Living With(out) Swine Flu - Bake Your Own Bread

It seems Swine Flu is in the mouths of thousands of people these days. And to keep it from spreading even further and decimating the German population, the government has come up with a typical German "overly thorough" plan. What's been done? A billion Euros worth of unproven vaccines have been ordered, which about 99,9% of Germans don't want.

In any case, three weeks ago I sent a list of preventative measures to Angie Merkel. I don't know how often she opens her mail, but it seems that it can't be that often, because I am still waiting for a response. Perhaps she's gotten her advisors together to figure out a strategy of how to make it seem that my ideas were hers in the first place. Because I have to say, the answers to Swine Flu are so simple, any idiot could have come up with them.

Since Angie is taking so long to get my message out to the public, here are the major points of my letter:

Dear Angie,

Greetings from one of your subjects, here in the backwaters of Germany, namely Cologne. First of all, let me congratulate you on the recent elections. Although I don't agree with the outcome I feel assured that you are an honest person who truly believes in the follies of your politics. (I was brought up to start letters with niceties.)

Let me begin with some ideas on how you can cheaply combat one of our deadliest enemies: Swine Flu. We all know by now that the virus lives on doorknobs, toilet seats, other people, etc. So instead of investing in a vaccine that no one wants and might not work, invest in hand disinfectant! Send a bottle out to every household. And to save money, manufacture it yourself. Take over Henkel and turn it into one big government hand disinfectant manufacturer.

Along with the hand disinfectant, send every household face masks. The Japanese have been using these effective items for years now, and as we know they live longer on average than any other people. Another thing we can learn from the Japanese is to avoid hand-shaking. When you think about it, it is a disgusting habit. Germs and bacteria from one hand mingle with the germs from the second hand and end up in a pool of mire and guck that can only result in weakened immune systems. Even we Americans have eliminated that dirty habit and substituted a much more effective one. We smile, raise the hand in greeting and utter a friendly "hey, howsitgoin?". Well, OK, that is sometimes limited to certain areas of the USA, such as California. But it is quickly taking over the country.

And now, the most important hinderance: Bake your own bread. Yes, this will no doubt be the key to stopping the virus altogether. Being a German, you may not notice, but bakeries are the springboard of all bacteria in Germany. You go into a bakery and what happens? The person behind the counter takes your bread or cookies or brötchen in their BARE HANDS and then continues to take your money in their BARE HANDS and gives your your change. Of course, they avoid what in their eyes is the main bacteria exchange point by putting the change onto the counter instead of your hand so that you have to pick up the change piece by piece from the dirty counter after taking your now infected baked goods.

This is why I can only repeat: the real key to stopping the Swine Flu virus is: BAKE YOUR OWN BREAD!
To this end I have already acquired a bread baking machine, several of the hundreds of different types of flour that are offered here in Germany, packaged dry and wet yeast, sauerteig, fresh and dried nuts, chocolate chips, cinnamon, and all the other things that can be used to make breads that are just as lovely as what one can buy at the bakery.

So what that my kitchen is overflowing with ingredient:s? So what if it takes 4 hours and 15 minutes to get my sometimes soggy, sometimes overly dry bread? It's my own. And it's fresh. And it smells good. And it is GERM FREE!!

Angie, if you want to really help us normal people, then please get the word out. To simplify it for you, here is a short summary:

Hand disinfectant for every household
Masks sent to every household
No more hand-shaking
Bake your own bread

Your truly,
SSL

That is the jist of my letter. I left out the parts where I suggested some measures to get us back on the road to economic recovery and to improve services for the aged. I'll tell you about that another time.

Oh, wow, revelation! It just occured to me why I haven't had a response from Angie until now: Guido opens Angie's mail first. And we all know, he doesn't understand English! Angie, please start opening your own mail! This is important

Snake Bites Pen

Je spitzer die Feder, desto mehr erkannt man. Just found this sentence in an ad for "Der Spiegel" and I thought it was pretty great. I thought about trying to translate it for those of you who don't speak German, but the the only thing I came up with off the top of my head was: "The sharper the snake bite, the more you feel it", except that that has nothing to do with a pen. However, I just happened to be browsing through a wildlife book while writing this, so my mind is currently in another place...

Thank God for the Crisis

Complain, cry, laugh, that's what I like about Germany! When things are bad, the Germans get happy. It's kind of eery until you understand what that word "Schadenfreude" means. Why, everyone just joins right in on the fun, no matter what the subject! It's a national pastime, moaning about the weather, the ausländer, the economy, the banks, big business, the mother-in-law, the kids, the husband, the wife, taxes, the cost of beer... What a lot of fun!

And this year has really been great for the hard-core complainers, there has been so much more than ever before to bitch and be happy about! What with Mercedes losing money and Siemens pulling out of 3rd world countries, the atmosphere here is almost joyous! And since Opel's been announcing potential layoffs almost every day, the cheer has reached an almost audible level! The last time I remember such happiness sprouting about was was during the World Soccer Cup in 2006.

I've really noticed the change this year, especially in the many smiling sales people. That's an adjective that has never been used to describe sales staff in Germany before! For example, I went in to a BMW dealer a few weeks ago and couldn't believe how happy the sales guy was to see me! I thought we were long lost friends - he stood up to greet me and didn't even seem to notice my ripped jeans and 14 year old VW with half-hanging bumper parked outside his window. He assured me that the BMW Bank didn't care what kind of credit rating I had, or that I owe several banks more than I could earn in 20 years. He whispered with a smile on his face: "We give credit to everyone!" How nice! What sweet guys!

With all this cheeriness around here, all I can say is: "Thank god for the crisis!" It's made a lot of Germans very happy.

First Post

Germans are so misunderstood...

I don't know why foreigners are always complaining about the Germans. I've lived here almost 20 years now and can say that the Germans are quite simply - just misunderstood. If you take a closer look you will come to realize that they are a very polite, shy, fun-loving and humorous people.

Take an example from last week. I was at the bookstore, standing in line. This process is, by the way, called a "schlange" in German, which means "snake". Some nasty foreigners like to say that the reason for the name is because standing in line can sometimes be poisonous with all the pushing and jostling which goes on. However, the real reason for the name is that lines here tend to slither around while you're standing in them - because Germans like to constantly play games.

In any case, there I was standing in line. The woman behind me started to push, as is just customary here and simply an indication of their fun-loving nature. I pushed back, getting into the game. But she began to push harder and harder until I was forced to turn around and tell her that while I was having a great time, my arms were on the verge of turning blue. To which she replied, "Lady, I think you have a big problem with bodily contact!" Whoa, that was so funny I almost fell on the ground laughing! Germans are sooo funny!

Then there was my misunderstanding of bakery rules. I used to get really upset at the bakery. When you go into one, don't expect that the person behind the counter will use thongs or a piece of paper to give you your baked goods. They handle crumpled, used bills and dirty bits of change - considered in other parts of the world as a source of germs and bacteria - and then hand you your food.

When I told my German friends that I wanted to complain about this, they were horrified! Germans are very polite and putting traditional practices like this into question are just not good form. And also - and here is the main reason for not complaining - German germs and bacteria are actually good for you. There is in fact a beloved German saying: "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger." So before you complain, stop and think about what a bit of bacteria can do to strengthen both your stomach and your character - if it doesn't kill you first. But then, taking a risk is part of the fun!

Do you ever wonder what's going on when you go to the department store and ask a clerk for help? This is just another one of their wonderful games! It goes like this: you look for a clerk and see two of them together, deep in conversation. You can go up to them, but do not, I repeat - DO NOT - interrupt them until they have finished, otherwise they can be dangerous. When they have finished, you can ask your question. Invariably, you will hear, "I am not responsible for that, please go over there and ask my colleague." When you go to the other side of the store to ask the colleague, he will repeat the same words. This is a game, lighten up, don't be so stuffy! You are being given the opportunity to be involved in one of the most popular games in German culture!" Aggravate the customer", it's called! Just play along with it! Although they are having a great time and laughing at you behind your back, eventually they will answer your question. Just give them time and don't be such a foreigner!

And then there is the German fascination with looking out the window with a pad of paper in their hand. You know, those elderly men and women who put a cushion on their windowsill and watch the comings and goings of the neighbors for hours at a time, often with a pencil close-by. Once, I took some old newspapers to the next paper container, which was several blocks from home. When I got there, the container was full and others had started to pile their paper next to the container. Not knowing what to do, I put down my heavy load while I considered my next step. Suddenly, I heard a loud, "I see what you're doing and I'm writing down what you look like so I can call the police!" I looked up and there was an elderly, sweet looking little man leaning out of his window, writing down my description.

However, I was already warned about these situations - it's just a game! Mostly played by the elderly, since they have more time. They keep a list of how many people they can police during the day, and at the end of each week they meet to tally up points. Knowing this, I smiled and waved, and shouted back the expected response, "You horrible old man, I'm going to write down your address and report you to the police for harassing innocent citizens!" And then I pulled out my pad of paper and pencil (which I keep for game-playing purposes) and pretended to write. Ah what a joy it is to live in such a fun-loving country!

Are you also wondering about German party situations? That's when you go to a party where you are the only foreigner and everyone else is German. Hey, if no one looks your way, asks how you are, where you're from or what you're doing in Germany, don't despair. Germans are very, very, very shy and just cannot bring themselves to talk to strangers, especially if they are from another country. Don't think that they are uninterested, selfish, cold people - of course they want to know exactly what it is that you're doing in their country. But they are way too shy to ask. So you, as the foreigner, have to take the situation in hand. Go up to them - ask them something about themselves. Be very happy if you get a sentence or two out of them during the evening. You've done your job and the person you talked to will proudly tell his wife later that night, that he talked to a foreigner. And the next day he will joke with his colleagues and ask why more foreigners don't learn to speak German. It’s all part of the game! Those naughty, funny Germans!

Yes, as I said, I've lived in Germany now near-on to 20 years and I still find it invigorating! Every day a new and interesting game to be played! If you're new at all this, just remember - don't listen to what other foreigners say about the Germans. Germans are really horribly misunderstood. Come with an open mind and experience it for yourself - you'll be surprised at the outcome.

Today I Saved a LIfe

Today my blog saved a life. I am really grateful and thank the blog gods that Anonymous, who wanted to commit suicide, didn't put that noose around her neck after all. Here's what she said:

" ...'and, always look on the bright side of life'...Dear strange(r)I cannot thank you enough! I may have killed myself had I not stumbled apon your blog. So alone was I feeling; in my optimism; in my delight in a good yarn; my desire to successfully purchase Laugenbrötchen by asking; to merrily drive off when the lights turn green without already having been hooted at 10 times from behind; in not always needing to call a spade a spade; in holding the opinion that a rigid devotion to the collection of beaurocratic paperwork merely creates a fire risk; in using tropes; in smiling at strangers; in wishing someone a happy birthday in advance; in not favoring injections of salt up my nose as treatment for a cold; in finding the pages of butt-naked thirteen year olds flaunted in 'Bravo' magazine downright scary; in rejoycing in the simple freedom of walking in 'nature' without the aid of poles; in assuming that sexist advertising had long been ousted; in not requiring two seperate duvets on a double bed, in sometimes just winging it;... You see, I too, am a stranger in a strange(Deutschland) and (although it affords me little hope to read that after twenty years here you still find this culture so vexing) suddenly I don't feel like hanging myself today, on the contrary, I might even try laughing at myself again, just not where a German person may overhear. "

Why Germans Rarely Move

Hi, I'm back, kind of. I've just been so busy lately I haven't had a chance to write in my blog. What happened was 1) business started picking way up 2) we moved.

For those of you who don't live in Germany, let me explain what a move here consists of. You don't just pack up your suitcases and move. You:
pack up your suitcases,
dismantle your closets,
disconnect all electrical appliances including the the water heater for the kitchen sink (which you also take with you),
take down all the ceiling and wall lamps,
shut down the mains so you don't electrocute yourself while you loosen the wires for the stove from the wall,
pull down the shower curtain rods,
patch up any holes in the wall,
paint the walls,
paint the doors,
strip the carpets,
attach things to the now hanging electrical wires so the landlords don't electrocute themselves,
take your refrigerator, washing machine, dryer, kitchen cabinets, lamps, curtains, carpets, all furniture, books, legal documents, etc. with you.

If you can afford it you hire a moving company to get your stuff through the door. If you're lucky, everything arrives intact. This is usually not the case.
If you were really lucky, you will get a moving company that does not cheat you by charging you for every extra minute over 8 hours even though you were told you were getting a fixed price. This happened to me. Do not use the company I had in Cologne.

When you get to the new place you can start:
painting,
cleaning,
scraping,
looking for damage which you will have to pay for later unless you've documented that it didn't work or was damaged when you moved in,
install the kitchen sink,
hang the kitchen and bathroom cabinets,
assemble the closets in the bedrooms,
set up the bookcases and shelves,
wire up the stove,
connect the dishwasher,
dryer,
washing machine,
hang up shower and other curtain rods,
ewire and attach the lamps.

After that you can start dealing with the old landlord to try to get your deposit back. MIne is now at about 2500 Euros (after 10 years of interest) which I will not get back because I had the worst landlords in the whole world. They never fixed a thing and in fact told me I was hallucinating and should see a psychiatrist when I complained. Do not rent apartments from them. For fear of escalating the lawsuit we are already in, I won't publish their name but will give it to you if you ask. They own a heating company in Cologne but couldn't get our heaters to work correctly for 10 years.

And then, when you're into the second month of living in the new apartment and the pictures still aren't hung, you really want to take a vacation... but you can't afford it.

This is why Germans rarely move.

Playing the German Game on Holiday

If you read my column in the July/August 2006 issue of Rhine Magazine entitled ‘Playing the German Game’ or here on this blog as one of the first entries, you’ll remember it started off like this:
‚I don’t know why foreigners are always complaining about the Germans – if you take a closer look you will come to realise that they are a very polite, shy, fun-loving and humorous people…’

Recently I was on holiday in Thailand where I realized that while Germans love to play games on their home turf, they are even more hilarious on vacation! The first indications of typical German humour occurred on our first morning.

Due to jet-lag were up early, and by the time we had eaten breakfast and made our way to the pool it was 9 a.m. And lo-and-behold, even in the wee morning hours, evidence of German tomfoolery! Beach towels were on every single sun lounge, but not a soul was in sight! My husband and I started giggling at the sight. You see, we had forgotten, that Germans sneak out in the middle of the night and put their towels on the sun lounges. Then, early in the morning, they peek out of their room and roll on the ground laughing at the non-German guests who wonder in amazement how all those lounges could already be claimed! Ah, what fun it is to play this internationally renowned German game!

The other thing Germans like to do on vacation is compare complaints in loud voices to their fellow travellers. If you’re lucky enough to listen in on this game, you’ll have hours of fun! I heard some pretty funny things like (cross my heart!), ‘I don’t want to go out of the hotel because as soon as I go into a shop I know they want to cheat me – I mean, after all, what do you expect, they’re ASIANS’! And when other guests start rolling their eyes and giving the complainers sour looks, that’s when the fun really starts. If, in addition, they clap after the conversation ends - as many tended to do at our hotel - you’ll know the complaining was uproariously funny and worthy of applause!

One thing I didn’t have to miss out on in Thailand was that great old standard German game – Cutting Into Line. I had almost forgotten it in the midst of all those laid-back Thai people. And so I was all the happier during one breakfast when, in the midst of waiting to order my daily omelette (with everything hold the chilli yes cheese please) a big blond German woman stepped in front of me and shouted out her order just as I had opened my mouth. Ah what fun! Great interchange to charge up the blood in the morning! I said, “I was actually here first.” – to which the reply was a brisk, “Oh, I thought you were part of the staff.” Funny stuff!

Anyway, if you’re going on vacation soon with a lot of German tourists, remember to join in on the fun! And experience a holiday you’ll never forget…

Strang(r) in a Strange Thailand

I’m a bogus Asian in Asia and as it turns out, it’s not that easy to just blend in with the crowd. Before I arrived in Thailand, I thought it would be great to finally be in a place where I’d just be another Asian face in a sea of Asian faces. But since I’m not actually Asian, only look it, it just isn’t working out as I’d planned.

The Thais can see right away that I’m not Thai. So they spend some time giving me the up-and-down before deciding for themselves about what I am. The tourists, mostly from Europe, see me with my tall, good-looking European husband and assume I’m a local girl out on a “date”. That grants me either long chilly stares from the wives, or again a once-over from the men, who probably wonder why my guy didn’t take someone much younger and fresher.

My husband is also getting a bit irritated about the stares. Last night he said, “Sometimes I just want to scream and say – ‘she’s American-Japanese’!”. We were hoping to finally get away from those nosy looks we get in Germany, but it’s maybe even worse here in Thailand.

And so, here I am again, a stranger in a strange land, this time a Stranger in a Strange Thailand.

Anyway, our hotel is located on a sparkling, white-sand beach called Choeng Mon. It’s been amazing to discover that this small stretch of land is it’s own little universe to so many.

Yesterday I had a soothing massage and interesting talk with the Blind Massage Man. I’d seen him every day, massaging clients under a shady tree, his matt spread out, radio on, and the little sign: „Blind Massage – can see a little“.

The first time I passed by, I thought maybe it was a gimmick, you know, like the guys who used to come up to you in the airport claiming to be deaf and asking for a donation so that they could continue their lip-reading courses. But a few days later I saw him walking along with his white cane, realized that he could only read his watch by bringing it up to an inch in front of one of his eyes, and that if you walked by really closely he was only staring into space and not at anything in particular. But the really interesting thing was, that he was always busy. By the time I had decided to take him up on his massage offer, I realized that if that was to happen I had to either book an appointment or be very quick. I opted for the latter.

And so yesterday I found out several things. First of all, the sign should actually read: ‘Singing Blind Massage’ – because Mr. Massage has a wonderful singing voice which he prefaces with a short, “Oh, good music, very good music”, and then accompanies in perfect harmony the music coming from his little wind-up radio. Although he claims only to know songs that are 70 years or older, that didn’t bother me, since I don’t know any Thai songs at all.

Secondly, Mr. Massage wasn’t always blind. He said that until 25 years ago there was nothing on Ko Samui. No hotels, no tourists, no doctors. In those days, no one had money but everyone helped each other out, “You go neighbor and say ‘please, help me build my house’, and when neighbor builds house he ask you”. So in those bygone days, when he was 18, he was hit by a bad case of malaria. Without a doctor, he lingered in a coma for one month. When he woke up, he couldn’t see. After telling the story, he laughed and said, “Bad thing, very bad – but good thing is, I live – I live!”

Yes, he lived to marry a local girl and father two children, whom he calls “babies” even though they’re already 14 and 7 years old. His wife has a little shop on the other side of the island, and so they etch out a living, him massaging on the beach and her running the shop. He’s been massaging at that same spot under the tree for over 25 years and he’s had many offers from hotels to come and work for them, but “I no like every day, must be there morning, must be there night-time. I like better be free.” Very smart man.

Also very smart in his choosing of that location under the shady tree on Choeng Mon beach. “I like here, have shade, no one bothers me.” I asked why he doesn’t massage on the beach where his wife has a store, and his wise answer was so descriptive I could literally see what he was saying. “No, no, not good. My family, they come to me all day – ‘I hurt here, I hurt there – can you please look to my back, fix here, fix there.’ I no can make money, family coming to me all day!” And then it was my turn to laugh because I could imagine his 5 brothers and sisters and their families crowding around him all day long.

The Massage Man’s treatment helped more than just my aching back. After it was over, I realized that his stories and his singing had made me happy. Happy to be alive, happy to be able to see, happy to hear his songs, happy to hear laughter in the midst of what could be seen as tragedy. He gave me hope for all of us.

Get Thin in 8 Hours

Wow, I haven't written anything in my Blog for so long, I've almost forgotten how to access it! In the meantime, I've gotten lots of Emails from people asking me to please write something. But I've been so busy writing for work, that I just haven't had the time, sorry about that. Anway, here is an article I wrote for Rhine Magazine, which will appear in the next issue. Maybe it doesn't fit into this blog 100%, but it does again highlight the differences between Germany and my home country:


Get Thin in 8 Hours

In this issue you’ve been reading a lot about how you can get healthy, thin, look wonderful and in general feel good about yourself. I’ve been trying to do that for years, spending hours at the gym, weekends at health spas and tons of money on cosmetic and beauty treatments. So I was really happy when I recently discovered how to do all those things within about 8 hours, without expending any energy. In fact, I did it while sitting down. Too good to be true? Here’s the secret:

------FLY TO NEW JERSEY------

That’s it! Nothing to it, just hop on the next Continental flight out of Cologne and you end up in New Jersey. I did just that, and when I exited the plane, I immediately felt lighter, healthier, better dressed and really great about myself. The reason why? FAT, badly dressed New Jerseyens.

I’ll tell you, I have never seen so many fat people in any one given place. And I don’t mean just a little pudgy, I mean FAT fat. I mean humungous, I mean can’t get through the kitchen door, I mean possibly genetically altered, misshaped, huge lumps of human flesh. Rolling, not walking; shuffling, not stepping, undulating blobs of living mass.

At first I was a little disgusted. But then I thought – hey – here in New Jersey I am really thin! Me, who isn’t known in Germany as having an especially girlish figure – I am model thin in New Jersey! And although in Germany I’m not thought of as particularly stylish – here I cut a great figure beside those travellers in jogging suits and sweat pants. My, my, I felt like a ravishing beauty!

Still, I wondered how a whole mass of people could get so fat. But a few days into my visit I had the answer. I was shopping in a mall and walked by a few food booths and sweet shops with loads of tempting, sugary, sweet-looking treats – cinnamon rolls coated with a buttery icing, slices of rich looking cakes and pies. And all these scrumptious treats were labelled “No-Fat” or “Lite”. No Fat?? Lite?? Can it be that Americans really believe that these high calorie food products will not make them fat? That they stuff their mouths with such advertising successes and then bemoan their figures to friends, saying: “But I only eat low fat!”

Anyway, as with all else in life, there is a bit of good and bad in everything. Bad to see that advertising has such a powerful effect on those who tend toward fat. But good that all those fatties turned me into the picture of health with a cover girl figure. I think I’ll quit my health club membership and spend the money saved to travel again to New Jersey – maybe you’ll want to do the same?

Don't Go East, Young Man

One of my readers wrote to me today and said that I should go to the east and experience it for myself instead of just reading about it in the newspapers (this was a comment regarding my posting "Priest Disguise for the East"). S/he commented that racist hate crimes occur everywhere, even in my home state of California and asked if I woud cancel a speech in California because of that.

This led me to remember that I forgotten to say that I have been to the east. Here's what I replied to above comments:
"I walked into a bar and everyone stopped talking and glared at me. The atmosphere was pretty tense. Sorry, but I don't really want to experience that again. In California I know where I can go and where I'd maybe better not. In east Germany I don't. But it's not only that - if you'd ever experienced blatant racism, where you feared for your well-being, you'd not want to experience it again either. My saying that I wouldn't speak in the east was not only fear - it was a statement that I wanted to clearly make."
Very many of us people of color do not feel safe going to east Germany.

Here's an article that doesn't make me feel better:
article

‘Tis the Season to be Frantic

If you want to celebrate Christmas like a real German then you’d better start preparing now! Because this season lasts for over a month and has lots of traditions to abide by:

December 1st: tack or nail your Adventskalender(s) to the wall. This is the official start of the Christmas season and the day you can open door number one. Don’t worry about those holes in the wall; landlords are very tolerant of this religious custom.

December 6th (St. Nikolaus Eve): place your largest shoe outside your bedroom door in the evening. If you were good, the next morning it will be filled with sweets. Actually, this custom is only for children, but if you’re married to a German, you can play dumb and gleefully place your shoe in the hall while your spouse watches. With luck, he or she will forget that this custom is for children, and will guiltily rush out to buy you some expensive chocolates.

The four Advent-Sundays: invite visitors to an afternoon of Glühwein and Lebkuchen while huddled around the Adventskranz (fir tree boughs tied fashionably around four candles). Don’t try to save money by making one yourself - mine unraveled and caught on fire in the middle of the table a few years ago, which didn’t make a great impression on my guests.

Christmas markets: are for tourists, real Germans only show up to drink Glühwein. But beware – this punch is warm and soothing, so you’re drunk before you know it. This can be either good or bad, depending on what kind of a drunk you are. I am not a good one, and last year almost ended up getting thrown into a garbage can. I was standing happily in front of a booth, drinking my Glühwein. My friend said, “Stand to the side, the waiter wants to get through.” My inebriated mind didn’t know she meant that he was already there, and I responded with, “Oh, you mean that really FAT one?” Luckily, he had his hands full of glasses, and so he only glared at me for a few heart-stopping moments.

December 24th: In Germany, instead of pudgy Santa Klaus there is the skinny Weihnachtsmann, who got that way by working much faster than old Santa. He brings presents into every German home within one afternoon and decorates the tree at the same time!

Here’s the deal: on that afternoon you stash your kids somewhere and then rush around like crazy to decorate the tree (using REAL candles, even if you’re afraid of turning your house into a raging inferno), pull the presents out and cook the Christmas dinner. When the kids are back, you act like nothing has been going on. Then you ring a bell and invite them into the living room where the perfectly decorated Christmas tree and presents stand waiting. It’s magic!

Christmas: is celebrated on the 24th, 25th AND the 26th. Owing to the standard mini-refrigerators in a German kitchen, these days of endless eating and merriment is a real organizational challenge, tons of work, and the reason why Germans celebrate in small family circles which don’t include uncles, aunts, cousins and in-laws.

January 6th: Don’t worry; today is the official end of the Christmas season, marked by boys singing carols. I don’t know anyone who ever has experienced this custom, but I do know that on the 6th you can finally get rid of your now dried out Christmas tree by tossing it onto the sidewalk. Within a few days it will be picked up by efficient Teutonic garbage men and you can finally relax after having survived a long and stressful German Christmas.

What a relief - that is, until Karnival comes around….

Germany in the 30's and 40's

If you'd like to get a feeling for what people were thinking here in Germany in the 1930's and 40's, I can recommend another really great book from one of my favorite authors - "Two Lives" from Vikram Seth. It's a biography describing the life of an Indian man who went to Germany to study in the 1930s and that of his wife, a German Jew. Vikram Seth is anyway a wonderful writer making every story come magnificently alive. He wrote "The Suitable Boy", a real masterpiece. Also a great book about music, "An Equal Music". And a novel in verse, "The Golden Gate".

Anyway, about "Two Lives" - it really gives one a sense of how difficult it must have been during and after the war to trust anyone at all. Or even to trust oneself, for that matter. It seems that opinions, ideologies and principles can change very easily when it is to one's advantage. Makes you question the matter of "character" - do we really have one? Or does it constantly change, depending on circumstances and the people you surround yourself with? Sorry, I know my questions sound like Psychology One, but it is a book that makes one think. But don't take my word for it, read it yourself! And if you'd like any other book tips, please ask me, I love to talk about books.

Priest Disguise for the East

I was just thinking about the NPD party (far-right, neo-Nazis) over there in Mecklenburg-Western Pomerania. As many of you know, they won some seats in the state parlament on Sunday, which shows how popular they are. Now they're in three of east Germany's five state parlaments. They have said that they'd like to repatriate foreigners and are against foreigners moving into Germany - but then hastily add that they have nothing against tourists. No doubt as long as they are white and rich. Very funny guys, they apparently don't read newspapers, which have been telling us for years that Germany needs something like 600 thousand new immigrants a year in order to keep the social system from collapsing.

A few years back I was asked to give a lecture in Leipzig, but I turned it down stating that I was afraid to go to the east since I don't exactly look shining white. The people who invited me were really shocked and replied in a rather nasty manner that I would have nothing to be afraid of in their city. It really is a shame that a large portion of we people of color are afraid to go to the East of Germany. I've heard some of the cities there are very beautiful. But it's not worth the risk of going. I just read of a woman who was hit in the face several times simply because she wasn't white - did one of my readers send me that information?

It is so really funny and sad to hear that the NPD want to keep Germany for Germans - but will tolerate tourists. But how do you tell a tourist from some foreigner who lives in Germany? Do they want to tag tourists, maybe put little stars on them? Then I thought, if you are a person of color and you want or have to visit the eastern states, the best thing to do would be to don a priest or nun outfit. Surely even the neo-Nazis won't attack a priest? Or would they?

Anniversary of September 11th

The anniversary of September 11th is coming up and lots of newspapers, magazines and TV stations have dedicated reports to it. I know, it was a major event, which heightened awareness of terrorists in our midst. But as an American abroad I had already had my experience with terrorism and bomb threats back in the 90s. It’s not like all that just started on September 11th, we Americans have been targets for decades. Here’s my own personal story:

I had parked my car at the Düsseldorf Airport parking lot during a 3-day business trip. When I got back to my car, I noticed that the doors were unlocked, the radio was stolen and the interior was cluttered with cloth and some long metal objects. I went down to the guard station and reported the theft, mentioning as an aside that some metal objects that weren’t mine were also in the car.

Suddenly, they were all ears. They called the police who arrived within a few minutes, sirens blaring, brakes screeching. I wondered why they were making such a fuss over a stolen radio. The policemen took one look into my car and told me in no uncertain terms to stand back. After some loud discussions, I started hearing the word “absperren” and realized that they were shutting down the parking lot and not allowing anyone in or out of it.

Everyone was running around in a panic – everyone except me, of course, because I still couldn’t understand why they were all going crazy over a little stolen radio. And then someone told me what was happening – I was an AMERICAN! Oh no, I was American and with Americans you had to be very, very careful because all the bad guys wanted to do us in! So they weren’t taking any chances with this American, no siree, they weren’t going to be the ones to take any unnecessary risks!

They decided that little ole me was the object of a terrorist plan to get back at America – and so they closed down the parking lot and called out the bomb squad. Just to be on the safe side. Actually, it took the bomb squad some time to get there, but when they did arrive they were very efficient. They collected the stray objects in my car, determined that they were not explosive, put the metal pieces into a container and drove away.

Man oh man, I thought, what a lot of fanfare over nothing. Still, who would put all that junk into my car? Must have been some really strange thieves.

The days and weeks went by and I didn’t really think much more about it. Until one night. I was sleeping next to my boyfriend when I suddenly sat straight up in bed and screamed, “The police confiscated your tent!!!” My unconscious remembered that my boyfriend had deposited his tent in my trunk a few months earlier just in case we made a spontaneous trip and needed a tent. The metal pieces were the anchors needed to keep the tent in place. But me, I’d never even slept outside before, not even for a nap! I didn’t know what a tent looked like or that it had metal things to hold itself in place.

Pretty stupid, you must be thinking, right? But that isn’t anything compared to how stupid I felt when I went to the police station to try to convince them that the tent was really mine and that I had “forgotten” that it was in the trunk. I probably confirmed their suspicious that all Americans are naïve, rattle-brained idiots. At first they wouldn’t believe me, until I produced a letter from my boyfriend’s mother, which described the intricate sewing she had performed on one side to close up a large rip. A letter from my boyfriend’s mother! I almost sunk into the ground as I folded it back into my purse.

But in the end, I got the tent back. Sadly, I lost the boyfriend, in part due, no doubt, to the above-described unfortunate events. He’s the same one whose father thought I was an uneducated cretin after I explained very convincingly that potatoes grew on bushes.

How I Came to Love Germany

Some of my readers have suggested that I quell the naysayers of my blog by relating the reasons why I like living in Germany. So here is my story of how I came to love this country. Warning though, it's very long and not really funny, just me telling it like it is for all of you who think I hate being here:

Hamburg in May and my first trip to Germany! I was visiting Klaus, whom I had fallen a little in love with during the year he spent at my high school.

Hamburg – stunningly beautiful to my American eyes, with stately old buildings, long winding canals and street cafes filled to overflowing. The skies, as well as the city lake – called the Alster – were a sparkling blue, and the air warm but with a fresh sea breeze. Contrary to their reputation as cold and aloof, most of the Germans I met on the street were all smiles and seemed especially to be smiling at me. The city was vibrant with life and my face was constantly stretched into a grin as I returned greetings.

As it turned out, I was in Hamburg during the annual Cherry Blossom Festival. There were, therefore, a lot of tourists, especially Japanese tourists. Since I’m of Japanese descent (grandparents emigrated to the States some time back) and was no doubt seen as an exotic well-wisher from afar, I was harvesting more than the normal amount of good will and smiles. Klaus cautioned that his fellow Germans were normally not so forthcoming, but no matter, I was busy taking in all that – if only temporary - warmth.

Of course, one thing Germany is famous for is beer, and as a good tourist I wanted to taste as many as types I could. So one afternoon we toured numerous street cafes, which served all sorts of different brews – light, dark and in-between. Since I’m a very small Asian woman, my capacity is much less than that of a full-grown German man, but I was determined to hold up my end, and as the afternoon wore on my good judgment slipped further and further away.

In the evening, Klaus decided it would be fun to rent a rowboat, take it out on the lake and watch the fireworks that were set to go off in the late evening to mark the end of the Cherry Blossom Celebration. If it wasn’t for the beer, I probably would have vehemently refused, since I feel queasy when I’m anywhere near water. But a lot of other people also had the same idea as Klaus, and we thought we were lucky to get one of the last available boats.

Farid, a chatty, eccentric and flamboyant artist friend of Klaus, came along with us. He attracted attention with his head-to-toe black outfit, long ponytail, and the joke glasses he was wearing. They had eyeballs set into the frames, which would pop out on springs with every hard wag of the head or abrupt movement of the boat. Farid kept us and everyone near our boat laughing while we rowed, with his glasses, jokes and non-stop chatter about all sorts of inane matters.

The fireworks were spectacular. We sat back to take in the rich colors and sounds and didn’t want to leave when it was over. We rowed around a bit longer than the others, savoring the evening. But we had to get the boat back before the vendor closed his stand, so we started rowing in. And then suddenly, without any notice, we were all in the water! For some reason, which he could never explain, Farid stood up in the boat and it tipped over, spilling us all rudely out.

Normally it might not be a problem to be in a lake with an overturned boat, but we had several things to contend with: It was pitch black. The water temperature was freezing. Farid didn’t know how to swim. I didn’t know how to swim. We had stayed out too late and there were no more boats on the lake. Our boat was sinking lower and lower into the water.

I didn’t know what was happening, I just heard some shouts from Klaus in German, which I couldn’t understand, and after a little while of floundering in the water, the boat popped back up again. It turned out that Farid, in his panic, had been standing on top of it! But now we finally we had something to cling onto while figuring out what to do next. I have to give him credit, Klaus kept his head. He shouted, “Let’s all get on this side of the boat and we’ll kick and get back to shore!”

Maybe it was a good idea, but Farid and I couldn’t move from terror and besides that, we couldn’t even see the shore, it was so far away. Maybe Klaus was just trying to keep us from panicking. In any case, Klaus kept berating us to get to his side of the boat, and we did try. Still, after about 10 minutes we hadn’t gotten five inches closer to shore and I was practically paralyzed from the cold. Not only that, I had on my long winter coat, high boots, gloves, a long scarf and a hat – all of which were weighing me down in the water. Just when I was about to close my eyes in resignation and let myself be taken down into the depths, a boat came by.

I don’t know how it happened, but they got us back to shore and into the closest restaurant. When we got there, I realized that Farid only had his boxer shorts on – while he was standing on the boat and forcing it down, he had torn off all his clothes in the fear that they would drag him down. Now, he was freezing in the cool May night and had lost his glasses too. He had also stopped talking, which could only mean that he was in shock. He looked like a drowned dog, and I knew I didn’t look much better.

The next thing I remember was being led to the ladies room. There were about 10 men around me, all shouting things in boisterous German. In a few minutes I found myself stripped as naked as Farid and being held under the hand dryer. I remember thinking that it was certainly odd, being in Germany naked and surrounded by strange men as they tried to get some warmth into my very cold body – but I was too dazed for shame and couldn’t bother to really care much.

Now, after being rescued and having drunk about four liters of black coffee, we started out for home. Klaus said he was again completely sober, which was no doubt true, since he’s about 6’6” and was used to drinking 6 glasses of beer every evening. But it wasn’t the alcohol that did us in again – it was the shock of having barely escaped from death by drowning. Klaus just couldn’t drive – he could barely start up the car, and after rolling a few meters it veered sideways into a wall. We looked at the car standing there, driverless, alone – but we couldn’t get back in, not even to park it decently. We got into a taxi instead and after a short drive went up into his warm apartment.

After showering, I washed out my clothes as best I could and put them on the heater to dry. I had only brought a few changes of clothes, and so couldn’t afford to wait to take them to the cleaners the next day. After congratulating ourselves on a narrow escape, we both went to bed.

The next morning Klaus was awake before I was. I opened the bedroom door to look for him, and was surprised find myself enveloped by a thick cloud of black smoke – a huge wall of smoke, like nothing I had experienced before. I stumbled along the hall, and then I saw him. Klaus was coming from the living room, holding what looked to be my jeans engulfed in flames. I said, “What happened!” – to which he calmly replied, “Your pants have caught on fire.” It was really like a dream, he was almost moving in slow motion as he coolly brought the blazing ball to the bathtub and turned on the water. Three mishaps in less than 12 hours – I was wondering if that could be some kind of record.

The rest of the week before I finally flew home was uneventful. As the years went by Klaus and I kept in touch but didn’t see each other. Until the winter I went back to visit him.

We were walking on the now frozen-over Alster as he suddenly waved his arms wildly and shouted in a panic stricken voice, “Get away, get away from me!” He gave me a hard shove and I slid off to his right.

“What’s wrong?”, I screamed.

“Don’t you hear that!!??”

And then I did hear it – the ice was cracking up, right under our feet…..

More Egg Facts

Here’s some information I found about eggs from the US Department of Agriculture:

How Are Eggs Transported Safely to Stores?
The U.S. Department of Commerce's 1990 Sanitary Food Transportation Act requires that vehicles be dedicated to transporting food only. On August 27, 1999, FSIS made effective a new rule requiring:
- shell eggs packed for consumers be stored and transported under refrigeration at an ambient (surrounding) air temperature not to exceed 45 °F

The reason for this is answered by Virginia Tech:
If eggs sit at room temperature (75ÉF) they can drop as much as one grade per day. If fertile eggs are kept at a temperature above 85ÉF for more than a few hours the germinal disc (embryo) can start to develop. If fertile eggs are kept above 85ÉF over two days the blood vessels of the embryo may become visible.

What Points Should You Consider When Buying Eggs?
Always purchase eggs from a refrigerated case.

Why Should Eggs Be Refrigerated?
Temperature fluctuation is critical to safety. With the concern about Salmonella, eggs gathered from laying hens should be refrigerated as soon as possible. After eggs are refrigerated, they need to stay that way. A cold egg left out at room temperature can sweat, facilitating the growth of bacteria. Refrigerated eggs should not be left out more than 2 hours.

Virginia Tech again: Therefore "found" easter eggs must be re-refrigerated until eaten.

Do You Believe What I Write?

Hey, I’ve already gotten some really funny comments from my egg entry! Here’s one:

„...you say you don't know what those feathers are doing there in the first place? You do know where eggs come from, don't you?“

This is really funny because it reminds me of a few years ago when I didn’t remember that potatoes grew in the ground. Of course I knew that at some point – latest during French classes and pronouncing „pommes de terre“ - but I had just blanked it out. I was taking a bike ride with my then almost father-in-law. He stopped by some lumps in the ground and said, „They grow lots of potatoes around here.“ I was stunned and said that they couldn’t be potatoes because potatoes grew on bushes. I think that’s why my then boyfriend never married me.

Then there was the time when my date in a restaurant asked me if I wanted to order veal. I said, no, I wouldn’t think of eating a baby animal, I would take the lamb instead. You see, until that point I thought sheep and lambs were two different species.

And once on vacation, on the island of Kos, my boyfriend and I drove past a field. I saw this huge, brown and white spotted sofa in the middle of the field, and I thought it was a piece of art. I said to my boyfriend, “Look, someone’s got an art installation in the middle of that field! It’s a gigantic sofa! Looks great, doesn’t it?” He turned and looked at me, rolling his eyes. “That is not a sofa, that is a cow, lying with it’s head tucked down so you can’t see it.”

Oh.

So, a question to my readers – do you believe this, or do you think I made it all up? Actually, how much of my blog do you think is complete fantasy? Do you think I really mean most of it?

Some of you get really worked up about what I say, so I just thought I'd ask....

Eggs – a Deathly Serious Subject

Strange thing, I’ve had more comments about my “Eggs” posting, than any other posting in my Blog. Seems lots of people, worldwide, are very concerned about eggs. If they’re cooled, how they’re cooled, why they’re cooled, what color they have outside, what color they have inside – it’s amazing! I’d think more people would be interested in my “grave” postings about racism, but in a way, I guess it makes sense. After all, eggs are the beginning of all life and therefore a serious subject and something to be very concerned about.

OK, so it seems that lots of people think Americans (that means me included) are overly concerned about hygiene. These people are, in my opinion, those who have never lain groaning on the floor next to the toilet after suffering from a bad case of food poisoning. Me, I think it’s more important to be a little overly cautious than not cautious enough. But that’s just me – as you may or may not know, I have a reputation (a very good one, I might add) of being a wee bit of a hypochondriac.

Anyway, I just read a report that egg manufacturers (or are they called chicken farms?) were randomly tested throughout Germany and over 30% of them were found to have Salmonella. I don’t find those results very comforting. If the already infected eggs are then sent to the store unrefrigerated, how much more infected are they when they get home and finally put in the fridge?

And I, for one, really don’t like to find those little tufts of fluffy chicken down in my egg carton. You may call me squeamish, but I don’t know what they’re doing there in the first place. I was at the Ford factory last year. Extraordinarily clean! I mean, you could eat off the floor, it was so clean. I hadn’t expected that, but it was so, even though there was all kinds of oiling, welding, sweating and sparking going on. If a car factory can be kept spotless, why can’t a place where our food comes from also be that clean?

You know, what really bugs me is what goes on in bakeries. Why do the people behind the counters always handle money, wipe their sweaty brows, and then grab the Brötchen you just ordered all with their bare and unwashed hands? Once I complained, and do you know what the baker said to me? “What do you think I do in the kitchen?” I walked out without a word.

Last week I thought I’d try again to get a belegte Brötchen. I walked into the bakery and asked the clerk, who had just finished taking money from the customer before me, if she could tell me what was in one of the bigger Brötchen. She picked it up in her bare hands, clutching it tightly not just with her fingertips but placing it smack into the center of her palm, swung it in front of my face, and said, “You mean this one?” Then she started prying it apart with her fingers and said, “It’s Schweineschnitzel, see!”. I said, “Oh, I don’t eat pig.” And walked out.

And how can stores be allowed to sell old meat, over and over again? In the last few years there was the Wildfleischskandal, the Kühlhaus-Skandal, the Schlachtabfall-Sakndal, the Real Supermarkt Hackfleisch-Skandal, the Nitrofen-Skandal, the BSE-Skandal, etc., etc.

I mean, is it too much to ask for just a little semblance of hygiene? Am I the only one who has a problem with this? Or do you all think this is just my American showing through again? Or perhaps it’s my Japanese? Am I overly clean?

Shall I Keep Writing This Blog?

“Assumption is the mother of all misunderstanding” goes the phrase, and I have found that a lot people reading my blog are making lots of assumptions and misunderstand even more.

I’ve sometimes been disappointed, that not only some readers, but even some of my very intelligent German friends find my blog not only not funny but completely insulting. However, yesterday one of my MOST intelligent German friends explained his theory about this – Stefan* said that he believes if the reader doesn’t have a very good “native speaker” command of the language, he or she will not get the many little nuances that make my writing funny and not derogatory. Stefan had shown my blog to someone who speaks good but not perfect English, and this person was completely upset and said I should move out of the country if I don’t like it here. Stefan said he tried to explain certain passages, but his friend just didn’t get it.

OK, I know there are just some people who, for whatever reason, won’t like my blog and will want me to move out of the country. The same would happen if I wrote similar articles regarding the country I was born into, the USA. Some people there would no doubt want me to move out of the country, or even move off the planet. But anyhow, Stefan’s explanation made me feel better for the moment. Still, sometimes I wonder if I should keep going on with this blog because when it does provoke a negative reaction, that reaction is usually very strong. I am now considering alternatives....

*Name changed to protect the innocent.

Dining German Style

OK guys, today I got a mail from Lillian telling me to write something new, so here it is. Actually, it's going to be in the column I write for "Rhine Magazine", which is an english language magazine in the NRW area. The next issue is about dining in the area, so I also wrote about dining out, German style:


If you’re new in Germany, there are some things you should know about table manners and eating habits before going out and embarrassing yourself. Take it from me; I had to learn the hard way. Here’s a list:

1) When eating, keep both hands clearly visible on the table. I don’t know what Germans think you’re doing with them under the table, but apparently it’s something bad.
2) Bread here is un-squishable (as in Wonder Bread) and therefore not suited for peanut butter sandwiches Good peanut butter is anyway hard to find. Give it up.
3) Germans believe that reheating cooked mushrooms and then eating them will kill you. Never serve them to a guest unless you don’t want them to come back.
4) French fries are eaten with mayonnaise. You can eat them with ketchup, but are then immediately identified as a foreigner
5) Coca Cola cures a stomach ache. In other countries, it gives you one.
6) Bread with cold cuts and cheese are considered a great dinner and are not only served by extremely poor people.
7) Most women under 35 only eat salads when in the company of other people.
8) Large quantities of beer is said to clean out the system.
9) Hard liquor is good for stomach aches.
10) Jell-O is called Wackel-pudding and is eaten plain and only in the secrecy of your own home.
11) Eating in a smoky restaurant with extremely slow and boorish service is considered relaxing. Dinners of 5 or 6 hours are not uncommon. Take a cushion along.
12) Sauerkraut is not as popular as we were led to believe before coming to Germany.
13) Do not ask for substitutions on the menu. It is legal for the cook to throw you out.
14) MacDonald’s is considered unhealthy and fattening. Bratwurst and Kartoffel-puffer are not.
15) Pigs are served in a huge variety of ways:
a. Pig fat: used to spread on bread
b. Jellied pig: called Sülze
c. Huge pig hocks: look unappetizing but are a speciality
d. Smoked pig: does not have to be cooked
e. Pig feet: also jellied and usually bought in a jar
f. Ground pig
g. Etc.
16) Wine is good for the heart – and also for stomach aches.
17) Smoking while others are eating is not bad manners but complaining about it is.
18) Dogs are allowed in restaurants because they get very lonely dining alone.

Boo Hoo, Poor Zisou

Scanning the Internet over the past few days, it’s really stirring how much press – both good and bad – Zinadine Zidane has been getting. I really like some of those animations and re-touched pictures that have been floating around. And reading all the different opinions about him, between being God-like and now falling to the lowest levels of humanity.

Poor Zisou, did you see him on French television the other night? He looked like an angel with his wings clipped. What innocence in his teary, shining eyes as he told us of the indignities he had to endure from Materazzi, over and over again, with no let-up until he – like any man of good character – just exploded.

First of all, Materazzi pulled on Zisou’s shirt. How dare he? What could he have been thinking? He pulled on Zisou’s shirt and didn’t even apologize, didn’t even utter a “pardon”. Who wouldn’t be upset? And then, as Zidane explained to us in close-up on French TV, his lips quivering, his voice unsteady – and then, and then – Materazzi insulted Zisou’s mother. Ohh, it’s just unthinkable, intolerable! And Zisou’s sister was also included in the verbal attack, the oral assault – NO, it can’t be!

Zisou just couldn’t take it anymore, he did what any real man would do – he rammed his million dollar head into Materazzi’s chest. Of course he would not stoop to hitting him in the jaw, like a lowly street fighter. Non, non, Zidane’s head was the only suitable object to fight against such devilish forces of evil.

Who can blame Zidane? Who wouldn’t go totally nuts after hearing insults about his or her mother and sister? I mean, don’t you remember your own kindergarten days when “yore Mamma” calls made the rounds? “Yore Mamma sleeps with xxx” or “Yore Mamma eats xxx”? I sure do, and if I wasn’t the smallest one in the class, I would have been butting everyone with my head too. All I can say to those who don’t understand Zisou is – “Yore Mamma hatched a xxx”.

Thanks for Understanding!

I just got this comment which made me feel really good, so I'm sharing it with you. You might say I'm just tooting my own horn, and I guess I am to some extent, but I'm just happy that at least one person understands what I've been writing about. And used my own made up abbreviation "NGOC" - or does that already exist and I haven't heard about it? In any case, thank you Jennifer! Here's the comment:

"I love your blog (I must admit, I read it from newest to oldest...and it still made sense:).It's a relief to know that I am not crazy. My boyfriend is German and doesn't understand my frustration. I have to remind myself on a daily basis to grin and bear it or just laugh- not always easy, but its getting better- I have been here for 2 years now.I'm also from California. Thanks for putting some perspective on living in Germany, as I will most likely be a langzeit Ausländer as well. I imagine it will be different from the scope of things you have experienced being an NGOC- people actually believe me when I say I'm from California, even though I don't have blond hair or a tan.I was born and raised in San Diego, and have British/native American ancestry. None the less, I relate and find your stories intelligent, funny, and utterly entertaining (I even laughed out loud about the lady in the supermarket).I look forward to reading more.With kind regards, Jennifer in Frankfurt a.M."

And then today, I got this from Siegfried. Thanks to you too!

Hi,well, i too love to read your blog, although your "strangeness" sometimes is simply funny. I'm German, but from northeast-Germany, the former DDR, grown up in the very south of Germany. So i was some kind of strange "Ausländer" all of my life. My wife is Spanish, grown up in Germany. So she is a stranger in Germany as well as in Spain. Well yes, she is diferent. Different here and different there. So what? We both lived two years in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. There we both where different, found many strange things. Some simply strange, some i did not like and some i have to admit they where better than what i knew. There is no necessity to always understand everything, and there is no necessity to be understood at all time. Most often it's simply enough to accept the differences. What i really like in your blog is your humor. That is the most important prerequisite to live with strange people and things. I hope you keep that. Sometimes it helps me to look into some kind of mirror.

How I Became a Soccer Fan in 7 Easy Steps

Before the World Cup this year, I just didn’t really understand the passion with which some people watch sporting events. But this year I finally figured it out and found myself completely caught up in the games myself. It isn’t really about the game or who wins or loses or technique or any of that. It’s about the pathos and drama of those who play it. That’s what makes you a fan – at some mystical point in time you begin to identify with the players and feel like you are right there beside them, and after that point has been passed you can never go back.

It started out slowly with me – first I watched the games with the Japanese team because after all my grandparents are from Japan. How heart-wrenching when one of them was carried off the field in the opening few minutes. Then I watched the Americans, being one myself, and found myself cheering them on with my fellow-Americans. After they lost, I switched to the Mexican team – since I love Mexican food and come from California, which was stolen from Mexico some years back. During the Germany-Sweden match I started out rooting for the Swedes, because I was there once for a writing job – but I had to switch sides after seeing how badly they played. OK, I’m a little fickle, but who doesn’t want to be for the winning side?

And then it really started – I became a Germany fan! I bought a German flag pin with flashing LED lights, got a “Go Germany” T-Shirt, wrapped a red-black-gold headband around my head and wore a team colored bracelet. I started discussing Ballack’s knee problems with colleagues, theorized about Klinsi’s psychological powers and his bringing “American positiveness” to the team. I was really proud to be a German and waved my flag alongside the best of them – at least until I realized I wasn’t one.

And then I watched the France-Portugal match and had to switch sides again. Those Frenchies can really move! And they are so graceful while zipping around the field!
I started reading everything about the team and found out that Ribery is a Muslim, having converted after marrying his Muslim wife and searching for some peace. He was a bit of a rowdy, possibly due to the fact that the bad accident he had as a child led to lots of taunting during his growing-up years. I giggled with girlfriends about Zidane’s body control and how he’s probably the sexiest man alive. Look what he can do on the field, think of what goes on in bed! And he looks so sweet and sensitive – and happily married since age 20 with four children. What a man. And then there’s Henri, who always has a twinkle in his eyes and looks so sweet you just want to hug him. Or Thuram who didn’t really want to be on the national team, but coerced was into it by that funny little trainer who always looks totally upset.

What stories, what pathos, what passion, what diversion from my normal little boring life – does it really have to end this Sunday? What are we going to do for the rest of the summer? Will everyone go back to being dour (Denglish for depressed and sauer) and unfriendly? It would be great if the high-spirited feelings that have been pouring out of even the most German of Germans could keep going on. Perhaps the World Cup has been like a trigger, that starts off an avalanche of changes, which this country badly needs – not only in attitude but in public policy. Will freeing up opening times be one result of many? I hope so.

Read From the Bottom Up

If you're new here, I'd like to ask you to please read this blog starting with the first entry. It makes more sense that way.
Thanks a lot!

Zidane, the (2nd most) Sexist Man Alive

OK, OK, I know I've been promising to write something about the WM, but I've been too busy watching the games. In the meantime here is a short tribute to my hero, Zidane, the sexist man alive (except for my husband of course - hello honey!). It goes to the music of "Wild Thing" from the Troggs:

Wild thing.
You make that ball zing.
You are our Zi-ne-dine.
Come on, Zidane.

Wild thing, how do you do that?
Ah, with that crazy roulette
Such a sly, slinky cat
What an upset.

Wild thing.
You make the crowds sing.
You can do anything
Come on, Zidane.

I Need Your Help

Sometimes I get some really great and/or interesting comments and I'd like to respond directly back to whoever wrote them. If you'd like, add your email address to your comments and I'll write back.

Also, I've been really busy these days and have hardly had time to write in my blog - what with the World Cup, summer activities, taking a weekend trip to Frankfurt (the city of my youth!), writing for money and fame, and then of course Working.
So if you have anything you'd like me to write about, please tell me and help jog me out of my blogger's block...

Swedes Rule!

Yesterday, on the drive to work, I saw a really great sight. From my house, which is near the stadium in Cologne where Sweden played England, all the way to the Innenstadt, which is a length of about 4 kilometers, there was one almost constant stream of yellow and blue streamers lining the street. It was great! Blue, blue, blue, yellow, yellow, yellow, as far as the eye could see.

There were no English colors and no German ones either, altho Germany played that afternoon too - it was Sweden all the way! Where did they get all those streamers? Did they bring them with them from Sweden or buy them here? Weren't they afraid of getting stopped by the Polizei or, even worse, the Residents Who Police? Are the Swedes a different sort of people that they didn't even seem to think of these things which would stop even the most fun-loving German? How do these differences in spirit come about? It made me want to jump out of my car and meet a Swede, but they had already deserted the streets, and so I continued alone on my silent journey to work...

Is There Hope for Integration?

About 85% of the time, during my first meeting with another non-German of Color (NGOC), I am told how difficult it is to live here with “these” Germans. It’s never a question. It’s always a statement to which my answer in the affirmative is never doubted, not for a moment. Whether at a party, or during a short ride with a dark-skinned taxi driver, it almost always pops up. The complaints range from rude treatment at the store to possessing a higher educational degree from the homeland but only being able to work at menial jobs here in Germany.

I did wonder for a time if I looked particularly sympathetic or maybe helpful in some way. But after almost 20 years of living in Germany, I’ve learned that most other NGOCs also have these encounters. I’ve asked some of my foreign friends about this phenomena, but they shrug it off and say, “what do you expect?” or “it’s only natural” as if I’m questioning the existence of gravity.

Of course these encounters only started happening after I started speaking German – otherwise I wouldn’t be able to have a conversation with a non-English speaking NGOC, which are the people who mostly speak to me on this subject. But isn’t it odd? Does it happen in other countries too? And why do NGOCs find the Germans so difficult to understand?

There all this talk these days about foreigners not trying to fit into German society, but how can anyone fit into a society when they don’t understand the people? There seems to be a big gap between how the Germans want to be seen - or see themselves - and how a whole lot of outsiders see them. Narrowing that gap would be a wonderful thing and a big step toward real integration – but how many see the need for it or even realize that it’s there?
Is there any hope?

Third Reich Tactics?

I just got something in the mail from the Sportamt of the city of Cologne. At first I thought it was just a very expensive joke. But then I went to the URL they gave at the bottom of the letter and discovered it isn't. Can you believe that the city wants us not to wear, carry, display or have anything to do with brands which are not official sponsors of the World Cup? Take a look at this strange letter. That's the mailing we got together with a checklist which you can download on the right side where it says "checklist für bewohner". They tell us that that we should: not wear clothes with labels from "non-official" brands or put up flags or ads which are not from official sponsors. Also, if our cars have stickers from non-sponsors, we should park where no one can see them. If we listen to television in open places, we should turn down the volume when ads come on from non-sponsors. And even when we carry our grocery bags, we should hide any brands which are from "non-official" sponsors! I am speechless. What do you think?

Radical about Ageism

Last night I was talking to some friends about the problem with ageism in the workplace here in Germany. At least, I see it as a problem.

The German population is aging, the retirement age will be raised, but still there is massive discrimination against hiring older people. And it isn’t even covert – newspaper ads very often specifically ask for people up to a certain age which is usually about 35. And if you read the paper, you can see multitudes of stories about people over 40 who have a very difficult, if not impossible time of finding a job.

So what are people supposed to do between the ages of 40 or 50 and 85 or 90? Live off the government/taxpayers? I guess so, but they’ll only be able to do that half-way decently if they were lucky enough to have worked for lots of years so that they’ll get a pension they can live from.

Therefore I suggested what to my mind would be a very simple first-step in combating this problem. I suggested that people stop being required to write their age or show their picture in their job applications. That way, companies will have to take a harder look at people’s qualities and stop hiring on the basis of youth or looks. I might as well have suggested shooting everyone over 80! The cries of outrage were pretty loud and I was even called a “radical”!

I was told that looks are among the highest criteria for choosing employees because a good outer appearance is very important for successful business. And that younger employees are more on top of current issues which is also better for business. Huh? But does that insure that these people will be more successful? What happened to that saying, “Looks can be deceiving”? If companies put so much value on looks and youth, won’t they often hire the wrong people? Isn’t it time to stop this kind of thinking from snowballing and affecting even more and more of our decision-making capacities in all areas of life?

I mean Albert Einstein wasn’t the best looking guy in the world, would his resume be thrown on the “in” or “out” pile of the recruiter’s desk? And look at George Bush, he probably would be put on the “in” pile if he were applying for a job in Germany. He looks pleasing and mild-mannered enough. But where would that get us?

I have a 75 year old aunt who’s still working full-time as a nurse. Another one is over 90 but still going strong as a tour guide. A friend of my mother’s is 74 and continues to work for the school district. The last time I was at a trade show in Las Vegas all the workers at the registration windows were grey-haired and obviously over 65. If a society doesn’t have a prejudice against the elderly, then they can continue to make valuable contributions until they die. And why not, we need all the help we can get!

I just don’t know, I keep hearing that we Americans are superficial, but on this issue I wonder who the shoe fits better?

It's a Dog's Life

Why is it that dogs in Germany behave differently than dogs in other countries? In parks and on the streets of other nations, dogs trot towards us humans, look us in the eyes and friskily wag their tails in hopeful expectation of a pat on the head or maybe even a belly rub. But here, dogs just glide on by without even seeming to notice us.

As the dedicated journalist I am, I decided to go directly to the source to try to answer this burning question: are dogs in Germany a breed apart?

This morning, I went to the nearest park armed with my trusty tape recorder. The first dog I spotted was a handsome Rhodesian Ridgeback trotting proudly across the grass – head held high, brisk gait, muscles rippling in the sunlight.

“Excuse me!”, I shouted across the lawn. “Could I talk to you for a minute?”
The Ridgeback eyed me suspiciously, but after a quick one-over, was by my side.

“Yes, can I help you with something? Are you lost and need my assistance?”, he inquired with a haughty toss of the head.

“No, no, I’m just doing a research article on the behavior of German dogs and I noticed that you have a rather aloof look to you – have you had bad experiences with humans? Why do you seem to take pains to avoid us?”

A deep dog laugh burst from his tawny neck and his supple body shook in amusement. “Ha!”, he exclaimed with merriment. “Look at me, I am in perfect physical condition, can run all day without stopping. Everyone stops to stare at me when I walk by, you yourself couldn’t protect yourself from my charms. Why should I run to you when it’s obvious that everyone loves me?” With that he snorted and trotted off into the distance without so much as a glance behind.

Embarrassed to be so easily seen through and also disappointed with his brief appearance, I turned my attention to an elegant little brown poodle sniffing at some flowers.
“I am doing some research on the behavior of dogs in Germany and was wondering why you pay no attention to us humans at all.”

“Why do you ask me?”, she responded in a chillingly cultivated voice. “There are hundreds of those creatures out here, go and talk to them directly!”, she commanded.

“Um… but excuse me, you ARE a dog.”

At this she bristled. “How dare you call me such names! I will go directly to the next police officer and have you arrested! I have never been so insulted in my life! Who do you think you are--!”

Trying to stop this verbal attack, I quickly pulled out the mirror I had in my purse and opened it up to her. “Sorry, but have you looked in a mirror lately?”, I asked in a calm voice while directing her gaze into it. The scream that followed was one I will never forget – it was shrill and loud and lasted a whole minute before she broke down in huge sobs and tears. To my shame, I admit that I quietly snuck away while she was still writhing on the ground, broken by the apparent startling news.

Shaken by that encounter, I decided nonetheless to try my luck again. This time I chose a rather wrinkled but very dignified bull terrier. Luckily, he seemed to understand my question right away but paused to give it some thought.

“It’s the media”, he said with his booming, authoritative voice. “The younger ones look at all those magazines and television programs with those haughty, arrogant models and actors. What do you expect? Just because we have fur doesn’t mean we’re immune to trends – we’re just trying to fit in, be one of the crowd, find acceptance in society – can’t blame us for that, can you?”

“Hmm – you mean the look they’ve affected is just a response to that smug, cool, aloof manner so many young Europeans seem to cultivate these days? That they’re just victims of the media like everyone else?”, I reflected.

“Yes, that is exactly what I mean”, he replied before ambling off to his owner.

Later that evening, while still sorting out the new information I’d gathered over the day, I sat in a restaurant and watched two large dogs come in with their owners. They quietly sat at the table and if I didn’t know better, I could swear one was reading the backside of the newspaper his owner was holding.

I mulled over German dog protocol: dogs in restaurants, dog food sections larger than baby food sections in grocery stores, dogs taken to work instead of being left at home during the day, dogs wearing designer doggy clothes…. And then it hit me! They don’t know! They’ve forgotten that they’re animals and were meant to be our altruistic servants, stay outdoors to protect our homes, eat from bowls and not in restaurants, fly in the cargo section of the plane!

German dogs have been turned into four-legged people by owners who’ve also forgotten that they are animals - and so they’ve become the same vain, self-centered creatures the rest of us are. It shouldn’t have been so hard to figure out, really. Ah, how I long for a furry, naïve little California mutt with a welcoming, wagging tail and lopsided grin.

Medical (Bene)Fits

People have been asking me why I haven't been writing lately, so I thought I'd better let everyone know what's going on. In fact, I have been writing, but that's been to earn money, and I've been doing so much of it (writing, that is, not earning money) that I haven't had time to write in my blog. Besides that, I've been ill.

One of the reasons I decided to come to Germany was because I wanted to experience a society with more social benefits than the U.S.A. I heard everyone here got six weeks of vacation, lots of off days because of national holidays and free medical care. Being a hypochondriac, I thought Germany would be a Shangri-la for me, so I jumped on the next plane and came on over. Well, all those rumors are not entirely true, as I discovered, but it took some time before I figured the medical system out.

When I first got here, I thought I was dying. I thought I was on death's door and only had a few days to live. I was convinced the doctors were keeping the true extent of my illnesses from me, sheltering me in last hours. What I didn't realize, was that the medical system lives from this kind of doomsday mentality.

I had a bad stomach ache after a visit to Russia in 1987 (that's another story) and after landing in Frankfurt went directly to the emergency room because it was Sunday and I was hoping they would give me some powerful medicine. No one told me that an innocent visit to the hospital would mean a three week stay!

I was tested for all sorts of things, even things not related to the stomach. I had blood tests, wore compression stockings, was hooked up to an IV-Drip, and on the 3rd day had an operation so the doctors could look inside of me and see if all was OK. On the way into the operating room, the last thing I saw and heard was the doctor standing over me, looking at my records attached to a clip-board. Suddenly, I heard her scream, "Oh no, they gave you the wrong anesthetic!!" - and then I fell asleep. On waking up, I never felt so sick in my life - it was worse than the stomache ache and I moaned for two days.

However, I did survive (if just barely) and waited day after day for some results to come back from all those tests the doctors kept me going through. But every day there was nothing to report. My operation showed nothing. My blood tests showed nothing - so of course they had to be repeated. Germans are very thorough, after all. Every day I asked the doctors when I would be allowed to leave and every day I was told that it was too early. And if I dared to sign myself out without all the tests done, I would have to take resonsibility if "something happened" - which I assumed was "if you die".

After awhile, with no progress in sight, my German friends started telling me things I couldn't believe. That the hospitals lived from keeping people in them for as long as possible and by giving them expensive tests from which they kept a big part of the fees. Could that be possible? Weren't doctors supposed to act in the patient's best interest?

Afraid and not knowing what to do, after three weeks I decided it was time to take my life into my own hands and check myself out. After all, I had been feeling better for the last two weeks and if I was going to die, I would probably have done so already. Nervously, I signed the release papers with an unsteady hand - but then I was free! After three weeks of captivity, I tasted freedom again! And went straight to a doctor who oozed sympathy, gave me a thorough check-up and wanted to do more tests....

So just a warning - in the German medical system, sometimes the treatment is worse than the illness.

Did you see it too?

Speaking of golf, did anyone else watch the Masters last week? Was it only me, or did anyone else see Tiger Woods crying when he missed that putt at the 13th hole? Wasn't it a heart-breaker? I was in tears myself. I almost had to shut off the television, it was such an emotional roller-coaster. Phil Mickelson clowning around with his buddy, so self-assured and confident, and Tiger looking like he'd never get over it.

There he was, Tiger Woods, lining up the shot, inspecting the green. He stands over his ball, pauses a few times and then hits it for a middle distance putt. The ball looks like it's going to make it into the hole, but just inches away veers off to the left and rolls on by. Tiger roars in disappointment, the crowd roars too, and then he - the sunny boy - he bows his head and lowers his eyes. He walks slowly over to his ball, crouches down on the green with his head still bowed. And then he tilts his cap so that his eyes are shielded, but you can catch a shimmer of a tear just before he looks away again. He picks up his ball in one hand and seems to inspect it, seems to ask it what happened. He stays in that position, almost frozen, for an eternity. And then, very slowly, he rises, still with his head bowed. When he starts to walk away he raises his head slightly and uses the back of his hand to swipe at his nose and sniff - once, twice, three times.

What a drama, I haven't been able to sleep remembering it. Or was I seeing things?

Golf Orphans

One thing I have to say about Germans – they really take their sports seriously. I mean, having to take written, oral and practical exams just to play a round of golf? Yup, that’s what you have to do here, even if you’ve played for years in another country. It takes a lot of time and effort and even more so for a beginner like me, but a few years ago I decided to take up the challenge.

I had barely even watched the game before, but my husband spends a lot of time on the golf course and I was tired of being left out. So I decided to spend my free days taking lessons, going to the driving range, reading up on golf rules and shopping for all those cute accessories that go with the game like little club covers with elephant heads on them .

When I first started to play, no one told me how hard it would be to hit a non-moving object placed directly before my very own feet. “swoosh – swoosh”: that was my club swinging through the air after not making contact with the ball. All around me, I heard: “swoosh, whack! – swoosh, whack”! But my efforts all ended only with a “swoosh”.

Not to worry, not to worry, said my husband with encouragement. It’s like that for all beginners! So I kept on going to the driving range with my by then very large collection of golf paraphernalia. I had a battery driven golf trolley, striped Capri pants, brilliantly colored caps, spiffy white golf shoes, polished clubs and by now a whole zoo of club covers: Mr. Elephant, Miss Panda and Baby Piggy were my trusty companions.

After about a year, I could proudly say that I was hitting most of all my balls. I had finally graduated to a “whack”! And so, after taking my final test and successfully earning my golf license (the bribes to my golf instructor were truly very small) I was ready for my first round of golf!

Whoever says golf is not a sport has just never played it. I was prepared for the big day with a thermos of coffee, a large sandwich, candy bars, a bottle of water, an apple, Mr. Elephant, Miss Panda and Baby Piggy. But I never had a chance to enjoy any of those. As it turns out, golf is a never-ending race to keep up with the players in front of you and avoid getting hit from the players behind. If your ball keeps on losing itself in some tall grass, as mine had an odd tendency to do, you spend the entire game running. Running to the outer edges of the hole to find your ball, running to keep up, running to avoid getting hit, running to make sure you haven’t hit anyone, running to find your ball again and running to make sure your electric trolley doesn’t run away with your bag after you’ve set it to automatic.

My day went like this: Mr. Elephant got lost on the second hole, Miss Panda somewhere around the 8th and Baby Piggy got stuffed into the bag at the 10th in order to keep him from becoming an orphan. When we were done I took toll. Besides my animal friends I had lost 6 balls, a bottle of water, 4 pounds and the patience of my husband. And I learned that my license didn’t help me one bit out there on the course. A hard hat would have made more sense.

Visit to a Farm

As an ex-television journalist, I am sometimes shocked at how often basic journalism rules are ignored here in Germany. A case in point is the foul reporting that's been going on about avian flu and the subsequent call for caging the birds. In my day, we were always expected to go right to the source - and that's something that just hasn't been done here. So I decided to do a little investigating on my own. I grabbed my tape recorder and new digital camera and started looking for a suitable interview partner.

After some research, I was finally lucky enough to get an interview at a farm near Aachen. Here are some outtakes from my interview with Big Red, the head hen and designated spokeschicken on the farm:

Strang(r): What is your opinion of the clashes which have been going on between the farmers and the animal rights groups? The farmers ask for smaller cages, the animal rights groups want larger ones or even want to see them abandoned altogether.

Big Red: Yes, well I have recently led a round-table discussion with some of the leading chickens here, and while we appreciate everything the animal rightests are trying to do for us, we believe something has been sadly overlooked...

Strang(r): What is that exactly?

Big Red: Our intellectual stimulation.

Strang(r): Intellectual stimulation?

Big Red: Yes, intellectual stimulation. Some of the youngsters are almost on the verge of striking, that's how bad the situation is. When egg production comes to a stand-still here in Germany, you'll know that my words today were disregarded! All we're asking for is some televisions. Computers would also be appreciated, but until we figure out how to use a mouse, we probably won't get much use out of them. And newspapers we get already, even though they're mostly at the bottom of the coops and sometimes in bad shape.

Strang(r): But why televisions? It's recently been proven, that television in Germany does not cause much intellectual stimulation.

Big Red: We know those arguments....

Chanting in background: WE WANT TELEVISION, WE WANT TELEVISION!!

Big Red: You see what I mean? The situation is coming to a boiling point. Put yourself in our shoes. We've been thrown into cages and probably won't get out for some time. Why, we've even heard rumors that chickens in some part of the country are being herded into gas chambers! Well, we won't believe that until we see it ourselves, but the fact is - we're bored. We've got nothing to do all day except eat, squawk at each other and stare into the distance from behind the coops. Some members of my own family are beginning to show signs of dementia! They're tottering and unsteady. They mutter to themselves all day long. You'd be bonkers too if you had nothing to do all day but look at chicken wire and fret about your future!

Strang(r): And you think Television will help?

Big Red: We are sure of it. We can get some ideas about how to better live together in cramped quarters, about how to solve conflicts, what to do if someone has mental issues....

Strang(r): Have you ever actually watched television before?

Big Red: Well, hmmm, harump... actually I haven't PERSONALLY... but a good friend of mine spent some time in the farmer's house and was able to stay in the living room as he watched his favorite show. So we know, that television will help us to form a community that works and where everyone is happy even though they aren't allowed to move about so freely at the moment. At least until this flu thing blows over for good.

Strang(r): And what show was the farmer watching?

Big Red (astonished): Why, that favorite show of all time! The big winner! The most popular of all German TV-Shows! Where eveyone lives happily together in a house and aren't allowed out, just like us chickens! You know the show, it's called - Big Brother!

At this point I ended my interview and, after promising to see what I could do to help improve their lot, left the farm. Driving home, it became apparent to me why German journalists often do not go to the source. It was a depressing day.

Life is hard, and then you die.

I got this comment from Greg today and was moved to respond to it below.
Greg said: "i tried to comment in your guestbook, but it wouldnt accept my message..lord knows why. so here it is, i hope it doesnt sound too negative. i like people writing about the german mentality so keep it up:).

there are a few points in this post on which i would like to comment(sorry for my miserable english, i havent used it in some time). besides being really negative uve a few points. you'll never stop being a guest..at leats not for the average german. but its the same in all other countries(i dont think hispanics are seen as "real" us citizens by most of the white north americans). the story with the black football player is tragic and im embarrassed sth like that can happen(i would like to say that the ones who did this are undereducated and dumn, but i guess that would be to easy). still racism isn't a german-only phenomenon(ever tried to live normal in GB as a german? impossible). so after all, you're right with what you are writing, but actually i think it will get worse with the right wing parties in eastern germany gettin more and more influence and it probably will get worse in europe as a whole...i guess many people feel endangered by globalization."

This is now me speaking:
Greg, thanks for making the effort to send the comment. Yes, you are right, racism is rampant in the world. You are lucky, you have a country to go (back) to where you can slip into being one of the crowd.

Imagine not having that luxury - it is a psychological nightmare. Always trying to fit in, but never being able to. Not in the country you were born in, not in the county you have adopted, not in the country others identify you with because of the color of your skin or the slant of your eyes.

This is the reason many foreigners stick to their own kind, as a way of shutting out the chaos that’s going on in their own heads and what they know is in the minds of their “host” country’s citizens. Or - like many second-generation foreigners – they deny their foreign-ness and try to become a “super” citizen. Often even overshadowing the ordinary citizens themselves and inspiring unfounded jealousy.

Which starts the circle of racism all over again. Achieving too little and sticking together causes the host country to complain. Achieving too much causes envy, resentment and distrust.

Life is hard, and then you die. What a pity.