Olympische Winterspiele

You can learn a lot about a society by watching its television. While we can, and probably will, say more on that topic at some later date (because there’s just so much good material), I’ve made a couple of observations about Germany over the last two weeks from simply watching the Olympic Games. They seem to have at least one broadcast channel devoted to Olympic coverage at all times, thus people seem perpetually tuned in. And rightfully so. Germany has won the highest number of gold medals and led in overall medals for three consecutive Games, an accomplishment they are quite proud of and a streak they are not too happy about breaking this time around.

Yes, the Games are a big deal here - or at least, certain key events are. In the States, we typically see a lot of figure skating, a lot of hockey, some downhill, some bobsled, some speed skating. The American spectator wants entertainment and loves the action and excitement. In Germany, Olympic coverage seems exclusively focused on cross-country skiing, biathlon, and ski jump (with some downhill, bobsled, and speed skating mixed in when a German is competing). In fact, we’ve been regularly watching prime time coverage of the ski jump, cross-country, and biathlon on their sports channel since December. I have even had German colleagues discuss with me at length the demands of the biathlon and mentions names of biathlon athletes as though we were discussing LeBron James and the NBA playoffs. While I have the highest respect for the athleticism of these events, they aren’t exactly full of action and excitement. I’m probably just too American to find them anything other than painstakingly boring.

The announcing of the Games is also quite different from what we are accustomed to. In the US, each American athlete is introduced with a dramatic triumph-over-adversity backstory replete with baby pictures and interviews with childhood friends. In Germany, forget about the backstories: too dramatic, too superfluous, and above all too personal for the general German populace unconcerned about such details. This is Sport, not Soap Opera. During events, American announcers are pretty neutral in their narration of events, even though we all know Bob Costas is secretly rooting for the Americans during every event. Conversely, German announcers are extremely partial in their coverage. They are more like official cheerleaders than announcers: we’ve heard everything from “Faster! Faster! Faster!” to “That’s no way to win medals for your nation!” directed at the German athletes.

Finally, there's the patriotism and pride. We Americans love waving our flags, painting our chests with the red, white, and blue, and claiming to be the world's Number 1. In Germany, for historical reasons, such behavior is unheard of and makes fellow Germans rather uncomfortable. The Olympics, however, seem to provide an exception to that. You can look into the crowd and see plenty of German fans waving flags and almost competing with the Americans for loudest and proudest. You might even catch a glimpse of someone singing the national anthem during the medal ceremony. It's kinda nice to see this otherwise reserved culture, which is still in the process of political, social, and psychological reunification, taking the opportunities to show a little pride in a national effort. Especially when you consider that they've only been competing as a single nation since 1992.

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By the way, as I sit writing this, I'm watching the US vs. Canada hockey final, being announced by a pair of Germans with the addition of a color commentator who speaks excellent, fluent German, but with the thickest American accent I have ever heard! The German announcers must smile in amusement every time he opens his mouth, because I can't help but chuckle. I can't help but wonder though if I sound like that (albeit not fluent), and if the Germans in fact are hiding their amusement every time German comes out of my mouth. :)

And Now for Something Completely Different

Our trip to Bamberg and Weimar was wonderful, as Lauren vividly described. But as our travels in Germany have shown us, not even the shortest weekend trip is complete without a few strange moments.

Dialect: Our voyage south to Bamberg took us across a number of prominent German dialect boundaries, including the linguistic Mason-Dixon line where southern Germans and Austrians routinely express their hellos by saying “Gruß Gott!” (Greet God!) instead of the more neutral “Guten Tag!” (good day!) common up north. (Funny anecdote: apparently northern Germans often mock this greeting by replying "When I see him" or "Hopefully not too soon!"). Anyway, since Lauren and I have cut our German teeth up here in Berlin, this simple change in greeting was immediately disarming. I can’t tell you how many times I fell speechless when nice Bambergers greeted me. I couldn’t even remember how to utter a simple “Hallo” in response. Bamberg is also in Franken, where they speak Frankisch. This dialect strikes my ear as a little odd. Lauren, on the other hand, concluded that Frankisch happens to be one dialect that she understands perfectly. Weird.

Beer: Bamberg is famous for its beer, particularly a strange brew called Rauchbier (smoked beer, made from malted barley dried over a flame). Imagine your favorite dark beer, light beer, or wheat beer infused with the distinctive smoke flavor of meat from the BBQ pit. It’s actually better than it sounds. Well, we went to the famous brewhouse where they brew up the famous Aecht Schlenkerla Rauchbier, and upon arrival the waitress asked if we wanted it. “Just a moment, please,” I kindly responded in German. We had just taken off our coats when she returned with two large krugs of beer. “Ready, yet?” she asked. Knowing that Lauren would never be able to choke this stuff down, I politely asked, “Do you have a pilsner for her?” “Nein,” came the reply, “this is all we’re serving.” She then plunked down the beers and walked away. Well, I guess we’ll be drinking Rauchbier tonight. Apparently the concept of giving your patrons a choice isn’t so universal. So, when in Bamberg, drink Rauchbier. And only Rauchbier.

The Insect Store in Weimar: It was the only store open on a Sunday, which should have been our first clue that something was amiss (because no stores are open in Germany on a Sunday). But the store was literally filled wall-to-wall with beautiful rocks, crystals, and the most amazing collection of exotic dead insects you have ever seen. We couldn’t resist. We were looking around when the kooky storeowner approached us with a cookbook. “They really are a fantastic source of protein,” she began. We looked with her in the book and holy geez we suddenly realized that all of these recipes featured... insects. Curried beetles. Salads with breaded crickets as croutons. Mealworm spaghetti. Cockroach casseroles. Grasshopper Goulash. The pictures just kept coming. Now one problem with speaking in a foreign language is that you can never really detect whether someone is joking or not. Humor doesn’t translate and whether or not she was serious about her bug recipes was entirely lost on us. Then she says, “Come here, let me show you something. Do you like Kakerlaken?” We cautiously followed the creepy woman to the cash register and I slowly recalled - with about 75 percent certainty - that in fact I did know what a Kakerlak was. Oh God.

She then picked up a large coconut, removed the lid, and pulled out the largest cockroach I’ve ever seen. Largest and totally live, creeping, crawling cockroach. I recoiled in disgust and Lauren shrieked at the “big ass jungle beetle” (her words) as she high-stepped it/sprinted/fell over herself to get to the other side of the store. As quickly as possible we extracted ourselves from the psycho woman and her little shop of horrors and decided it was time to head home to Berlin.

You can't make this stuff up.

Escaping the Schnauze

Rumor has it that the farther south you go in Germany, specifically the more distance you put between yourself and Berlin, the friendlier Germans become. We’ve been fortunate in that we rarely encounter the Berliner Schnauze (their infamous grumpiness, rudeness, and frankness) and thus far have almost nothing but warm, fuzzy feelings for our fellow man in the city. Of course, our experience a few weeks ago with the extraordinarily rude waiter dressed like a cheap Boy George is an exception to our goodwill; but I like to chalk up his snarl to regret about his wardrobe choices and not any ill-feelings he may have held towards us.

At any rate, we thought we’d test out this rumor about German friendliness, escape the slippery sidewalks of Berlin and take a weekend trip to two small towns, Bamberg and Weimar. And indeed we found the locals to be cheery, helpful, accommodating and all around friendlier. I’ve posted photos from the trip which probably give a better picture of what we did, but we also wanted to tell you about the many unexpected moments of German hospitality that we enjoyed!

Bamberg, Germany

We knew the trip was off to a good start from the moment we arrived at our pension in Bamberg. John was chatting away with the receptionist and asked for a city map. When she asked whether we wanted the English or German, we laughed sheepishly and said “perhaps, the English.” “No, no,” she said “your German is fantastic! Take the German map, it’s better!” John walked away beaming and commented to me, “I don’t think we’re in Berlin anymore!”

Our next stop was the Bamberg tourist office. John had some questions about a beer tour they offer and I was wandering around with my camera around my neck when suddenly the woman behind the counter looks at me and asks, “You enjoy taking pictures?” A little stunned, I replied that “Well, yes I do”. She then proceeded to explain that the best views of the city were from the tower next door and that she’d be glad to give me the key. I’m repeatedly saying “thank you” when she whips out the biggest key attached to the biggest clothespin I have ever seen. She tells us "to head on over, let ourselves in, feel free to open any windows, just lock up on your way out!"..and so we did...and the views were indeed amazing!

Saturday morning we wandered Bamberg a bit and happened upon an adorable shop full of local wines and regional beers. We were peering in the windows, commenting on the wines when the owner came marching down the street, greeted us with a smile and invited us to come in even though the store wasn’t to open for almost an hour. He patiently explained the differences between the wines, didn’t seem at all disappointed when we didn't choose the most expensive wines and even threw in some free gummy bears and a gift bag “to remember Bamberg.”

Weimar, Germany

When we arrived in the Weimar train station we needed to stop at the city map to confirm the location of our hotel. While we were waiting in line an elderly woman moves over and asks “Do you need any help?” We explained where we were headed - a conversation which required some pronouncing and re-pronouncing of street names - she thought a minute and then proceeded to give us near-perfect directions to our hotel, instructed us not to waste our money on the bus and she did it all with a smile and a "good luck on our trip"!

Finally, in our ever present hunt for postcards (and because we’re both suckers for antiques) we wandered into an antique dealer’s shop in Weimar. As we’re perusing the books John found a beautiful hardback collection of Schiller’s writings, but it wasn’t marked with a price. When he asked the owner, the man cheerfully explained the history of that edition, the cover artwork, what made the book special, even the problems with the book. When he realized that John and I weren’t native speakers he offered to do the whole thing again in English (of course not necessary) and then insisted that I go into his postcard section and choose 10 to take “as a gift” from him. We bought the books, gathered the postcards and were saying our goodbyes when he stopped us to ask if we had a city map. We did have one and we showed it to him but he shook his head, pulled one from his racks and thrust it into John’s hands. “It’s prettier!” he said. “You take it...as a gift.”

Now maybe none of this seems remarkable to you, but these kinds of interactions NEVER happen in Berlin. It’s not that Berliners are necessarily rude, they just aren’t friendly. This weekend no one seemed put out by my German, people offered to help, people smiled; it’s amazing how these little moments with cheery Germans help remind me what an unbelievable opportunity we've been given.

(I found this blog by another expat in Berlin that I think perfectly captures our malaise prior to this weekend’s adventure. This may explain why we needed this trip and she mentions the Berliner Schnauze too!)

"Untitled"

In addition to the Karneval parade, John and I spent part of our Sunday at Berlin’s Musuem of Modern Art. Formerly a train station, the space itself is massive and visually interesting. The art inside the space? Well...well, it’s there...

We went to see a highly-advertised show, Kunst ist Super (Art is Super) because it was billed as the highlights of the Museum’s collection, the best of the best, what more could we ask for?... We arrived to massive crowds, snaking lines and felt for sure that this meant we were about to be blown away by the art inside...

Art is super. That may very well be a true statement - even of modern art - but I’m not sure that what I saw was art. I saw a lot of stuff - a pot on the floor, a video of a man screaming for a minute, Ikea-esque pieces of furniture, a mirror “artfully” leaning against a wall - but I’m not sure I would qualify any of this as art.

There was this sculpture...

because all the world needs is one more tribute to MJ.

We also saw very large bugs.

The last time I saw these they were in my college apartment.

When we wandered into this room we were a little confused...

because this looks remarkably like a messier version of my dad's garage.

There was a wall painted blue. “Untitled” of course.

I’m sure we can all agree what the artist was trying to communicate.

As I was ranting about the relative value of modern art in my head and to John, I stumbled across this article which presents research showing that people are more likely to enjoy a piece of art if they are NOT given contextual information. I’m going to have to respectfully disagree on this one, guys. As I was staring at a plain wooden box in the museum, desperately trying to draw out some metaphysical, socio-political, or philosophical meaning, it might have been nice at least to have a title to inspire my thinking.

Needless to say, I’m 'bout done with modern art for a while. Sorry, art world.

Update from the last post: We tried to cook the "sausages" from the Karneval parade. Was that meat? Not sure. Was it edible? Absolutely not.

Karneval! Hei-Jo!

In the more Catholic regions of the world, the Thursday before Ash Wednesday begins the week-long Karneval celebration. For Americans, think Mardi Gras. In Germany, this translates into massive celebrations in the southern and western parts of the country, the largest, wildest, and most famous occurring in Köln. The high point is Rose Monday (Rosenmontag), which is officially not a holiday but in practical terms is treated as such in many Karneval-crazy towns. Hundreds of thousands of costumed Germans take to the streets in freezing temperatures, watch the Karneval parade, sing a lot of songs, and naturally drink a lot of beer. Courtesy of Deutsche Welle, I’ve linked a video of Karneval in Köln as well as some traditional Karneval music being sung (in a Dialekt that still strikes me as foreign). Maybe open them in a new window and listen while you finish reading here. For some more details from the region, consult the Ampelhead, who now lives in Bonn and is in the forefront of the action.

For us, Karneval in Berlin was pretty tame in comparison. It’s just too traditionally Protestant and straight-laced Prussian around here. Nevertheless, we ventured out to participate with the other Jecken (German for "Carnival-goers") on Sunday to watch the procession and witness some truly bizarre scenes.

As you can see in our pictures on Picasa, adults take dressing up seriously. Shopping for the perfect costume begins months in advance, and all the department stores stock costumes in large areas reminiscent of the children’s Halloween section at the local Party City. It's just a little strange to see the usually serious Germans loosening up like this in public. I even heard that some Boschies in more Karneval-friendly towns were requested to come to work in costume.

The giving of treats to the crowds was also a central element of Berlin’s Karneval. But this wasn’t your typically gentle treat-or-treat style distribution of candy. While the children received candy tossed in their sacks, the costumed Jecken perched atop their floats often hurled candy and other goodies down at the adult crowds with the speed and force of a major league baseball pitcher. Rather than hold out our hands to catch candy, we were often shielding our exposed faces from these projectiles.

And not just candy was being thrown to the crowd: the most random treat of the day? That pair of sausages in the lower left. I was also handed a delicious Kölsch beer at one point.

As I mentioned, German Karneval-goers love their songs. They also love to shout and chant a special Carnival cry called a Narrenruf at each other. Apparently these cries vary from town to town and number well into the hundreds, but are rarely anything but nonsensical words in strange German dialects which make the entire production indiscernible to non-native speakers. At the time all we could do was marvel at the strange songs and yelling that would randomly erupt around us, as though everyone else had received the script in advance. However, eventually we started yelling “Hei-Jo!” upon command like everyone else. We only found out after the fact that that is Berlin’s Carnival cry.

Hei-Jo!

Someone once said...

"Berlin ist arm, aber sexy."

"Berlin is poor, but sexy."

Klaus Wowereit, Mayor, in a press interview, 2003

"Berlin wird leben und die Mauer wird fallen."

"Berlin will live and the wall will fall."

Willy Brandt, Former Mayor of West Berlin and chancellor of Germany, 10 November 1989

“The greatest cultural extravaganza that one could imagine..”

David Bowie, singer, on 1970s Berlin

"Ich bin ein Berliner."

"I am a citizen of Berlin"

John F. Kennedy, President of the United States, 1963 while visiting Berlin

"“Berlin ist eine Stadt, verdammt dazu, ewig zu werden, niemals zu sein”

"Berlin is a city condemned always to become, never to be."

Karl Scheffler, author of Berlin: Ein Stadtschicksal, 1910

"Niemand hat die Absicht, eine Mauer zu errichten!"

"Nobody intends to put up a wall!"

Walter Ulbricht, Leader of East Germany, June 15th 1961 - 2 months before the Berlin Wall was built

"Paris bleibt Paris, sagt man, aber Berlin bleibt nie Berlin,”

"Paris will always remain Paris but Berlin will never remain Berlin!"

Jack Lang, French former culture minister, talking about how fast Berlin is changing, 2001

"Whoever controls Berlin controls Germany and whoever controls Germany controls Europe."

Lenin

“Die Mauer wird in 50 und auch in 100 Jahren noch bestehen bleiben, wenn die dazu vorhandenen Gründe noch nicht beseitigt sind.”

“The Wall will be standing in 50 and even in 100 years, if the reasons for it are not removed."

Berlin, January 19 1989

Erich Honecker, Head of the Communist Party who led East Germany from 1971-1989.

„Du bist verrückt mein Kind, du mußt nach Berlin.”

“You are crazy, my child; you must go to Berlin.”

Franz von Suppé (1819-95)

The White Stuff

"Germany is in the midst of the longest snowy period since the winter of 1978/79. The snowy crust has remained on the ground without melting for some five weeks."

That was the news on Monday. Well, the snowy crust is still on the ground today and there are predictions for snow several days next week, so perhaps February is not quite the harbinger of better weather we had hoped for. The winter of our discontent continues.

However...

Germans know how to have a good time in the snow. If you're German and under the age of five, life comes equipped with a wooden sled and parents willing to drag you just about anywhere. Going to the grocery store? Grab the sled; you can ride shotgun with the bags. Two of your friends need a ride? They better be wearing adorable snowsuits, wee little boots and fuzzy hats with earflaps. Ah heck, everybody get on. (Not you, John!!!)

And then there was the Schneemann Summit. We're fairly certain it was associated with a boring conference on global warming; I'd prefer to think it's just high tourist season in Berlin for snowmen. John put on his toboggan (or do you call it a cap? maybe a Mütze?), grabbed his corn cob pipe and his button nose and joined the party for a few pictures.

Why Germans create marshmallow-shaped snowmen is lost on us. Poor fellow in the front. His little arms just weren't long enough so he kept waddling over to this guy...

...who was thrilled to finally see the Berliner Dom.

This wide-eyed guy was eager for a picture with the Fernsehturm. John was happy to oblige. They wanted to take the picture together but a general lack of thumbs in the crowd made that difficult.

Funny enough, this snow man had to hurry on his way, but he waved goodbye saying, "don't you cry, I'll be back again some day."

Camp Berlin

When John and I first started telling people we would be participating in the Bosch year, one of the first questions I always received was, "What are you going to DO?" I would laugh and make/accept all sorts of suggestions, sure that I'd find ways to fill my time. If pressed, I might admit that I was a little concerned about how to occupy the long, cold, dark days of a German winter. But of course there would be something to do...right?

It turns out I might should have taken those concerns a bit more seriously because indeed the German winter is long, cold and dark. Berlin and I are already such good friends that I'm running out of new places to explore, especially ones that don't require a session of ice-dancing on the uncleared sidewalks. John's been giving me worried looks for the last 2 weeks as I have become increasingly restless and has been frantically trying to find me new activities. I have jokingly and lovingly referred to his efforts as "Camp Berlin." We gotta get my week's schedule filled up, folks!!

Here's a look at the many and varied activities on offer at Camp Berlin:

Tuesday and Thursday afternoons: German lessons with a delightful Berliner named Sophia

What am I up to? Oh, just mastering the art of German adjectives. It's very advanced. Prepare yourself. Last week I drew this picture:

And then used my adjective knowledge to write sentences like: "In front of the big mountain are two people. The man wears a hat. The hat is black. The black hat is tall." Like I said, it's advanced, or at least an advanced lesson in humility.

Wednesday afternoons: Sewing lessons with a delightful Hollander named Linda

You've seen some of my previous efforts. Most recently I've been working on a surprise gift for Ellis and Judson. (If you two have learned to read and are reading this now, stop immediately!!) I had such a good time making a potholder before Christmas I decided to tweak the pattern a bit and create hand-puppets for my favorite niece and nephew, who I've been told get a kick out of puppets. I'm pretty pleased with the results!

(Coming soon) Friday mornings: Beginners Painting/Art Appreciation

This is a new addition to my schedule. I may be creative and I may use Modge Podge effectively, but I've never been a painter. This is going to be an adventure, one that may or may not produce attractive art.

Of course there are also occasional museum visits and lots of pictures to take, sites left to see and books to read. I'm very open to new suggestions, so if you have time-filling opportunities let me know. I'm also on the hunt for a new sewing project. Anyone have any ideas?