muster that kind of talent'; however, David was an experience I just won't even bother trying to give words to. It would cheapen it. Just go (but not a day before your 60th birthday).
We also lost our minds for the countryside. I bet you've NEVER heard that about Tuscany - the quality of the light, the beauty of the hills, the cyprus, the climate, blah blah blah. Really, though - a showstopper to be sure. Cool, too, was climbing to the top of the main cathederal, commonly called the Duomo. 463 steps (no lifts - the signs warned over and over) to a great view of the city and the surrounding hills. Besides the great food, I also really enjoyed the Uffizi Gallery with 'many important works' by Botticelli, Da Vinci - the usual suspects.
This just sounds like an exercise in snobbery of the worst kind. So I'll leave what I liked at that. And stress to everyone that if you don't take a trip to Florence, you may die slightly less cultured (and likely thinner).
A few funny bits. The city is completely overrun (in no uncertain terms) with Americans in particular and tourists in general. I had heard that Florence is a vacation spot for many, many Americans but just as it is not possible to give David sufficient words, it is also a lost cause to describe the American situation. I can't imagine what high season must be like. There were also heaps of Asian tourists and a smattering of fellow Europeans. On the aggregate, it was just ridiculous. The absurdly narrow sidewalks were mostly impassable and the line to get into the big spots was hours long without reservations (lucky us - we had the inside tip about reservations). I felt embarrassed, too. Throngs of obnoxious, rich, badly dressed Americans mucking up and down the streets yammering loudly about nothing in particular with their money belts outside their clothes. It's enough to make you want to be French.
Did I mention the gelato? I just have to say a few words about it: creamy, light, excellent. I've never had any to compare. Now, I still love Hamburg. But, Florence (minus the hoards of tourists) has a little piece of my heart.
Monday, September 24, 2007
It's like a little raise
As all you international finance gurus know, the dollar is in the proverbial toilet. It is at something like a millenium low in terms of value. This has a number of effects, including (hopefully) less cheap imports and more cheap exports (for the U.S., anyway). This brings me to my first point. While a weak dollar was not such a boon for J-Amy (to whom, by the way, we bid a fond farewell on Thursday), it's like David and I are getting little raises every month. At least for the money that we suppose will one day make it back to the U.S. before the euro tanks. In dollars we are making nearly $400 more a month than when we started. Now that's what I call value.
Although, once the government gets their 40% bite, it's more like a $200 a month raise. But, hey, whatever. If I were spending dollars, I'd have more to spend. Be that as it may though, we are spending euro and until we sally back 'across the pond' as the Brits like to say, wir erwerben, was wir erwerben as the Deutsch like to say. Next point. Since, with a high level of confidence David and I are pretty sure we'll evntually settle in the U.S., we are currently trying to figure out just how to get our big, strong euro back to the U.S. so that they can become wimpy, flabby dollars. This isn't as easy as one might imagine. Short of going to the nearest exchange kiosk (try finding one of these in 2007) to physically change a sack full of euro into dollars and stuffing them all into a 'fat suit' so that we can pass undetected through customs with what would surely be a sum of money that would make homeland security perk up and take notice (any sum greater than $45), I am at a bit of a loss.
Mostly, it seems like we might somehow get stuck tax-wise. Not sure how this works and I can't find a legitimate online source for information. Oh, sure, I can find all kinds of crappy dotcom advice from your choice of random 'certified financial advisors,' but there is a genuine absence of anything reliable short of paying $1000. I think the fat suit is looking more appealing all the time.
What else? As I said, J-Amy left last Thursday. We had a really great time hanging out with them. Stella especially dug having them around. In fact, she stalked them in the morning and threw stuffed animals at them as soon as they were awake. I think Stella was pretty excited to have some company while we were at work.
David got back from Azerbaijan the day J-Amy left. They may have crossed one another over the English channel, they were so close. Unfortunately, David brought back more than some very cool Azeri scarves (which are really pretty, by the way). When I got home from work, David was huddled under a blanket on the couch with an outrageously high fever and a serious case of what seems to be food poisoning. The doctors (to whom David went kicking and screaming on Friday) took blood and said 'yep, you've got an infection. Good luck with that', and summarily sent him on his way.
We are both hoping he is feeling better soon as Wednesday is his birthday. And nobody wants to feel like crap on their birthday, unless it is self-induced by one to many keg-stands and tequila shooters. We are also leaving on Saturday for a five day trip to Florence, Italy. I am really excited to see the Mona Lisa and drink espressos. More on that later.
One final point. As is typical in the northern hemisphere this time of years, I am noticing that the days are getting decidedly shorter. This led me to investigate just how little daylight there is around the winter solstice. You may be shocked and appalled to know it is right around 7 and a half hours (give or take about 5 minutes). Ouch.
I still love Hamburg (even if I won't really be able to see it come December).
Although, once the government gets their 40% bite, it's more like a $200 a month raise. But, hey, whatever. If I were spending dollars, I'd have more to spend. Be that as it may though, we are spending euro and until we sally back 'across the pond' as the Brits like to say, wir erwerben, was wir erwerben as the Deutsch like to say. Next point. Since, with a high level of confidence David and I are pretty sure we'll evntually settle in the U.S., we are currently trying to figure out just how to get our big, strong euro back to the U.S. so that they can become wimpy, flabby dollars. This isn't as easy as one might imagine. Short of going to the nearest exchange kiosk (try finding one of these in 2007) to physically change a sack full of euro into dollars and stuffing them all into a 'fat suit' so that we can pass undetected through customs with what would surely be a sum of money that would make homeland security perk up and take notice (any sum greater than $45), I am at a bit of a loss.
Mostly, it seems like we might somehow get stuck tax-wise. Not sure how this works and I can't find a legitimate online source for information. Oh, sure, I can find all kinds of crappy dotcom advice from your choice of random 'certified financial advisors,' but there is a genuine absence of anything reliable short of paying $1000. I think the fat suit is looking more appealing all the time.
What else? As I said, J-Amy left last Thursday. We had a really great time hanging out with them. Stella especially dug having them around. In fact, she stalked them in the morning and threw stuffed animals at them as soon as they were awake. I think Stella was pretty excited to have some company while we were at work.
David got back from Azerbaijan the day J-Amy left. They may have crossed one another over the English channel, they were so close. Unfortunately, David brought back more than some very cool Azeri scarves (which are really pretty, by the way). When I got home from work, David was huddled under a blanket on the couch with an outrageously high fever and a serious case of what seems to be food poisoning. The doctors (to whom David went kicking and screaming on Friday) took blood and said 'yep, you've got an infection. Good luck with that', and summarily sent him on his way.
We are both hoping he is feeling better soon as Wednesday is his birthday. And nobody wants to feel like crap on their birthday, unless it is self-induced by one to many keg-stands and tequila shooters. We are also leaving on Saturday for a five day trip to Florence, Italy. I am really excited to see the Mona Lisa and drink espressos. More on that later.
One final point. As is typical in the northern hemisphere this time of years, I am noticing that the days are getting decidedly shorter. This led me to investigate just how little daylight there is around the winter solstice. You may be shocked and appalled to know it is right around 7 and a half hours (give or take about 5 minutes). Ouch.
I still love Hamburg (even if I won't really be able to see it come December).
Monday, September 17, 2007
Bob Ross and Me
Largely because David is in Azerbaijan at a conference and J-Amy are touring the hinterlands of Germany, I found that I had a good bit of discretionary time this weekend. I had also worked a lot of overtime to submit a proposal and I was feeling both tense and lazy. If anything other than the gas station were open on Sunday in Germany, I probably would have rounded up the ingredients to bake a cake or an apple pie. Man, I've got sweets on the brain more than usual. Dangerous.
Anyway, I don't know what triggered Bob Ross. Maybe something about the way the light filtered through the window at 2 in the afternoon on Sunday - sort of happily. I recalled nostalgically the excitement that would come over me if I were lucky enought to catch The Joy of Painting on a weekend afternoon. Nearly anytime during the day that a free TV was to be had, I would flip to PBS just to see. I'm not sure why I never consulted the trusty TV Guide lovingly placed by the recliner. The mind of a 10 year old.
But on those fortuitous occasions when I saw his big, orange 'fro brightly contrasted against a prepared canvas, I would blissfully settle in for a half-hour of little kid meditation. Sitting upright and perfectly still, I would zone out while Bob talked me through the stages of some landscape painting, complete with happy little trees and fluffy clouds (as few or as many as you decide). The paint colors rolled off his tongue like exotic bird names or French cakes - thalo blue, cadmium white, yellow ocre. My favorite, for no good reason, was Van Dyke brown. I don't even like brown, but it sounded so great to hear Bob Ross say it while he loaded his fan brush with a combination of oils to bring mountains and trees and bushes to life. I especially liked when he would take this paint knife and sort of cut a line through a gob of paint to collect a perfect little roll of color, which invariably became a rock formation or the outline of some fantasy mountain range.
Bob Ross was no classic painter. In fact, most of his stuff was slightly tacky and might have looked most at home surrounded by shag rugs and animal heads mounted to walls. But Bob had a knack for making you think that you could create a respectable oil painting in 30 minutes, too. And as he moved across the canvas, 'pulling paint' here and 'adding mist' there (as much or as little as you want. It's your world.), I was always convinced that he was just about to ruin the painting. Angst would occassionally intrude on my zen moments with Bob. I would cringe as he added a big rock over the carefully highlighted trees. But everytime, the painting was somehow better for it.
With all of these memories in mind, I YouTube-d Bob to see what was out there. Sure enought, Royal Majesty in three parts was free for the viewing. So I settled in and nearly felt 10 again as Bob tried to inspire the artist in me. It was all the same. The same, nearly intoxicating, effect of watching Bob Ross 'drop' a few clouds in (anywhere he wanted, in his world). Bob also showed his at home viewers where little green grassy things might live and how not to add too much highlighting to trees. Even though, he admitted with a reassuring grin, he did it all the time. The end result was the same, too. A pretty, yet slightly tacky painting left me feeling at ease with the world. And while I know I'll never paint anything but a wall, it's nice to know that if I wanted to, I could drop in happy little trees, fluffy clouds and as few or as many trees as I want, in my world.
And on that note, I think I might watch Royal Majesty again before bed - to put everything right with the world.
I still love Hamburg. And I love the vegan ice cream in the Schanzen quarter now too!
Anyway, I don't know what triggered Bob Ross. Maybe something about the way the light filtered through the window at 2 in the afternoon on Sunday - sort of happily. I recalled nostalgically the excitement that would come over me if I were lucky enought to catch The Joy of Painting on a weekend afternoon. Nearly anytime during the day that a free TV was to be had, I would flip to PBS just to see. I'm not sure why I never consulted the trusty TV Guide lovingly placed by the recliner. The mind of a 10 year old.
But on those fortuitous occasions when I saw his big, orange 'fro brightly contrasted against a prepared canvas, I would blissfully settle in for a half-hour of little kid meditation. Sitting upright and perfectly still, I would zone out while Bob talked me through the stages of some landscape painting, complete with happy little trees and fluffy clouds (as few or as many as you decide). The paint colors rolled off his tongue like exotic bird names or French cakes - thalo blue, cadmium white, yellow ocre. My favorite, for no good reason, was Van Dyke brown. I don't even like brown, but it sounded so great to hear Bob Ross say it while he loaded his fan brush with a combination of oils to bring mountains and trees and bushes to life. I especially liked when he would take this paint knife and sort of cut a line through a gob of paint to collect a perfect little roll of color, which invariably became a rock formation or the outline of some fantasy mountain range.
Bob Ross was no classic painter. In fact, most of his stuff was slightly tacky and might have looked most at home surrounded by shag rugs and animal heads mounted to walls. But Bob had a knack for making you think that you could create a respectable oil painting in 30 minutes, too. And as he moved across the canvas, 'pulling paint' here and 'adding mist' there (as much or as little as you want. It's your world.), I was always convinced that he was just about to ruin the painting. Angst would occassionally intrude on my zen moments with Bob. I would cringe as he added a big rock over the carefully highlighted trees. But everytime, the painting was somehow better for it.
With all of these memories in mind, I YouTube-d Bob to see what was out there. Sure enought, Royal Majesty in three parts was free for the viewing. So I settled in and nearly felt 10 again as Bob tried to inspire the artist in me. It was all the same. The same, nearly intoxicating, effect of watching Bob Ross 'drop' a few clouds in (anywhere he wanted, in his world). Bob also showed his at home viewers where little green grassy things might live and how not to add too much highlighting to trees. Even though, he admitted with a reassuring grin, he did it all the time. The end result was the same, too. A pretty, yet slightly tacky painting left me feeling at ease with the world. And while I know I'll never paint anything but a wall, it's nice to know that if I wanted to, I could drop in happy little trees, fluffy clouds and as few or as many trees as I want, in my world.
And on that note, I think I might watch Royal Majesty again before bed - to put everything right with the world.
I still love Hamburg. And I love the vegan ice cream in the Schanzen quarter now too!
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Ahh, Antwerp (or 'Life After #1')
The plan for last weekend (a three day weekend, since we took Friday off) was to take the train to Amsterdam and go experience the city and all of its stereotypical offerings - the Van Gogh museum, a canal tour, buying wooden shoes, and (of course) a visit to a cafe and possibly the red light district. Wednesday we decided it would be cheaper to rent a car. On Thursday the plan went awry, as plans so often do. With a rental car waiting on the street, we got just slightly more ambitions. Instead of Amsterdam and the land of tulips, funny hats and wooden shoes, we put a new destination in our sights.
It's all David's fault. He suggested Belgium in the first place, which was surprising because his only comments on Brussels during a short trip last summer was 'boring' and 'expensive.' Although, to be honest, his assessment of Amsterdam during the same said trip wasn't much (if any) better. I think 'dirty' and 'full of asshole rich kids on European vacation getting high and puking in the gutters' pretty much summed it up. Maybe the slight change in plans wasn't so innocent after all.
Regardless, after some poking around on the web, I discovered that Antwerp, a mere 5 hours' drive from Hamburg, was home to the #1 beer pub in the WORLD! (As ranked by ratebeer.com). As my loyal readers might remember, J-Amy are visiting. And as my loyal friends might remember, J-Amy, David and I all have a proclivity for the sudsy stuff. That settled it. We were on a pilgrimage to our analogous Mecca - The Kulminator - reputed to have over 500 varieties of almost exclusively Belgian beer. It was also reputed to have a nice atmosphere and fair prices.
Again we consulted the internet where we found a camping spot just outside the city and since the weather was supposed to be fair and the hotels outlandishly expensive, we went for the camping option (more cash for beer). Amy graciously agreed to drive the 5 hours in exchange for a three day supply of apples. This turned out to be a challenge as Amy can go through a half-dozen apples in a day, core and all, no problem. As early as humanly possible, we picked up our four-door Kia and hit the road. Almost exactly 5 hours and a few hundred kilometers later, we arrived at the camp spot. As the boys set up the tents, Amy and I toddled over to the Esso station across the way and picked up the cheapest six-pack of beer we could find (just to see, in the name of science, how cheap Belgian beer stacked up, of course). Canned Jupiler turned out pretty darned ok. It certainly puts anything the Germans or the Americans are mass producing to shame.
But, really, we were chomping to get onto bigger and better things and I could fairly hear the Kulminator calling. After the tents went up and the sleeping bags were safely stowed inside, we grabbed the sub-par tram downtown and walked the cobbled streets of Antwerp to the Kulminator. The bar was on an entirely unassuming side street and looked mostly haunted by locals. It had nice, old wooden tables and a similar bar. We took seats in the garden and as we cracked the menus our collective jaws dropped. It was true - well over 500 different beers, nearly all from Belgium. There were Trappists, Abbys, Krieks, 30 or 40 different Chimays (dating all the way back to the 1980's), Lambics, you name it. The vintage beer selection was out of control - it went back to 1979 that I noticed. You could get any year, any variety from any monastary in Belgium. Unglaublich!
Beautiful Belgian Beer:
Say 'cheese' happy beer drinkers:
We spent Friday evening at the Kulminator sampling several beers and eating cheese with Trappist mustard (a real treat). I'm hear to tell you, I don't know if I can ever be bothered to drink the rubbish Pils that Germany tries to foist on me. I have officially crossed into beer-snob land and I may never come back. Hurray for Belgium!
Saturday we spent doing the gratuitous tourist things - looking at old buildings, museums and churches and generally prowling the streets to get a feel for the city. Antwerp is slightly dingier and slightly less well run than anywhere I've been in Germany. It has more of an exotic feel - like you are somewhere different. I loved it. The farmers market was great - a hundred (seriously) different kinds of olives, heaps of apples, cheap avocados and lots of produce we just don't see up north. Around 2, we couldn't take it anymore - we moved onto the next pub on the list (Oud Arsenaal). It was more crowded than the Kulminator and didn't have nearly the beer selection. Although, honestly, who could?
Oud Arsenaal:
Ah, the other great thing about beer in Belgium is that each and every single beer gets it's own glass. Over the course of the weekend, we had beers in maybe 30 different styles of glasses, all designed for maximal enjoyment of the particuarl beer you are drinking.
During the course of the day, we hit two other pubs. Afspanning ’t Waagstuk was very cool. It had lots of beers, was located in a great old building and had a pretty little beer garden. Paters Vaetje was just ok (by Belgian beer pub standards). One theme of the weekend was the folly we committed by starting out at the #1 Kulminator. I mean, it's all down hill from there. And it was. Deliciously, enjoyably, wonderfully downhill. I imagine the other pubs would have knocked out socks off had it not been for the Kulimantor. BUT, alas, our socks remained firmly on.
Lovely Waagstuck pub:
In any event, Antwerp was excellent - both the city and the beer. Oh, and did I mention that Belgium is also famous for chocolate and waffles? Oh, lord, I must have died.
I still love Hamburg (and I love Antwerp, now, too!)
Pretty Antwerp:
For the beer geeks on my readership, here is a list of the beers we tried. These were jotted on the back of a receipt and a coaster - apologies for mispellings and other errors. Read 'em and weep:
At The Kulminator:
Orval Trappist Ale
Saint Feuillien Tripel
Corsendonk Agnus
Avec Les Bons Voeux
Sint Bernardus Tripel
Rochefort Rodestop 6 (1998)
Karmeleit Tripel
Cuvee des Trolls
Chimay Grand Reserve 2003
Caracole Bruin
At Oud Arsenaaal:
De Koninck Winter
Kappitel Bruin
Troubador
Jessenhofke
Ename Cuvee
Ename Dunker
Rochefort 80
Westmalle Tripel
At Afspanning 't Waagstuck
Saison Dupont
Zeppelin
De Koninck
Trappist Achel
Grimbergen Cuvee de l'Ermitage
Grimbergen Dubbel
De Koninck
Rodenbach Grand Cru
Paters Vaetje
Westmalle Dubbel
Corsendonk Agnus
Chimay Red
La Trappe Tripel
It's all David's fault. He suggested Belgium in the first place, which was surprising because his only comments on Brussels during a short trip last summer was 'boring' and 'expensive.' Although, to be honest, his assessment of Amsterdam during the same said trip wasn't much (if any) better. I think 'dirty' and 'full of asshole rich kids on European vacation getting high and puking in the gutters' pretty much summed it up. Maybe the slight change in plans wasn't so innocent after all.
Regardless, after some poking around on the web, I discovered that Antwerp, a mere 5 hours' drive from Hamburg, was home to the #1 beer pub in the WORLD! (As ranked by ratebeer.com). As my loyal readers might remember, J-Amy are visiting. And as my loyal friends might remember, J-Amy, David and I all have a proclivity for the sudsy stuff. That settled it. We were on a pilgrimage to our analogous Mecca - The Kulminator - reputed to have over 500 varieties of almost exclusively Belgian beer. It was also reputed to have a nice atmosphere and fair prices.
Again we consulted the internet where we found a camping spot just outside the city and since the weather was supposed to be fair and the hotels outlandishly expensive, we went for the camping option (more cash for beer). Amy graciously agreed to drive the 5 hours in exchange for a three day supply of apples. This turned out to be a challenge as Amy can go through a half-dozen apples in a day, core and all, no problem. As early as humanly possible, we picked up our four-door Kia and hit the road. Almost exactly 5 hours and a few hundred kilometers later, we arrived at the camp spot. As the boys set up the tents, Amy and I toddled over to the Esso station across the way and picked up the cheapest six-pack of beer we could find (just to see, in the name of science, how cheap Belgian beer stacked up, of course). Canned Jupiler turned out pretty darned ok. It certainly puts anything the Germans or the Americans are mass producing to shame.
But, really, we were chomping to get onto bigger and better things and I could fairly hear the Kulminator calling. After the tents went up and the sleeping bags were safely stowed inside, we grabbed the sub-par tram downtown and walked the cobbled streets of Antwerp to the Kulminator. The bar was on an entirely unassuming side street and looked mostly haunted by locals. It had nice, old wooden tables and a similar bar. We took seats in the garden and as we cracked the menus our collective jaws dropped. It was true - well over 500 different beers, nearly all from Belgium. There were Trappists, Abbys, Krieks, 30 or 40 different Chimays (dating all the way back to the 1980's), Lambics, you name it. The vintage beer selection was out of control - it went back to 1979 that I noticed. You could get any year, any variety from any monastary in Belgium. Unglaublich!
Beautiful Belgian Beer:
Say 'cheese' happy beer drinkers:
We spent Friday evening at the Kulminator sampling several beers and eating cheese with Trappist mustard (a real treat). I'm hear to tell you, I don't know if I can ever be bothered to drink the rubbish Pils that Germany tries to foist on me. I have officially crossed into beer-snob land and I may never come back. Hurray for Belgium!
Saturday we spent doing the gratuitous tourist things - looking at old buildings, museums and churches and generally prowling the streets to get a feel for the city. Antwerp is slightly dingier and slightly less well run than anywhere I've been in Germany. It has more of an exotic feel - like you are somewhere different. I loved it. The farmers market was great - a hundred (seriously) different kinds of olives, heaps of apples, cheap avocados and lots of produce we just don't see up north. Around 2, we couldn't take it anymore - we moved onto the next pub on the list (Oud Arsenaal). It was more crowded than the Kulminator and didn't have nearly the beer selection. Although, honestly, who could?
Oud Arsenaal:
Ah, the other great thing about beer in Belgium is that each and every single beer gets it's own glass. Over the course of the weekend, we had beers in maybe 30 different styles of glasses, all designed for maximal enjoyment of the particuarl beer you are drinking.
During the course of the day, we hit two other pubs. Afspanning ’t Waagstuk was very cool. It had lots of beers, was located in a great old building and had a pretty little beer garden. Paters Vaetje was just ok (by Belgian beer pub standards). One theme of the weekend was the folly we committed by starting out at the #1 Kulminator. I mean, it's all down hill from there. And it was. Deliciously, enjoyably, wonderfully downhill. I imagine the other pubs would have knocked out socks off had it not been for the Kulimantor. BUT, alas, our socks remained firmly on.
Lovely Waagstuck pub:
In any event, Antwerp was excellent - both the city and the beer. Oh, and did I mention that Belgium is also famous for chocolate and waffles? Oh, lord, I must have died.
I still love Hamburg (and I love Antwerp, now, too!)
Pretty Antwerp:
For the beer geeks on my readership, here is a list of the beers we tried. These were jotted on the back of a receipt and a coaster - apologies for mispellings and other errors. Read 'em and weep:
At The Kulminator:
Orval Trappist Ale
Saint Feuillien Tripel
Corsendonk Agnus
Avec Les Bons Voeux
Sint Bernardus Tripel
Rochefort Rodestop 6 (1998)
Karmeleit Tripel
Cuvee des Trolls
Chimay Grand Reserve 2003
Caracole Bruin
At Oud Arsenaaal:
De Koninck Winter
Kappitel Bruin
Troubador
Jessenhofke
Ename Cuvee
Ename Dunker
Rochefort 80
Westmalle Tripel
At Afspanning 't Waagstuck
Saison Dupont
Zeppelin
De Koninck
Trappist Achel
Grimbergen Cuvee de l'Ermitage
Grimbergen Dubbel
De Koninck
Rodenbach Grand Cru
Paters Vaetje
Westmalle Dubbel
Corsendonk Agnus
Chimay Red
La Trappe Tripel
Monday, September 3, 2007
Too old for all-nighters
As many in my faithful readership know, J-Amy (aka Jeff & Amy) have landed in Hamburg. Many thanks to all who sent care packages for Jeff (not so thankful) to carry. We are fairly awash in maple syrup, vacuum cleaner bags and Adidas deodorant (everyone is thankful for that). Unfortunately, many brain cells were sacrificed this weekend in our quest to show J-Amy a nice time. As a result this post may be slightly lacking in flair. I'll do my best.
Fortunately, it's festival time in Hamburg. And there was a world-class triathlon here this weekend. We participated in the festivals. Not so much in the triathlon. Go figure. On Friday we did attend the triathlon where we watched the under-23 men's triathlon. There were beers all around. It made us feel only slightly guilty watching all these elite athletes while we swilled beer and woo-hooed the Americans. The athletics were followed by dinner at an Afghani restaurant (more beers) and a visit to a reggae festival (and more beers). This was our "playing it cool" since we were scheduled for an all nighter followed by the Fisch Markt on Saturday and we wanted to save energy.
Saturday rolled around gloomy and rainy (TIH - This is Hamburg). The nice thing is that the rain doesn't usually last all day and the clouds broke in time for us to attend the Methfesselstrasse fest right around the corner from our apartment. This was the start of our 6-to-6. Here we saw an awful band, drank beer and Jeff ate festival sausage. The rest of us had really great falafel - made fresh right there. Amy was convinced that the lady in the band was just plucked out of the audience for the occasion. It was embarrassing to watch, really.
We next hit up the reggae fest from Friday night. The band was excellent, Dubtari, I think they were. And the show was free. This is something that is common around here and really nice. Lots of festivals fund their shows with beer. Reasonably priced beer (3 euro). The reggae fest might have been about the time that we decided each person would be designated "party director" for some set period of time. The PD would decide where to go and how long to stay. Amy took first shift and the moniker "PDA."
Anyway, we went to a bar that was reminiscent of Colors. It was dark, shabby, and you could DJ. This was followed by a trip to a Hooka Bar (Amy's idea). By this time we'd been drinking for many hours and hadn't eaten in nearly as many. As a result, we all sort of felt like we were hit by a small truck after huffing on the hooka. This might have been the start of my demise.
But we knew we had to last until AT LEAST 5 am, when the Fischmarkt opened. So, I had to stay strong. About this time Amy, who was PDA as you might remember, was summarily impeached with a 3/4 majority as a result of bad Hooka decisions and because she was drunk on power (or something like that). I was the next PD and after much consultation with Amy we decided we really needed a snack to keep it going another 3 hours. While Amy and I ate delicious Turkish snacks, David and Jeff took this opportunity to investigate Davidstrasse (see earlier post). The report is that Davidstrasse features beautiful, scantily-clad women sitting on stools in windows applying make-up and nail polish. I'm not sure why that's off limits to women.
After our delicious Turkish snack we proceeded to the next Colors-like bar where we got our asses kicked at fussball by some kid and his girlfriend. Well, it was actually David and Jeff. Amy and I watched. By this time, I was really dragging (and clock watching). Finally, it was 5am and we marched ourselves down to the River Elbe and the Fischmarkt, which turns out to be pretty lame at 5am. Or maybe I was too drunk and tired to really appreciate it. And I had the hiccups. In any event, we muddled around for about an hour and then caught the train home.
Sunday sucked, but I still love Hamburg.
Amy and Jeff are day-tripping around Hamburg and we are planning a long weekend to Amsterdam. Ugh. More brain cells.
Fortunately, it's festival time in Hamburg. And there was a world-class triathlon here this weekend. We participated in the festivals. Not so much in the triathlon. Go figure. On Friday we did attend the triathlon where we watched the under-23 men's triathlon. There were beers all around. It made us feel only slightly guilty watching all these elite athletes while we swilled beer and woo-hooed the Americans. The athletics were followed by dinner at an Afghani restaurant (more beers) and a visit to a reggae festival (and more beers). This was our "playing it cool" since we were scheduled for an all nighter followed by the Fisch Markt on Saturday and we wanted to save energy.
Saturday rolled around gloomy and rainy (TIH - This is Hamburg). The nice thing is that the rain doesn't usually last all day and the clouds broke in time for us to attend the Methfesselstrasse fest right around the corner from our apartment. This was the start of our 6-to-6. Here we saw an awful band, drank beer and Jeff ate festival sausage. The rest of us had really great falafel - made fresh right there. Amy was convinced that the lady in the band was just plucked out of the audience for the occasion. It was embarrassing to watch, really.
We next hit up the reggae fest from Friday night. The band was excellent, Dubtari, I think they were. And the show was free. This is something that is common around here and really nice. Lots of festivals fund their shows with beer. Reasonably priced beer (3 euro). The reggae fest might have been about the time that we decided each person would be designated "party director" for some set period of time. The PD would decide where to go and how long to stay. Amy took first shift and the moniker "PDA."
Anyway, we went to a bar that was reminiscent of Colors. It was dark, shabby, and you could DJ. This was followed by a trip to a Hooka Bar (Amy's idea). By this time we'd been drinking for many hours and hadn't eaten in nearly as many. As a result, we all sort of felt like we were hit by a small truck after huffing on the hooka. This might have been the start of my demise.
But we knew we had to last until AT LEAST 5 am, when the Fischmarkt opened. So, I had to stay strong. About this time Amy, who was PDA as you might remember, was summarily impeached with a 3/4 majority as a result of bad Hooka decisions and because she was drunk on power (or something like that). I was the next PD and after much consultation with Amy we decided we really needed a snack to keep it going another 3 hours. While Amy and I ate delicious Turkish snacks, David and Jeff took this opportunity to investigate Davidstrasse (see earlier post). The report is that Davidstrasse features beautiful, scantily-clad women sitting on stools in windows applying make-up and nail polish. I'm not sure why that's off limits to women.
After our delicious Turkish snack we proceeded to the next Colors-like bar where we got our asses kicked at fussball by some kid and his girlfriend. Well, it was actually David and Jeff. Amy and I watched. By this time, I was really dragging (and clock watching). Finally, it was 5am and we marched ourselves down to the River Elbe and the Fischmarkt, which turns out to be pretty lame at 5am. Or maybe I was too drunk and tired to really appreciate it. And I had the hiccups. In any event, we muddled around for about an hour and then caught the train home.
Sunday sucked, but I still love Hamburg.
Amy and Jeff are day-tripping around Hamburg and we are planning a long weekend to Amsterdam. Ugh. More brain cells.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Casual indifference and rules of the road
I've noticed a new phenomenon here in Hamburg, specifically. Deutschland, in general. Bike riding is riddled with nuances that I am slowly coming to understand. Here's one: don't make eye contact with oncoming traffic. This is particularly true if you are riding with the right-of-way. By that, I mean you are riding in the bike path on the right (as opposed to left. Or wrong, really) side of the road. The point is, you are cruising along on the right side of the road, and someone, who is clearly breaking German rules, is riding in your direction (the wrong way). If you make eye contact, you have officially issued a challenge and the process becomes a game of chicken. And if you make room on the path, you lose. Really, you lose either way - because Germans don't really concede once the game is on. I think they'd rather wreck.
On the other hand, if, in your peripheral vision, you see an oncoming bike (wrong direction, necessarily) but don't acknowledge it or the rider, the person on the bike will obligingly get out of the way, no questions asked. No crash risked. Hmmm...
This leads me to the casual indifference that I feel like is the common approach for German drivers/pedestrians/strangers in general. No one is malicious. Not that I can tell. And people are much more patient. You really don't experience road range or even agitated honking, really. The most I have seen, when I, due to narrow or crowded streets, block traffic, is that people (especially station wagon drivers) will rev their engines as they pass me and shifting gears really quickly. That's it. No one intentionally crowds you out or cuts you off. Just casual indifference.
Same thing when you are walking on the sidewalk. Mostly, you look straight ahead. No gratuitous head nod or brief welcome smile. No real greeting at all. I'll catch people shooting sideways glances if, for whatever reason, I am somehow interesting (or weird). I'm mostly voting on weird, because I usually
try to make eye contact and maybe even smile. :-)
Dog people are only slightly different. There are the occassional kooks who want their dog to play with Stella. They march right up and ask if Stella is a girl. When I say yes, they let their dog off the leash and Stella goes to great lengths to avoid the offending dog. Unless it's Max. Max is Stella's Deutsch-love. He is a small-ish shiny black dog who does not participate in butt-sniffing (which suits Stella extra-fine). Instead, Max likes to be chased. Fast. If you've met Stella, you'll understand what utter bliss this instills in our predator-dog. She'll chase Max until I or Max's owner breaks it up. We haven't seen Max in a few days. Hopefully he's not on vacation.
What else?
Deutsch class is over!! Woo-hoo. I can't even begin to tell you. All kinds of time on my hands. Nice.
J-Amy arrive Wednesday. It's a good time since Deutsch class is over and it's festival time here in Germany. Street fests every weekend. There is one a block from here this weekend. It should be heaps of fun.
Autumn is in the air - you can feel it and the leaves are changing (yes, already). It's not yet September and the air is crisp and cool and getting cooler. Oye. I hope the Autumn is a long one.
On the other hand, if, in your peripheral vision, you see an oncoming bike (wrong direction, necessarily) but don't acknowledge it or the rider, the person on the bike will obligingly get out of the way, no questions asked. No crash risked. Hmmm...
This leads me to the casual indifference that I feel like is the common approach for German drivers/pedestrians/strangers in general. No one is malicious. Not that I can tell. And people are much more patient. You really don't experience road range or even agitated honking, really. The most I have seen, when I, due to narrow or crowded streets, block traffic, is that people (especially station wagon drivers) will rev their engines as they pass me and shifting gears really quickly. That's it. No one intentionally crowds you out or cuts you off. Just casual indifference.
Same thing when you are walking on the sidewalk. Mostly, you look straight ahead. No gratuitous head nod or brief welcome smile. No real greeting at all. I'll catch people shooting sideways glances if, for whatever reason, I am somehow interesting (or weird). I'm mostly voting on weird, because I usually
try to make eye contact and maybe even smile. :-)
Dog people are only slightly different. There are the occassional kooks who want their dog to play with Stella. They march right up and ask if Stella is a girl. When I say yes, they let their dog off the leash and Stella goes to great lengths to avoid the offending dog. Unless it's Max. Max is Stella's Deutsch-love. He is a small-ish shiny black dog who does not participate in butt-sniffing (which suits Stella extra-fine). Instead, Max likes to be chased. Fast. If you've met Stella, you'll understand what utter bliss this instills in our predator-dog. She'll chase Max until I or Max's owner breaks it up. We haven't seen Max in a few days. Hopefully he's not on vacation.
What else?
Deutsch class is over!! Woo-hoo. I can't even begin to tell you. All kinds of time on my hands. Nice.
J-Amy arrive Wednesday. It's a good time since Deutsch class is over and it's festival time here in Germany. Street fests every weekend. There is one a block from here this weekend. It should be heaps of fun.
Autumn is in the air - you can feel it and the leaves are changing (yes, already). It's not yet September and the air is crisp and cool and getting cooler. Oye. I hope the Autumn is a long one.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Hotcakes, hiking and Hogwart's (aka Luebeck)
I have nearly abandoned Deutsch lessons and I only feel a vague, nagging sense of guilt about it. Last week I skipped Monday all together and only went to half of a class on Thursday. I think my and David's mood has infected the class. Most other students either don't show or leave early as well. Stefi, our teacher, is disgusted. She says she has never had a class like this. I just shrug and ask for the homework. I don't really know what else to say, what with my limited vocabulary and all. Since we are Deutsch drop-outs we'll be no help when visitors come, other than to order beer and bread. Those are no-brainer items.
Being a dead beat student has freed up all kinds of time. David and I basically lounged around and drank wine tonight while searched the net for a cheap trip to enjoy when Jeff and Amy come next week. It's weird how much time we've got on our hands. David is looking now at a newcomers guide to Hamburg to find a hobby. He skipped right over the language lessons section.
Backing up just a bit, David and I had nice weekend that involved pancakes, a hike and a trip to Lubeck. We decided to take it easy on Friday and get up early to go to an American restaurant we had heard about near the university. So, bright and early Saturday we mounted our trusty bikes and headed across Hamburg for hearty portions of flapjacks. The portions were not so generous but the pancakes got the job done - they were fluffy and authentic, not at all crepe-like. At 7 euro a plate I expected (but did not get) genuine maple syrup. Ho hum. That reminds me. I am making an open call to all visitors to bring syrup. It's pricey and hard to find here. The best I've done so far is a quart bottle for 20 euro. I would have bought it, but it was grade C. I didn't even know there was such a thing. We used to buy grade B at the coop and it basically tasted like molasses. I may, in my desperation, buy a little bottle to try it out.
After breakfast we took the city train south to a small village across the river and southwest of Hamburg. To our surprise there were genuine woods and even hills. Acres and acres of them. After Illinois, this was so unexpected, I was beside myself. We walked around all afternoon enjoying the countryside and picking wild blackberries - it was great. Stella ran like a banshee and peed all over. After our long walk we made our way back to the train through the village. You could certainly tell we were not in the city - everything was closed up as tight as a drum. Not even a cold beer to be had on a Saturday afternoon.
Sunday we took the regional train to Lubeck, a city founded in the 12th century. It was the seat of the Hanseatic League (part of an old trading alliance started in the 13th century) and was an independent city until 1943. As you might imagine, Lubeck is rife with old stuff - churches, an old (I mean seriously old) hospital, castles and houses. The best part is that the city is on a very small island. I don't know if the island was natural or due to design, but it made for a very fairy tale-esque setting. Lubeck is accessed through medieval city gates that look like something straight out of Harry Potter.
This is from Wikipedia:
Pretty cool, huh?
Our next adventure may be to an island via a catamaran. We'll keep you posted.
Of course, I still love Hamburg!
Being a dead beat student has freed up all kinds of time. David and I basically lounged around and drank wine tonight while searched the net for a cheap trip to enjoy when Jeff and Amy come next week. It's weird how much time we've got on our hands. David is looking now at a newcomers guide to Hamburg to find a hobby. He skipped right over the language lessons section.
Backing up just a bit, David and I had nice weekend that involved pancakes, a hike and a trip to Lubeck. We decided to take it easy on Friday and get up early to go to an American restaurant we had heard about near the university. So, bright and early Saturday we mounted our trusty bikes and headed across Hamburg for hearty portions of flapjacks. The portions were not so generous but the pancakes got the job done - they were fluffy and authentic, not at all crepe-like. At 7 euro a plate I expected (but did not get) genuine maple syrup. Ho hum. That reminds me. I am making an open call to all visitors to bring syrup. It's pricey and hard to find here. The best I've done so far is a quart bottle for 20 euro. I would have bought it, but it was grade C. I didn't even know there was such a thing. We used to buy grade B at the coop and it basically tasted like molasses. I may, in my desperation, buy a little bottle to try it out.
After breakfast we took the city train south to a small village across the river and southwest of Hamburg. To our surprise there were genuine woods and even hills. Acres and acres of them. After Illinois, this was so unexpected, I was beside myself. We walked around all afternoon enjoying the countryside and picking wild blackberries - it was great. Stella ran like a banshee and peed all over. After our long walk we made our way back to the train through the village. You could certainly tell we were not in the city - everything was closed up as tight as a drum. Not even a cold beer to be had on a Saturday afternoon.
Sunday we took the regional train to Lubeck, a city founded in the 12th century. It was the seat of the Hanseatic League (part of an old trading alliance started in the 13th century) and was an independent city until 1943. As you might imagine, Lubeck is rife with old stuff - churches, an old (I mean seriously old) hospital, castles and houses. The best part is that the city is on a very small island. I don't know if the island was natural or due to design, but it made for a very fairy tale-esque setting. Lubeck is accessed through medieval city gates that look like something straight out of Harry Potter.
This is from Wikipedia:
Pretty cool, huh?
Our next adventure may be to an island via a catamaran. We'll keep you posted.
Of course, I still love Hamburg!
Monday, August 13, 2007
You can't go shopping with Stella
So, on Tuesday - our weeknight off from language class - we decided it would be nice to go to the park and have a little picnic. The stars were really aligned since the weather was nice AND we had a little free time. David had an appointment for a haarschnitt (hair cut), so I left him at the friseur while I walked down to the grocery store to grab some treats for our outing. I had Stella in tow, who always gets nervous when we take her to the shopping street by our house. In fact, a couple of weeks ago she chewed her leash in half and ran all the way home (through city traffic), stopping to take a giant dump in the middle of the street, the sight of which actually clued me in that she was headed home.
I figured that I had her little chewing problem under control when David and I made a leash from a length of chain and typical leash hardware - a handle, a clip for her collar, you know. I even knitted the handle so I wouldn't have to hold onto a piece of chain. It was great. Or so I thought. When we got to the store, I chained her to a sturdy pole and walked into the store relatively satisfied that there wasn't much she could get into.
As I was just ticking off the last item on the list, I noticed a woman frantically walking around the store and asking people a question and pointing outside. I thought I heard her say "hund" and she confirmed it when she asked me the same question - "blah, blah, hund, blah blah?" I sort of shook my head to indicate I wasn't sure what she wanted and mumbled in my best German that I didn't speak the language. She looked at me with some annoyance and moved on. Unfortunately our German lessons are limited to plain and slow speakers who often repeat themselves. I certainly wasn't advanced enough to listen to frantic German. I figured I better finish my business and get outside in case Stella completely lost her mind and bit a passer-by or who knows what.
By the time I hustled outside, a crowd of eight or ten onlookers had gathered around Stella. Most people were standing around looking concerned with furled brows and much lip biting. One guy was putting down a bowl of water while a woman was unfastening Stella's leash from the pole. Stella looked utterly terrified. In my very most panicked German I said, "Excuse me, that dog is mine," as I relieved the woman of Stella's leash. The crowd took on a definitively mob-like tone, with the water bowl guy and the unleasher dressing me down for my apparent indiscretions and extreme neglect. I quickly turned around to leave and the woman who was questioning everyone in the store yelled at me for good measure. I told her again that I didn't speak German. She didn't care. Dear god, I thought, a small natural or man-made disaster would sure be handy right now.
To make matters worse, David and I agreed to meet in front of the grocery store after his haircut. I didn't dare stay there with all of the angry dog people, so I headed down the block hoping to bump into him. As I hustled away, I noticed that Stella had eaten the knitted handle. I wasn't sure if this was the cause of or a reaction to the crowd that gathered. In either event she was outside a total of ten minutes. Ten. I've seen people go in to do their weekly shopping and leave their dog outside the store for 30 minutes or more. I've also seen guys belly up to the bar with their faithful pooches longingly staring in the pub door. I'm not really sure what gives. Maybe it's that shelter dog look Stella has about her - sort of thin, scared and nearly feral. She always manages to look freshly abandoned. Whatever it was, I am very hesitant to show my face there, after that ruckus. It could have only been worse if the police had come. Jeez.
Otherwise, our little picnic in the park was nice. The park was really pretty - lot's of weeping willows and a big pond in the middle. There were also quite a few mosquitoes, but I don't think I'm allergic to German mosquitoes. Again, I don't know what gives. I do know that those little bastards can keep you up all night, though. This I discovered last night, when our friend Florian, on his way back to the U.S., stayed over for a visit. We went out after dinner for a beer at the little pub-in-the-park by our house and since it was so nice out, we decided to leave the big French doors at the front of our apartment open. When we returned about an hour later, I noticed a couple of mosquitoes in the bathroom, where I promptly smashed them. After cleaning up the smeary bug guts, I got ready for bed and went to lay down. About 20 minutes later I heard this high pitched buzz. I knew right away what it was. I figured the pesky little blood sucker would have a bite and then take a rest. Either he was exceedingly hungry or there were a whole flock of them. The buzzing went on all night. Finally around 3 a.m., I wizened up and stuffed my ears with toilet paper. This helped some, enough to sleep, but I could still hear that whining buzz from time to time. Ugh.
Even after mortifying embarrassment, I still love Hamburg. We are planning a day trip to Lubeck this weekend. I'll keep you posted.
I figured that I had her little chewing problem under control when David and I made a leash from a length of chain and typical leash hardware - a handle, a clip for her collar, you know. I even knitted the handle so I wouldn't have to hold onto a piece of chain. It was great. Or so I thought. When we got to the store, I chained her to a sturdy pole and walked into the store relatively satisfied that there wasn't much she could get into.
As I was just ticking off the last item on the list, I noticed a woman frantically walking around the store and asking people a question and pointing outside. I thought I heard her say "hund" and she confirmed it when she asked me the same question - "blah, blah, hund, blah blah?" I sort of shook my head to indicate I wasn't sure what she wanted and mumbled in my best German that I didn't speak the language. She looked at me with some annoyance and moved on. Unfortunately our German lessons are limited to plain and slow speakers who often repeat themselves. I certainly wasn't advanced enough to listen to frantic German. I figured I better finish my business and get outside in case Stella completely lost her mind and bit a passer-by or who knows what.
By the time I hustled outside, a crowd of eight or ten onlookers had gathered around Stella. Most people were standing around looking concerned with furled brows and much lip biting. One guy was putting down a bowl of water while a woman was unfastening Stella's leash from the pole. Stella looked utterly terrified. In my very most panicked German I said, "Excuse me, that dog is mine," as I relieved the woman of Stella's leash. The crowd took on a definitively mob-like tone, with the water bowl guy and the unleasher dressing me down for my apparent indiscretions and extreme neglect. I quickly turned around to leave and the woman who was questioning everyone in the store yelled at me for good measure. I told her again that I didn't speak German. She didn't care. Dear god, I thought, a small natural or man-made disaster would sure be handy right now.
To make matters worse, David and I agreed to meet in front of the grocery store after his haircut. I didn't dare stay there with all of the angry dog people, so I headed down the block hoping to bump into him. As I hustled away, I noticed that Stella had eaten the knitted handle. I wasn't sure if this was the cause of or a reaction to the crowd that gathered. In either event she was outside a total of ten minutes. Ten. I've seen people go in to do their weekly shopping and leave their dog outside the store for 30 minutes or more. I've also seen guys belly up to the bar with their faithful pooches longingly staring in the pub door. I'm not really sure what gives. Maybe it's that shelter dog look Stella has about her - sort of thin, scared and nearly feral. She always manages to look freshly abandoned. Whatever it was, I am very hesitant to show my face there, after that ruckus. It could have only been worse if the police had come. Jeez.
Otherwise, our little picnic in the park was nice. The park was really pretty - lot's of weeping willows and a big pond in the middle. There were also quite a few mosquitoes, but I don't think I'm allergic to German mosquitoes. Again, I don't know what gives. I do know that those little bastards can keep you up all night, though. This I discovered last night, when our friend Florian, on his way back to the U.S., stayed over for a visit. We went out after dinner for a beer at the little pub-in-the-park by our house and since it was so nice out, we decided to leave the big French doors at the front of our apartment open. When we returned about an hour later, I noticed a couple of mosquitoes in the bathroom, where I promptly smashed them. After cleaning up the smeary bug guts, I got ready for bed and went to lay down. About 20 minutes later I heard this high pitched buzz. I knew right away what it was. I figured the pesky little blood sucker would have a bite and then take a rest. Either he was exceedingly hungry or there were a whole flock of them. The buzzing went on all night. Finally around 3 a.m., I wizened up and stuffed my ears with toilet paper. This helped some, enough to sleep, but I could still hear that whining buzz from time to time. Ugh.
Even after mortifying embarrassment, I still love Hamburg. We are planning a day trip to Lubeck this weekend. I'll keep you posted.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
Day Trippin'
I feel like in the last couple of weeks the only thing I have to comment on is the weekend. I blame it mostly on the German class. David actually dropped out of the class and then on Monday, he showed up just in time for class. I laughed because I almost didn't go. It would have been ironic if the guy who had complained most bitterly (but felt guilty) wound up sitting in class by himself. I would have been at home wondering what in the heck happened to David. After this drama, we decided to preserve our sanity and our clear conscience and just leave class at break. The class runs for 1.5 hours and then we have a 15 min break and return for the last 45 minutes, which is largely review and no one is really paying any attention anyway. Maybe this last bit is to allay my guilt, but whatever. We are still learning German and doing our best to stay sane.
So, as I was saying, not much exciting happens during the week. BUT! The weekends are always fun. Friday night we ate at an excellent Afghani restaurant near Hamburg University. The food was tasty and the owners/waiters were so nice. Stella was invited, too, which is very cool. The waiter said she is ALWAYS welcome. One (other) nice thing about Hamburg is that waiters and waitresses always offer to bring water for your dog.
The next day, we went to the market where I get to practice my paltry German. "Ich moechte zwei tomaten, bitte." Maybe this German class isn't all bad - I can carry on baby conversations. For instance, last weekend, two little boys threw the ball for Stella and we were able to converse - "how are you? where are you from? what's your name?" That's really as far as it goes with kids, but it helps to practice. When it was time to go, I said "I have to go home." They both mimicked me "I have to go home?" Funny.
After the market we headed downtown to pick up train tickets for a day trip we wanted to take on Sunday. As it happened, we stumbled on a gay pride parade. So fun! We were surrounded by elaborate floats bursting with techno and baby-smooth men gyrating and throwing condoms at the onlookers. Guys wasted on X were lolling over the side of the floats trying to touch and be touched. The best was the float with the older gay guys. The music was still bumping, but they weren't doing too much - just sort of sedately smoking cigarettes and sipping cocktails.
The rest of the day we spent just poking around town eating French fries and riding the ferry up and down the Elbe river. I can really get used to this weekend thing. Good riddance grad school.
7 foot drag queen (Not at the gay pride fest):
This morning we got up and took the train to an old town about 70 miles from here (Celle). There was a schloss (castle) a really old, formerly Catholic, now Lutheran church (what church around here isn't), and A MEXICAN RESTAURANT. We had to try it. With exceedingly low expectations we both ordered enchilada style vegetarian burritos. The weird thing was, they were actually pretty good. Not great. Certainly not great Mexican food. But pretty good. The veggies were fresh, the enchilada sauce was tangy and the tortillas were soft. I really couldn't complain.
Here are a couple of photos from the town:
We relaxed on the train ride home with a couple of beers from the station kiosk and watched a couple sitting across from us make out. I mean right across from us. The seats are set up so that two pairs of seats face one another and there really isn't anywhere else to look. It was weird. David took a nap. In fact, David is taking a nap now.
Another week, another euro.
I still love Hamburg!
As an aside: I'd like to recommend an excellent book about the allied bombings in Hamburg: The End by Hans Erich Nossack. It's just 63 pages long and it is artistic, horrifying and excellent. It's written from the perspective of a Hamburgian who watched the bombing and subsequent firestorm from across the river. Really, pick it up if you can.
So, as I was saying, not much exciting happens during the week. BUT! The weekends are always fun. Friday night we ate at an excellent Afghani restaurant near Hamburg University. The food was tasty and the owners/waiters were so nice. Stella was invited, too, which is very cool. The waiter said she is ALWAYS welcome. One (other) nice thing about Hamburg is that waiters and waitresses always offer to bring water for your dog.
The next day, we went to the market where I get to practice my paltry German. "Ich moechte zwei tomaten, bitte." Maybe this German class isn't all bad - I can carry on baby conversations. For instance, last weekend, two little boys threw the ball for Stella and we were able to converse - "how are you? where are you from? what's your name?" That's really as far as it goes with kids, but it helps to practice. When it was time to go, I said "I have to go home." They both mimicked me "I have to go home?" Funny.
After the market we headed downtown to pick up train tickets for a day trip we wanted to take on Sunday. As it happened, we stumbled on a gay pride parade. So fun! We were surrounded by elaborate floats bursting with techno and baby-smooth men gyrating and throwing condoms at the onlookers. Guys wasted on X were lolling over the side of the floats trying to touch and be touched. The best was the float with the older gay guys. The music was still bumping, but they weren't doing too much - just sort of sedately smoking cigarettes and sipping cocktails.
The rest of the day we spent just poking around town eating French fries and riding the ferry up and down the Elbe river. I can really get used to this weekend thing. Good riddance grad school.
7 foot drag queen (Not at the gay pride fest):
This morning we got up and took the train to an old town about 70 miles from here (Celle). There was a schloss (castle) a really old, formerly Catholic, now Lutheran church (what church around here isn't), and A MEXICAN RESTAURANT. We had to try it. With exceedingly low expectations we both ordered enchilada style vegetarian burritos. The weird thing was, they were actually pretty good. Not great. Certainly not great Mexican food. But pretty good. The veggies were fresh, the enchilada sauce was tangy and the tortillas were soft. I really couldn't complain.
Here are a couple of photos from the town:
We relaxed on the train ride home with a couple of beers from the station kiosk and watched a couple sitting across from us make out. I mean right across from us. The seats are set up so that two pairs of seats face one another and there really isn't anywhere else to look. It was weird. David took a nap. In fact, David is taking a nap now.
Another week, another euro.
I still love Hamburg!
As an aside: I'd like to recommend an excellent book about the allied bombings in Hamburg: The End by Hans Erich Nossack. It's just 63 pages long and it is artistic, horrifying and excellent. It's written from the perspective of a Hamburgian who watched the bombing and subsequent firestorm from across the river. Really, pick it up if you can.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Boozin' with the post-modernists
Ok. I know, I'm late. You probably sat down Sunday morning/afternoon with a cuppa joe to see what those wacky expats were up to. And nothing. Not a word.
Sorry.
But, here's the scoop, quickly because David is waiting to use the phone, which doubles as the internet - like back in the day. Only now it's the internet that doubles as a phone. Semantics aside, we met our friends (Melonie, Jens and Michael - see earlier post) for a few beers on Friday. We met at 9pm and when we finally stumbled home it was half past 4 and the sun was coming up. Good lord. It was Misawa-style. Although, this little fest was capped at a Turkish "pida" place where a husband and wife were freshly rolling out these phat little oblong pizzas that were loaded with spinach, feta and an egg and then baked in an oven. I'm telling you, that was the best meal I've had in Germany. And the food is generally darned good here - so that says a lot.
Saturday we didn't get up to much in the day. But in the evening we took a stroll through something called the "Dom" (pronounced Dome). It's like a carnival on steroids. This thing spanned acres and acres - there must have been a hundred different wurst vendors. We enjoyed a hearty dose of pommes frites. Although, I have to tell you, Germans have a nasty habit of serving this weird ketchup. It's like some kind of liquidy goo that vaguely resembles ketchup thinned with water and then re-thickened with corn starch. So it is sort of red and translucent. The really ick thing is that it just tastes like curry. I've got a pretty tolerant palette, but this viscous ketchup-wannabe isn't doing it.
I also had a "waffeln" covered with whipped cream (no sugar) and cherries. Now, that, my friends, was devine! Anyway, the Dom had so many rides and full sized roller coasters, it put Knoebels to shame. I kid you not - and the whole thing is open for just a couple of weeks. It was really remarkable.
We ended the weekend with Sunday dinner. Melonie, Jens, Michael and his girlfriend, Sabine (Suh-bean-uh) came over and we had a huge pot of tomato soup and bread and chocolate cake and fruit with yoghurt. Whoa, momma. It rained all day but the hot soup was just the trick. And it's nice to make friends - really cool friends. It took us nearly two years to meet people in Illinois. (I know, did we stink, or something?) So, this is record friend-making. And it's nice.
Language class is dragging us both into an abyss from which I'm not sure we'll ever recover. I was thinking today, we just defended our dissertations two months ago (in record time, mind you), moved to a new country, started a new job. And now we both sit in a class for 8 hours a week. I'm just not fit to sit in a class anymore. I can't. But, we have 4.5 weeks left. So, I go. David keeps threatening to drop the class. I hope not - then it would suck more.
I still love Hamburg, but I don't like German.
Sorry.
But, here's the scoop, quickly because David is waiting to use the phone, which doubles as the internet - like back in the day. Only now it's the internet that doubles as a phone. Semantics aside, we met our friends (Melonie, Jens and Michael - see earlier post) for a few beers on Friday. We met at 9pm and when we finally stumbled home it was half past 4 and the sun was coming up. Good lord. It was Misawa-style. Although, this little fest was capped at a Turkish "pida" place where a husband and wife were freshly rolling out these phat little oblong pizzas that were loaded with spinach, feta and an egg and then baked in an oven. I'm telling you, that was the best meal I've had in Germany. And the food is generally darned good here - so that says a lot.
Saturday we didn't get up to much in the day. But in the evening we took a stroll through something called the "Dom" (pronounced Dome). It's like a carnival on steroids. This thing spanned acres and acres - there must have been a hundred different wurst vendors. We enjoyed a hearty dose of pommes frites. Although, I have to tell you, Germans have a nasty habit of serving this weird ketchup. It's like some kind of liquidy goo that vaguely resembles ketchup thinned with water and then re-thickened with corn starch. So it is sort of red and translucent. The really ick thing is that it just tastes like curry. I've got a pretty tolerant palette, but this viscous ketchup-wannabe isn't doing it.
I also had a "waffeln" covered with whipped cream (no sugar) and cherries. Now, that, my friends, was devine! Anyway, the Dom had so many rides and full sized roller coasters, it put Knoebels to shame. I kid you not - and the whole thing is open for just a couple of weeks. It was really remarkable.
We ended the weekend with Sunday dinner. Melonie, Jens, Michael and his girlfriend, Sabine (Suh-bean-uh) came over and we had a huge pot of tomato soup and bread and chocolate cake and fruit with yoghurt. Whoa, momma. It rained all day but the hot soup was just the trick. And it's nice to make friends - really cool friends. It took us nearly two years to meet people in Illinois. (I know, did we stink, or something?) So, this is record friend-making. And it's nice.
Language class is dragging us both into an abyss from which I'm not sure we'll ever recover. I was thinking today, we just defended our dissertations two months ago (in record time, mind you), moved to a new country, started a new job. And now we both sit in a class for 8 hours a week. I'm just not fit to sit in a class anymore. I can't. But, we have 4.5 weeks left. So, I go. David keeps threatening to drop the class. I hope not - then it would suck more.
I still love Hamburg, but I don't like German.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Special Foto Issue
So! I have been getting (increasingly urgent) demands for pictures of our life here so far. To appease my modest readership, I am doing a special photo edition of "Germany or Bust." I hope you enjoy!
These are a few photos of our crazy Ikea bed.
And some of downtown Hamburg:
The train station -
The Rathaus (city hall) -
Look closely for the guy in a thong (and I don't mean flip-flops) -
A couple of photos from the Alster Lake in the city center -
Ok, this one deserves a little story. So, the red light district in Hamburg, known as the Reeperbahn, has a street that is forbidden to women. Guess what it's called? David Strasse. This street is supposedly where the kinkiest of activities go on and where hookers are to be acquired. Ironic? I don't know.
Another downtown shot -
And the Fischmarkt (Fish Market):
The nut that throws bananas -
And the nuts that throw plants. Check out the mustache on the little guy!
I got a sweet ficus from those kooks. Although, I need a rake to clean up after it, so I'm not sure who made out.
The apartment building across from ours -
The harbor -
David on the train (on the way to Harley Days). That ain't Pepsi, baby.
Harley Days!
Sausage, anyone?
Ah, yes. And tonight we have a lovely bubbly to pair with your sausage -
And this little number is composed of spare bike parts. Pretty impressive, I'd say. Bordering on tacky, but still kind of cool.
10 year anniversary weekend -
Wismar (beautiful old town on the Baltic Sea)
A church from 1200-ish
Grass roofed house on the beach -
Our happy little beach dinner -
A 25 euro bottle of wine -
More beachy stuff -
Can you see Stella?
Ratzeburg - a really beautiful old town 1 hour east of HH. This is right on the border of the former GDR. There were watch towers on the hill (I assume to shoot defectors).
A stone lion in the cemetary -
A church from 1100 -
And, this weekend we spent an evening on the Elbe Beach in Hamburg. The big river that runs to the North Sea is the Elbe. It has a huge harbor (nearly entirely destroyed during the war). And there are some fun beaches. One of which we inhabited on Saturday night. It is so cool to watch all of the big ships come in and out. The channel is so narrow that tug boats have to guide these ships in and out of the port. We saw ships from China, Panama, Argentina and Japan. How's that for globalization? Interesting, too, is that the ship crews speak English with the port authority.
David with some folks that we met on Saturday. Michael (not pictured here), a friend from work, was the organizing force behind this little grill party.
Big ships -
Sunset and an industrial, but still beautiful, port view:
There you have it. Just a little slice of life in Hamburg. I'll keep posting photos regularly. If the apartment wasn't such a wreck right now, I'd show you a couple of those photos, too. Be that as it may, I don't want to embarrass myself.
As an aside, David received his copy of Harry Potter yesterday. So, you can imagine what he is doing now. Wow, life after grad school is so nice.
Ah, one last thing. We had pancake breakfast today!!! I finally figured out in what sort of packaging baking powder comes and I got the right flour. Flour is a tricky business in Germany. There are finer and coarser flours, depending on your needs and they are listed by number - Weizenmehl 550, for example. I tried "Instant Mehl 400" a couple of weeks ago. Blech! It was like concrete. But today, my friends, we had a full on American breakfast with maple syrup and everything. Check this business out:
These are a few photos of our crazy Ikea bed.
And some of downtown Hamburg:
The train station -
The Rathaus (city hall) -
Look closely for the guy in a thong (and I don't mean flip-flops) -
A couple of photos from the Alster Lake in the city center -
Ok, this one deserves a little story. So, the red light district in Hamburg, known as the Reeperbahn, has a street that is forbidden to women. Guess what it's called? David Strasse. This street is supposedly where the kinkiest of activities go on and where hookers are to be acquired. Ironic? I don't know.
Another downtown shot -
And the Fischmarkt (Fish Market):
The nut that throws bananas -
And the nuts that throw plants. Check out the mustache on the little guy!
I got a sweet ficus from those kooks. Although, I need a rake to clean up after it, so I'm not sure who made out.
The apartment building across from ours -
The harbor -
David on the train (on the way to Harley Days). That ain't Pepsi, baby.
Harley Days!
Sausage, anyone?
Ah, yes. And tonight we have a lovely bubbly to pair with your sausage -
And this little number is composed of spare bike parts. Pretty impressive, I'd say. Bordering on tacky, but still kind of cool.
10 year anniversary weekend -
Wismar (beautiful old town on the Baltic Sea)
A church from 1200-ish
Grass roofed house on the beach -
Our happy little beach dinner -
A 25 euro bottle of wine -
More beachy stuff -
Can you see Stella?
Ratzeburg - a really beautiful old town 1 hour east of HH. This is right on the border of the former GDR. There were watch towers on the hill (I assume to shoot defectors).
A stone lion in the cemetary -
A church from 1100 -
And, this weekend we spent an evening on the Elbe Beach in Hamburg. The big river that runs to the North Sea is the Elbe. It has a huge harbor (nearly entirely destroyed during the war). And there are some fun beaches. One of which we inhabited on Saturday night. It is so cool to watch all of the big ships come in and out. The channel is so narrow that tug boats have to guide these ships in and out of the port. We saw ships from China, Panama, Argentina and Japan. How's that for globalization? Interesting, too, is that the ship crews speak English with the port authority.
David with some folks that we met on Saturday. Michael (not pictured here), a friend from work, was the organizing force behind this little grill party.
Big ships -
Sunset and an industrial, but still beautiful, port view:
There you have it. Just a little slice of life in Hamburg. I'll keep posting photos regularly. If the apartment wasn't such a wreck right now, I'd show you a couple of those photos, too. Be that as it may, I don't want to embarrass myself.
As an aside, David received his copy of Harry Potter yesterday. So, you can imagine what he is doing now. Wow, life after grad school is so nice.
Ah, one last thing. We had pancake breakfast today!!! I finally figured out in what sort of packaging baking powder comes and I got the right flour. Flour is a tricky business in Germany. There are finer and coarser flours, depending on your needs and they are listed by number - Weizenmehl 550, for example. I tried "Instant Mehl 400" a couple of weeks ago. Blech! It was like concrete. But today, my friends, we had a full on American breakfast with maple syrup and everything. Check this business out:
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