Ikea is hell and other observations about German living.

Where do I start? There is so much ALREADY! The trip from the U.S. went very smoothly. David’s dad took us to the airport (thanks, Dave!) and the flights were all on time. We had some uncertainty at the airport in Frankfurt. For one thing, we never really processed our stuff or Stella through customs. When we went through the passport check, the guy asked us what we were doing here. David and I both responded, “Working. For 3 years. In Hamburg.” The immigration guy grunted and stamped our passports and we were on our way. As we made our way from the international to the domestic terminal, I was uneasy about where and when we processed our belongings. I asked three different people and they all said, “Just go to your gate.” Hmm…well, what about Stella, then? Where was she?

As soon as we got to the gate, I immediately started pestering the Lufthansa folks about Stella. In halting (but VERY patient) English, several different counter people said they would notify us as soon as they knew that she boarded. I paced around making eye contact with the counter ladies whenever I could. About 2 minutes before the plane was due to depart, I asked one more time and I found that she was onboard. At this point, our poor neurotic dog had been crated for about 11 hours. I wondered how much fur she had torn out of her feet and whether or not she had plastered her crate walls with poo. We would see.

An hour later, we found ourselves in Hamburg. We sprung Stella from her crate, who appeared to be no worse for wear. She was positively dancing as we walked around – I imagine she really had to pee since her crate was dry. Again, I thought we would be asked to process our dog and stuff. We stopped at the customs desk and asked where we should report. Both of the guys working pointed toward the exit. “Now, wait a damn minute,” I thought. What about the USDA fiasco? (see earlier post). We spent an absurd amount of time and effort making sure we could get Stella into Germany and now there were just going to let her loose on Germany? What if she had rabies? What if she were a ferocious man-eating pit bull? I guess the officials would never know. Oh, well. We pushed our carts out the door with our drugged, unchecked dog in tow to start our new lives.

Our new apartment is great. Really great. The building is an incredible tank – completely made of brick and even though we have a south facing apartment and the sun has been shining non-stop since we got here, we haven’t even needed a fan. The apartment is sunny, spacious, clean and the nicest damn place I have ever lived. Wow – I love this place. There is a little refrigerator and a little washer and (best of all for David) a little dishwasher.

Our neighborhood is also super-duper. There are lots of shops, bars, restaurants (all of those we have tried so far are delicious and pretty darn cheap), a natural grocery store, a yarn store (yea!) and the train station is about a two minute walk from our apartment. But wait, there’s more. Beer is cheap (like $18 for a 20-pack case of tasty pounders – and that’s at the very high end) and you can drink it anywhere. I mean it. Anywhere. Josh, did you get that? In the park, on the train, on a bench, in the rain. I sound like Dr. Suess – but it’s great. Beer anywhere. I love it!

They are also conscious about energy and recycling and the environment in general. For instance, the escalators in the subway don’t run unless someone is on them. The light bulbs in our apartment are little and use lots of reflective metal to radiate more light. There are low-flow toilets, tiny fridges, well-insulated homes, tiny cars and much more. The public transportation is excellent and so is the fruit ice (I know, tangential, but whatever).

We took a city tour today like a couple of dorky tourists just to get the lay of the land. I saw a guy in a banana hammock (a g-string speedo for non-Scrubs fans) walking about the square. There are pictures to prove it. And in the red light district there is a street forbidden to women (bastards!). Anyway, the main point of that is the street that you have to use to access it is called David Strasse. Go figure, degenerate porn would be connected to David Strasse. David thought Joanne would get a kick out of that (re: Pornsylvania).

Unfortunately, we spent two afternoons at Ikea losing our minds (and a little slice of our souls, I fear). That place is like a fucking bargain basement consumer Disneyland. I mean, it is acres large and floors high. It just kept going on and on. I honestly couldn’t believe it. On the bus ride to the place, it looks like you are coming up on some kind of Six Flags or something and then you see the bright blue and yellow building and you know – you have arrived. They have everything and shit is cheap. Oh, and there is a cafeteria with beer! I would have really preferred to buy second-hand. However, my and David’s desire to not sleep on the floor, fear of bedbugs and ignorance of German won out. We bought a bed, a dresser, and a wardrobe (not much in the way of closets in Germany) and I had the best night of sleep in forever. I’ll send pictures in a later entry. The beds are kooky. There is no box spring, just this weird lattice system that we had to assemble from scratch (fricking Ikea) that involved lacing this webbing through each of the lattice rungs (you need to see photos).

So, for now, we have two barstools left behind by the previous tenants and a mostly furnished bedroom. We plan to get a couch (or chairs or chairs & a couch) as soon as is reasonable and a dining table and chairs. Again, I am really hoping for second hand finds. We’ll see.

I love Hamburg!!