Schönes Wochenende in Schwerin

This Saturday we set out for the town of Schwerin, Germany which is hosting the 2009 BUGA, the annual German flower and garden festival and also happens to be the home of one of the most beautiful castles in the country. To say everything was beautiful doesn't really do it justice, so we suggest you just check out the photos we've posted on Picasa by clicking here.

The title? Schönes Wochenende means "Nice Weekend." It's what you say to wish someone a good weekend and it was also the name of the train ticket we used to get to Schwerin.

Well, you can't have it all.

Many of you know that we moved into a new apartment this week. We have been VERY excited about this new place and all it has to offer - cute old building, great neighborhood, central location in the city. Our excitement continued when we officially moved in yesterday and saw the place up close. Yes, there were some unsightly (sometimes unsavory) knicknacks and books to hide, but with those stowed away, the place has a certain eclectic charm to it.

Then John took a shower. We knew there was no shower curtain, not even a rod to put one up. But hey, other people have lived here and made this work; we would too. By "making it work" I mean we soak the sink and everything around it every time we bathe. We are headed to Ikea for a solution, asap.

Then I tried to cook dinner tonight. I went confidently into the kitchen, ready to cook. I had spent the afternoon cleaning and rearranging so I felt like a cooking queen entering my fiefdom...until I turned on the oven. Or thought I turned on the oven.

My first clue should have been that the oven doesn't have temperature options; it has settings 1-8. I thought "Well, that's different." and chose 6 because it seemed like a good place to start. Five minutes later, however, the oven had not warmed up and 10 minutes later I'm deep into the German-only oven instructions. I spent a lot of time trying to translate the instructions but to no avail. I looked up the make and model of the oven but I'm fairly certain it comes from Romania and there's no website for this piece of classic machinery. Thirty minutes later John is home and we've decided we may need to manually light the oven and stove. There appears to be no pilot light anywhere on the machine. The oven is still a mystery that will require an embarassing phone call to and demonstration from our landlady. We managed to light one of the eyes, but only after multiple matches and a lot of frustration/laughter.

Don't get me wrong. We still love the place. :)

I'll put up some pictures soon.

Lauren's First Month Musings...

I have officially logged one month in Berlin, Germany. This has, without a doubt, been one of the most surreal months of my life; every experience, from grocery shopping to hiking, has been just strange enough, new enough, different enough to call all my senses into a state of hyper-focus. I know I must appear wide-eyed (both literally and figuratively) to the people I pass daily. Some of my reaction to Germany is, of course, because of the language barrier. I spend train rides, shopping trips, walks, time on benches trying to decipher the posters, signs and people around me. There is definitely something to be said for language immersion as I find I am making connections most often because of an ad I’ve seen in a store or on the U-Bahn. One of my favorite revelations was the verb ankreuzen which means “mark with an X.” This comes up in my workbook quite a bit but I wasn’t remembering it until the day I saw a poster near school for the Erotica Museum that used a pair of nude female legs to create an X with ANKREUZEN blazing across the top. Got it now.

The hardest thing about being here is the loss of my language skills. While I function pretty well in cafes, grocery stores, and H&M (because you’d be surprised how little you can say in these places and still get by), I am not yet capable of talking to our landlord, asking questions of the waitress or speaking in paragraphs with my language instructor. Yes, I know all this is coming, but in the meantime my pride has taken (perhaps a much needed) hit. I have to rely on John a lot, smile a lot and be willing to fumble a lot.

Despite all that, I love it here. I mean really love it here. The weather has been gorgeous. We live with our windows open and listen to church bells ring. I get to eat croissants and gelato daily and drink fabulous,cheap wine. I don’t watch TV anymore; instead I talk to John, read and doodle. I am able to walk everywhere. We have an adorable new apartment with all the old world charm I was looking for plus a WASHING MACHINE. The pace of life here is just slower; you eat slower, drink coffee slower, sit longer to talk to friends. It’s wonderful.

This is indeed an adventure. I try to remind myself to take risks, because why the heck not?

(One most recent victory/adventure - I used the Netty Pot tonight. For those of you who have heard John sing its praises and seen me grimace, you will appreciate the grand adventure that this experience was. Don’t worry, I survived.)

German Recreation Part II: A Walk in the Woods

Sunday was beautiful, so Lauren and I ventured into Berlin’s Grunewald, a 32 square kilometer forest in Berlin’s far west end, adjacent to the Havel River. Originally a hunting territory for kings and popularized as a living area by Chancellor Otto von Bismarck in the 1880s, the Grunewald was almost entirely chopped down for firewood following Berlin’s destruction in the Second World War. Today the trees are back and hiking trails criss-cross it in every direction. So we set off Hänsel-style and Gretel-style (minus the bread) into the woods to see what we might find. Here are our observations:

--Germans really seem to love hiking. It was a beautiful day and a strong sense of Wanderlust brought the Berliners out of the city and into this wilderness retreat. An interesting linguistic note: Wanderlust, the loan word commonly used in English from the German wandern (to hike) and Lust (desire), is now surprisingly obsolete in German. Instead, to express a desire to travel, German now uses the word Fernweh, meaning “an ache for distance.” However they call it, I just think it's telling that their language even has a word for this concept.

--Lauren and I wore our most comfortable athletic shoes in preparation for a four-mile hike to the Grunewaldturm on the banks of the Havel. Most Germans, by contrast, were wearing Birkenstock sandals or dress shoes, and only occasionally hiking shoes.

--We came upon one of the many lakes in the Grunewald and thought it might be nice to stop off to relax a bit. Plenty of other people were already on the banks enjoying themselves, so why not? Mistake: at least half the people were nude, none of whom I wanted to see nude. The sight was too much for this prudish pair to handle, so we continued walking.

--The Grunewald was eerily quiet. Though it’s a protected natural area, we didn’t see or hear a single bird, rodent, or reptile for the duration of the day. Without people around, there were moments that were just downright creepy.

--Upon arrival at our destination, we were weary and needed to sit and rest a moment and maybe drink some water. Luckily, in typical German fashion, a Biergarten was tucked away right there waiting for us, exactly where we needed it. Of course no water was on offer; only beer and wine, and naturally, a lot of it.

The beer glass was MASSIVE and required 2 hands for Lauren to manage it.

German Recreation Part I: Fußball

This last week in Berlin gave us a good taste of recreation, German-style. On Thursday, some Boschies and I were invited to play a pick-up Fußball (soccer) game with some German men, ranging in age from their twenties up into their seventies. It was probably the first true game of soccer I’ve played in a good ten years, but I figured twelve years of experience would count for something. My skills, though rusty, were sufficient for the two long hours of action. My stamina, however, greatly diminished after years of general laziness, was not. I was both astonished and humbled by the seventy year old men running circles around my lame twenty-six year old frame. No worries though. After the game, as I attempted to breathe and rehydrate, I learned that the Germans have another way of recuperating from sport. They invited me to the local pub where we could forget the water (they don’t serve it free here) and instead quench our thirst with a liter of Hefeweizen (wheat beer). The conversation was friendly and full of laughter, though I was also struck by Germans’ directness and their willingness to discuss topics we Americans would consider taboo among a dinner table of strangers (both of which I had been forewarned about- thanks Birgit!). I'm not sure which I enjoyed more: the game or the conversation afterwards. Though my body ached for the next two days, I will be back to play again next week.

Lauren's Week in Pictures

A glimpse into Lauren's version of Germany:

On Wednesday I took my first test in German. As you can see, I rocked it. You might say I beasted it. John was very proud and threatened to make me start ordering food and drinks on my own.

On Thursday night we went to the National Gallery of Art in Berlin. Did I take a single picture of the masterpieces in the museum? No. Did I immediately point my camera at the ceiling, per usual? Well...yes.

Many of you have been wondering if I am still a picky eater. The answer is yes. Germany is forcing me (because I can't read the menu) to try new things, even if unwittingly. Cherries, however, are a food that I actually did know auf Deutsch and was still willing to try. You'll be happy to know I now include them in my acceptable-fruits list. Not cooked, though. Ew.

This is how we spend our Sunday afternoons - at Cafe Wieslau, drinking coffee, eating and studying. In the picture you will see I am identifying singular and plural nominative nouns. Only on Thursday was I introduced to the accusative case. One thing at a time, folks.

German articles are the bane of my existence. Why words are gendered (without thought to any decipherable reason or rule) is beyond me. The fact that the article changes according to a word's function in the sentence inspired the above doodle. I felt I needed to work out my feelings and poetry seemed silly. Yes, the one in the middle (den) looks like John. Yes, he's wearing tiny jorts. Yes, he is also sporting his Texas belt buckle. No, I'm not sure why he's the only humanoid figure.

We finished the week with a rousing hour of Tischtennis (ping pong) in a nearby park. I lost every round, but I looked good doing it with my Level 400 paddle. We recently purchased a professional ping pong set and carrying cases that declare we're members of "Team Germany." In light of my language/coordination "issues" I'm skeptical of my ability to play anyone other than John, but no worries, I'll be hustling the locals soon enough.

Dinner in Berlin

Today John and I decided we didn’t want to spend the dreary afternoon indoors, so we set out for one of the many cafes in our neighborhood that have covered, outdoor seating. John wanted a beer and I was looking to get a glass of wine. We found ourselves at an oft-passed restaurant/beer garden with a cute covered terrace. One glass each and two hours later we decided we might as well have dinner. The night had turned beautiful and we had nothing but German homework awaiting us. Out came the menus and then out came the most delicious salads of our lives. We discussed our memories of past salads and had to admit that we don’t (as a rule) remember salads - there’s the Chicken Finger salad at The Loop (What up, UNC?!!) - but really, our lives are not marked by anything green and leafy...until tonight.

John had a lovely salad of greens, cubes of some soft, white marinated cheese, orange slices, avocado, tomato and potato croutons (think Chase potato squares on a Sunday morning). My salad was really the winner of the night: greens, marinated and roasted veggies, and...cheese-covered toasted baguette pieces. I took one bite of the toasty baguette and my entire life changed. It was literally heaven in my mouth. John got in on the action and our only reaction was to stare in wide-eyed, drooling, wonderment. There was a distinct desire to eat our weight in this cheese, perhaps use it as a face cream, spend hours in a vat of it. We (okay, so really John) asked the waitress what kind of cheese it was? “Ziegenkäse” but then ,bless her heart, she realized we were American and added, “goat cheese.” We are now goat cheese fans - for now and always. We are also fans (for now and always) of the German dinner experience, which was 4 hours of uninterrupted quality conversation, food and drink. We left only because we needed to buy groceries. We probably could have stayed all night. :)

Oh the Difference a Day Makes (Well 6 days, but who's counting?)

I’ve been keeping a mental list of my first impressions of Berlin since I arrived last Saturday. Here are a few of my thoughts:

-The weather is beautiful. I’ve had partly sunny skies and temps in the 70s and 80s all week.

-All my concerns about what I should wear in Berlin were for nought. Berliners wear everything under the sun: punk 80s gear, fanny packs, stirrup pants, tight jeans, jorts (jean shorts for the uninformed), open-toed shoes (which John swore up and down didn’t exist here), etc. Now none of that is to say I regret my pre-departure purchases.

-Strange pieces of Americana have made it to Deutschland. I’ve seen quite a number of Sponge Bobs. In the grocery store I found Uncle Ben’s rice. The box looked the same. Preparation, totally different.

-Stores are not (as everyone said) similar to American stores. They are either more specialized (i.e. The American football equipment store) or they are weirdly unspecialized (i.e. Tchibo - a coffee shop/clothing & housewears store/the place we got my cell phone).

-The German language is a disaster.

Now that I’ve been here forever (it feels like it) and am immeasurably wiser about all things Berlin, I have a few second impressions:

-It does rain. I’m sitting in front of a window looking at the after-effects of a major thunderstorm. And it does drop below the 70s. Tomorrow it’s supposed to be in the 60s.

-The majority of young Berliners wear what my mother would call trashy clothing. I think it’s just the 80s making a comeback. John is convinced they never stopped wearing some of this. (Dad, you’ll be pleased to know your safari vest is regular streetwear for the middle-age men of Berlin.)

-If they aren’t bringing Americana with them they are meddling with language to make it look American. McPaper - local office supplies. McFit - local gym

-Okay, so German isn’t a complete waste. Having rocked Unit 1 in my lesson book I’m ready to master this lawless language. (John would like to note the irony in the use of the word lawless. He can think whatever the hell he wants about this ridiculous tongue.)

Overall my estimation of Berlin daily grows. There really is more to see and do than I’ll ever cover and for the most part, the people are pleasant. I start language classes Monday and the apartment prospects are looking up. All may yet be well...

The Week in Pictures

I spent much of this past week just exploring Berlin, and therefore I thought I would post some pictures of the more interesting moments from the last seven days.

Apparently inline-skating is a huge deal here, because last week our walk was temporarily interrupted by thousands of skaters participating in Berlin's weekly "Skate by Night" event. In a style reminiscent of DC's motorcades, this traveling pack of skaters is accompanied along their 20+ kilometer route around the city by the Polizei. I honestly think the Boschies need to consider renting some skates one Sunday and joining the party. When in Berlin...

Imagine my surprise when I realized my first visit to Alexanderplatz, the old historic city center of communist East Berlin, coincided with the Frauen hacken Holz event. Apparently, a group of Swedish and German women between 50 and 70 years old gathered together to chop and stack wood for three days in a demonstration of female physical strength and cooperation that transcends national and linguistic barriers. It was a bizarre first impression of Alexanderplatz, to say the least.

Like me, Berliners were moved by the sudden death of Michael Jackson, as this makeshift memorial in front of Alexanderplatz's Weltzeituhr (World Time Clock) shows. I've also heard plenty of Michael Jackson hits throughout the city during the last week, and all this affection despite the fact that it was here (as I was reminded) that Wacko Jacko performed his famous hold-the-baby-out-the-fourth-story-window routine.

I moved apartments this week to a quaint little section of Berlin, and this church stands just down the street from me. I love looking at and photographing old churches, not to mention climbing their towers if given the chance. Its bells chime daily and seem to compete with the bells of another church in the area. This really adds to the charm of the neighborhood. I just hope they don't chime too early in the morning, because that will not be so charming.

Life With Umlauts, Part 2

The second reason for the name of our blog relates to the spelling of our last name. Yes, the one that most Americans have never been able to say or spell correctly. Grabber, Gruber, Graeeeber? How do you spell that? G-R-A-E-as-in-elephant-B-as-in-boy-E-as-in-elephant-R. Yes sir, correct, there’s an E after the A. As you can imagine, it's a frustrating exercise to conduct with other people, and I can only speculate why my great-grandparents probably decided to Americanize our original name, Gräber, from the German. Maybe that first generation of Graebers found those repeated looks of consternation so tiresome that they finally decided to spare their descendants the frustration of explaining the umlaut in a land where they don’t exist. Unfortunately for us, the switch from ä to "ae" just hasn’t worked out either.

Hence, the second reason for our blog title. Gräber auf Deutsch is the plural of “grave” or “tomb,” and I’m told by my father and other older relatives that ours was a family of grave-diggers near the small town of Dielingen. Not the most flattering of Familiennamen, but I’m quite confident that my forefathers were the best grave-diggers in the old country. Anyway, after three weeks in Deutschland I’ve seen my last name Gräber several times and even met someone with the similar name Teichgräber. I’ve even received several letters and emails addressed to Sehr geehter Herr Gräber. Most profoundly, I can avoid the whole spelling rigamarole because no one misspells or mispronounces my name here.

Though clearly a different experience from home, strangely enough, it’s this last point that helps me feel as though I belong. And in the end, that's what I hope living with umlauts is all about.