A Friday Full of Adventures

Yesterday, I had the day off work to run various errands. The first of which was the dreaded lady doctor. Yes, I still say "lady doctor". Deal with it. I needed to go because I needed to get my implant removed (I've had Nexplanon for the past couple years) and get a new prescription to replace it, as I was tired of dealing with all the wacky side effects. I was also due for a general check up - and I can't lie, a bit curious about how this would work in the German system.

Remember the post from a couple weeks back when I tried to make the doctor's appointment? Well, this was the appointment. I drove over to the office, which was in the town of Oestrich-Winkel - just across the Rhein. My Google Maps had me going a long way around to a bridge and then across. My GPS, however, had other ideas. It took me straight to the river - which was alarming, until I realized that there was a ferry. For those of you reading from Cincinnati, it was almost exactly like the Anderson Ferry, just everything in German and a lot more organized. 

Das Ferry

So across I went on the ferry, for the (slightly exorbitant) cost of 4, 20 Euro. (I suppose that it would be less expensive if I had a monthly pass, and I also had to factor in the time saved by not going all the way around) I got to the other side and into Oestrich-Winkel, which was cute, cute, cute. Apparently it is the beginning area of wine country and so there were tiny little restaurants and wine stores everywhere. There were signs pointing to different vineyards, and along the road leading to my doctor's office, there were actually rows and rows of grapes growing. 

My doctor's office was located just a grocery store, which seemed a bit odd. However, when I got inside, it was clear that I had stumbled upon a practice catering to the more affluent members of German society. Everything was brand new and spotless. The receptionist spoke decent English (clearly she was off the day that I called). The fun came when she handed me the typical paperwork to fill out as a new patient - and it was all in German. "Here you go" (she said, in German). "Give it a try, and let me know if you have questions." While I was excited that I could understand her, I was pretty sure that my meagre four German lessons had not prepared me for completing medical paperwork.

I was right. However between my Google translate photo app and a modicum of utilizing context clues, I was able to get the form completed. Only two questions gave me pause. One asked me how I "prevented invasion" (?) and the other had so many words that I was only able to piece out a few and guess at the rest. For the first question, I took a leap of logic and inferred it was about protection/birth control... and I was right. (Cue applause). For the second question, not so much. In fact, the receptionist came back to me in the waiting room and I could see she was desperately trying to keep a straight face. She explained that for the question which asked me about my profession, I had written "fast walking and running". (I thought it was asking me about exercise). I explained that I had only learned two words so far about working (arbeiten = to work and von Beruf = of your profession) and that I was sorry for the confusion. She assured me it was fine and that it was actually quite amusing to everyone. I'm so glad she decided to share with the entire staff. 

German doctors must be like American doctors in that they overbook, because my appointment was for 11 and I didn't get seen until 11:45. Before that I had to pee in a cup. I was sent into a bathroom, and then the nurse pointed at some plastic cups and told me to write my name on the cup, urinate into it, and then open the door in the wall and put it inside. Aside from autographing the cup, this was exactly like when I was at the clinic at work for my "tune up".  Except this time there were VERY specific instructions for my behalf.  They are pretty graphic, so I'll let those who are interested play with Google translate on their own. Suffice it to say, I had never realized there were people in the world who needed a step-by-step breakdown of "pee in a cup".

After my long wait, someone came to get me. It turns out that it was Martin, the kind man who had called me back to schedule the appointment after my language snafu. He apologized again for any confusion and told me I was always free to email the practice with any questions. It then turned out that Martin was actually the doctor, my doctor and it was time for the exam. So. The exam itself was typical of any normal lady-doctor exam. What made it different was:

1. Martin happened to be pretty young and fairly attractive. I don't mind a male lady-doctor, but it is harder when they're cute. 

2. There are no gowns in Germany. You heard me. What you do is go behind this changing room screen, and take off everything from the waist down. Then you walk across the room (I repeat, naked from the waist down) and clamber into the chair. Legs go up, chair goes back, doctor does his business. 

3. Transvaginal ultrasound. Oh, yes - for my friends in the ultrasound world, I got to get up close and personal with the ICT probe. Apparently this is standard in German exams. Despite the fact that I was sitting on a pillow (still naked from the waist down) with an ultrasound probe in my special place, the experience was redeemed by the huge flat screen TV and Martin's explanations. I got to see my ovaries! And apparently all my lady business is doing just fine. Having worked in ultrasound previously, it was really neat to see it in use. I just wish that maybe it had been on someone else at the time.

4. After the ultrasound, I was given some paper towels and sent back to the changing area. Only this time, it was in reverse. Bottom half clothes went back on, top half clothes came back off. And so out I came, naked from the waist up. Martin then asked me to put my hands behind my head  while he conducted the breast exam. That's right, I was just standing there in the middle of the room while this nice German doctor got to second base.

THEN, what made it even more fun was that while I was still naked from the top up, he decided that was a good time to have me sit down and talk about my health history, my implant, and so on. I know that Europeans take a different view of nudity, and that doctors in general aren't really phased at all, but I can tell you that it is fairly uncomfortable to be having an in-depth conversation while topless. Unless that conversation involves me, Johnny Depp and our future, I'd rather not.

I was finally allowed back into the changing room to dress (yay! Clothing!) and then ushered to a second room for the implant removal. This was par for the course - anesthetic, incision, removal, bandage. However, after a few harrowing experiences in English doctor's offices, I couldn't help but be continuously impressed by how clean and orderly everything was.

I had to pay 60 Euro for the implant removal as it wasn't covered under the general German health insurance. My prescription (for 3 months) will run me about 18 Euro. I didn't have any other payment (well, aside from my ridiculous 50% tax rate, but that's a rant for another day). However, before everyone starts frothing at the mouth about the joys of socialized healthcare, I'd like to say that I was told my experience is unusual. I went to a practice in a small town that is fairly flush with money from my company (which employs about 8,000 people locally) and the vineyards. This was obvious from the cars in the parking lot and the clothing of the people in the waiting room. (I didn't set out to pick a posh doctor, I just picked the first name on the list marked "Doctors who speak English"). I've been told that in major cities or poorer areas, the wait time is between six months and a year and the facilities are in pretty bad shape. Again, not all - I'm sure there is a mix. And yes, I completely get the idea that regardless of one's income, employment status or social strata, there is always healthcare. I'm certainly not opposed to that. I would just like to reinforce that one can't have American-style services, wait times, equipment and expediency and have a socialized system. Something has to give. And here in Germany, many people have already chosen to pay really high rates for private insurance just to avoid the waiting and the other issues. 

After the fun of the doctor's office, I still had a full day ahead. My official moving-in day for my new apartment is the 3rd, which is when all of my goods from storage will arrive. My bed, my bed, my glorious bed! {insert happy dance} Before I moved, I either sold or gave away most of my living room furniture - as I had owned it for years and was ready for something new. Therefore, I needed to buy new furniture and also get something for the guest room/office area/room where I will probably store all my shoes and clothes.

A few things to note about Germany. There are no closets. Oh, maybe some brand-new builds might have them (at the request of an American-ized owner) but to find them is very, very rare. Thus, I needed to buy ein Kleiderschrank (a wardrobe). For those of you following along with my German lessons, kleidung = clothing and schrank = cupboard. One of the things I am really enjoying about German is that most words are combinations of other words, and so once I'm able to pick them apart, I can usually understand the meaning.

I had decided that I really, really, really wanted to avoid IKEA if at all possible. I know they don't have bad merchandise, but my last furniture was flat-pack (from John Lewis in the UK), and while it looked nice, it still had that wobbly, fiberboard-ish feel. Call me crazy, but I'm a big fan of REAL furniture - you know, made of non-synthetic materials and that lasts longer than a few years. I also know my limitations when it comes to assembling things, and after I had priced out what I needed plus montage (assembly), I was pretty sure I could just buy regular furniture for that price. I asked around a work and a colleague recommended a home park (basically a large shopping area filled with all kinds of stores for the home) in Koblenz where I could buy already-made furniture.

Koblenz is about an hour or so drive away from Ingelheim. Now, when I first got here, and took my first trip, I did not like the Autobahn at all. It felt like people were driving like bats out of hell on speed. Now that I've been on it a few times, I can say I LOVE THE FRIGGIN AUTOBAHN! It's fast. It's clean. It's SMOOTH. (Note: how is it that the Autobahn can stay completely smooth but roads in the US are constantly pot-holed and under construction?!) Once I figured out the rules - which boil down to "Go as fast as you can and get out of the way of someone going even faster", driving was great fun! I completely understand the German obsession with cars now, and while I'm sticking to my budget, a small part of me really, really wants a souped up BMW now. Zoom, zoom, zoooooom! I was regularly doing between 95-110mph, and it was awesome.

Less than awesome? Shopping for furniture... in German. While many people in Germany speak English, this is more regularly found in the larger cities. Koblenz is about 2 hours from any given major city and so it was hit or miss. I found a lovely sales assistant (named Nesli, she was Turkish but I kept thinking of chocolate) - but her English was even worse than my German. So here's how it worked. 

I would struggle out some German - "Ich mochte eine sofa kaufen, bitte. Grosse und weiche." (I'd like to buy a sofa, please. Big and soft).  And then she would answer me, all in German, while pointing towards objects. I'd try to answer in the affirmative "Ich liebe" or the negative "Ich nicht liebe". And so on. This worked surprisingly well, aided I think by the fact that I have managed to absorb much more German than I thought and that I can understand far more than I can articulate. My German teacher says this is normal. He also said I'm doing really, really, REALLY well. Which, without tooting my own horn, doesn't surprise me given how much I love languages. 

It took us a couple hours, but I managed to settle on a nice L-shaped sofa - mit bettfunktion (with sleeping function) and mit Lagerung (with storage - a little drawer comes out at the bottom). I picked my color and was able to understand that it won't arrive for about 10 weeks. At first this gave me a panic attack, until I realized I'd be traveling much of July and August - and also, I hardly ever have used the sofa here in my temporary housing. I also picked out a guest bed - Gaestebett, which will arrive at the same time. The entire experience was both hilarious and humbling. I hate not being able to say what I want to say! I did use my Google translate app a few times to convey more complex thoughts, but by and large, I managed much of it all on my own. I'm sure I sounded like a 7 year old with a limited vocabulary, but it worked and the purchase was made.

I then went next door to another store (Maisons du Monde) - recommended by a colleague, especially as they were having a huge sale. A very nice man (shout out to Brian!), who spoke perfect English as he was raised in military bases across the US, helped me navigate the world of Kleiderschrank and Essentischen and such. And about 90 minutes later, I had placed an order for my wardrobes, dining table and chairs,  TV stand and a few other small items. I also picked up this great rug that was on 80% off - it's in my trunk now, but will fit my floor perfectly.

I then mustered up enough energy to go into the IKEA (hell on Earth) to buy several light fixtures (think the big round paper balls that you see in Europe) to cover the lights in my new flat for the time being. In Germany, everything is left un-adorned so that you can customize as much as you want. In fact, I'm actually quite lucky there were lights set up. Several of the places I saw during my home-finding visit didn't have anything but wires coming out of the ceiling. This is quite normal here.

I then made my way home (going fast, fast, fast all the way). I headed out for a celebratory dinner at a local Italian restaurant. The waiter remembered me from my first visit (literally the day I arrived in Germany) and complimented me on being able to order in German this time and actually make sense. I had a nice conversation - in GERMAN - with two ladies next to me, who were kind enough to correct my grammar and word choice when they went awry. I'm finding people are very nice and helpful when they see that I'm trying hard to speak the language. I made the mistake of ordering a bottle of wine instead of a half-bottle (stupid, stupid metric system) and so now I have a half-bottle of wine to drink tonight (pretty sure that won't be a problem!). 

Also of note: German radio does not censor. I was half-listening to one of the stations and singing along and then realized I had just sang the F-word. (The song was "Riding Dirty" by Chamillionaire, and yes German is a bit behind the times in terms of modern music). I kept listening and sure enough, no censoring. I found this interesting as they have to know what the words mean - but I guess in Germany it just doesn't matter? Then again, during my nice dinner of salmon tartare last night, the restaurant was playing Ice, Ice, Baby without a hint of irony. 

I realized today that I really am liking this adventure. I can't wait until I move into my new apartment and get settled. I probably won't feel completely settled until September or so - all my furniture will have arrived, and I don't think I'm traveling much that month and so I'll get to settle in, meet people, relax. 

I head to the US on Monday for just a few days for work - back Thursday morning - and so I'm going to disconnect from the interwebs and lose myself in a good book. And a half bottle of wine ;)

Rufen Sie einen Krankenwagen!

So.
I thought today was going to be a normal(ish) Tuesday - meetings, meetings, meetings and then maybe a nice dinner, a glass of wine and a new book.

Instead, I got to ride in a Krankenwagen.

This is a Krankenwagen

I was sitting in a meeting with a colleague when I suddenly felt my lips and tongue go all numb and tingly. Luckily, this had happened once before (at an agency meeting in NYC, and caused quite the fuss as I think everyone thought I was bout to keel over) and so I knew that I was having some sort of allergic reaction to something. (Considering that I had only had time to grab a suspicious looking sandwich in the canteen today, my money is on there being something odd in the bread, as everything else was recognizable. But the bread was dark bread with all kinds of nuts, flakes and whatnot).

I asked my colleague if she would walk with me to the Arzt - we have an on-site medical clinic, largely because a) German law and b) there is a pharmaceutical production facility on campus - so I could get some antihistamine. Die Arzt had a sign that said is was geschlossen (closed). So we walked back to our building and to the receptionist where my colleague explained the situation in German. The receptionist dialed some hotline, and my colleague explained again. We sat down to wait, as apparently they would be bringing me some medicine.

What actually happened was that after about 2 minutes, I started to hear the distinctive "wah-wah" that is unique to all European sirens, and I got a sinking feeling in my stomach. I turned to my colleague and said, "Please tell me they didn't send the Krankenwagen?!" I had seen the Krankenwagen on campus, and had actually laughed at it in passing. Seems karma was paying attention that day.

So up pulls the ambulance, and the paramedics jump out like a pair of over-eager extras on the first season of E.R. They come running in with all sorts of equipment - basically everything but the gurney. They actually looked slightly disappointed to see that all my limbs were attached and there were no bodily fluids leaking. I explained the situation again, with help from my colleague. I just needed some Benadryl - anti histamine - and I would be fine. In America, someone would have slapped open a first aid case and sent me on my way.

Instead, I got a ride in the Krankenwagen. They took my blood pressure and listened to my lungs. They tried to get me to lie on the gurney. I declined. Keep in mind that it was about a 2 minute ride, at best, to the clinic. We arrived at the clinic - and pulled up at the loading bay. They ushered me into the clinic and made sure I was seated in an examination room. The two paramedics then hovered over me like a pair of 90 year old Jewish grandmothers. The doctor arrived, and thank goodness he spoke English. Again I explained the situation. This time, I actually got the medicine, along with a cup of water that one paramedic nearly tripped over himself bringing to me. Riding in that Krankenwagen all day must be pretty boring.

I took my medicine, along with stern instructions to return to the clinic in the morning so they could call and make me an appointment with an allergist. Apparently by doing this, I can jump ahead of the standard 6-month wait (oh, the joys of socialized healthcare!). I also was ordered to report to the Krankenhausen (hospital) if my symptoms returned.

(side note: krank = sick and kranken = suffering so I was riding around in a suffering wagon, and being directed to the house of suffering. Good stuff, German)

I then needed to provide my name, address and date of birth for the clinic records. One of the paramedics - who appeared to be twelve years old and enchanted by this entire experience - takes one look at my date of birth and spits out, "Oh, you're OLD!". I'd like to think he meant "older than you look", but the sad truth is I'm not too far from body parts just flying off at random. Germany being, well, Germany meant that no one even gave the comment a second thought.

And then, medicine in hand, they tried to get me BACK into the Krankenwagen to go back to my building. I refused politely, then firmly, and finally said (loudly), "NEIN KRANKENWAGEN, BITTE!". No more Krankenwagen. Please. I didn't know how to say "for the love of Baby Jesus", but I'm pretty sure the look on my face was pretty close to my thoughts. They let me and my colleague walk back all by ourselves and we had a good laugh about the whole situation.

Resolution: no more mystery sandwiches from the canteen.

And thus ends this Tuesday.

the Royal Ascot, darling

This past weekend, I attended Ascot in London with some good friends. Yes, I had the fancy hat. I also had the shoes I am now sure were designed by the Dark Lord himself. Oh, they LOOKED comfortable... and for the first couple hours, they were very comfortable. And then... they weren't. Not at all. And it didn't go from comfortable to mildly irritating to painful - oh no, we went straight from not even paying attention to my feet to being horribly aware of them and a throbbing, aching pain. Add to this the fact that it rained - a lot - and so I now had aching, wet, swollen feet. By the end of the day I was truly hobbling. The feeling of relief upon finally removing the shoes of death was tempered by the realization that I had not one, but two blisters on the bottom of my feet - one for each foot. I spent the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday limping around and taking copious amounts of ibuprofen. Lesson learned: always, always bring flip-flops or flats, especially when trying to be fancy.

Aside from the foot pain, the day was a blast. It seemed like not many people were actually there for the horses; most people just stood around, drank champagne and watched each other. And the people watching was excellent. I learned that just because there is a dress code doesn't mean that everyone will interpret said code in the spirit in which it was meant. For example: ladies were advised to wear hats or fascinators and "should dress as for a smart occasion." After viewing some major fashion disasters, my conclusion is that it might be prudent to be a bit more specific in the future. Something along the lines of:

Ladies should wear cocktail dresses, or dresses suitable for an afternoon tea or wedding or other smart occasion. Please note that skin-tight dresses more appropriate for a nightclub are not advised.  Neither are neon colors of any sort. We would especially like to discourage any outfit which could be viewed by others as a joke - yes, we are talking to you, woman who wore the 70s-style burnt-orange jumpsuit, without a hint of irony or embarrassment. Also, we strongly advise that ladies wear clothing appropriate for one's actual size, not the size which one hopes to be.

Moving on from the fashion, I tried an experiment in socialization. Having lived in England for 4 years prior to my stint here in Germany, I can safely say I'm quite attuned to the social mores and the general behavior of the English. That doesn't stop me pushing boundaries for my own amusement. So I sat there on a bench and waved my champagne glass at passing gentlemen, with a polite (but a bit loud) "Hello!" Most refused to make eye contact, or paused, blushed and then hurried away looking confused. The few who did stop to answer tended to look extremely pained. Out of about 30 people who walked by, only one man stopped to have a chat with me and the friend sat next to me on the bench. And even that was a bit strange and stilted. The English just do not do small talk, and they do not do overt displays from strangers. I can say with 100% certainty that had I performed the same experiment at an American race track (or any sporting event, really), I would have found myself with more people to talk to than I could handle.

The train ride back was jam packed with people, most of whom were inebriated and soaking wet from the rain. I managed to get a seat but not before being pushed nearly to the floor of the train by a stampede of people behind me. I had to throw a few 'bows to prevent being trampled. For some reason the train decided to proceed at a snail's pace (seriously, even I with my abused feet could have run faster at some points), which led to a group in front of me deciding to play "I, Spy" to pass the time. I'll start with saying that they didn't know how to properly play the game. Instead of saying "I spy something that starts with the letter K" (for example), they were doing weird things like "I spy something that starts with M T S" or some such. I wasn't really following along too closely until one of the group decided that the best (and only) answer for every query was to yell, "PENIS!"  We had nearly 35 minutes of "PENIS" before we got back to Richmond station. Gotta love the English - won't say a word to you when sober, but can be guaranteed to be fifty shades of inappropriate when drunk.

We fortified ourselves with a nice dinner and took the bus from dinner back to E's house, where we were staying. That's when the fun began. After hobbling to the bus stop, we made the acquaintance of a very strange Indian man who was also waiting for the bus. His first words were "I don't usually get along with upper class women". I think he was referring to our dresses and hats. What he failed to realize was that if we truly were super posh, we most likely would not have been waiting in our bare feet for a bus. He then asked what we did for a living - a few of us were teachers - and this set him off on a monologue about how there was a conspiracy against teachers and how he had proof. We tried to ignore him, but then he got started on how it was all Kate Middleton's fault because she was a socialist and was planning to destroy the country and he used to work for the KGB and the FSB and he had proof - and at this point he pulls out a CD-ROM from the pocket of his jacket (and I mean seriously, who rolls around with a CD-ROM in 2015?!) and waves it around, and starts muttering about socialism and conspiracies and shock treatment.

When we were finally on the bus (he didn't join us, thank goodness), we had a discussion which was along the lines of what if he was right, and it was like the movies where everyone assumes the guy is crazy, but he really is the only one who has uncovered the truth of something nefarious. So maybe Kate Middleton is a socialist hell bent on destroying England. Who knows. What I do know is that he was definitely doing his part to take down the realm with the breath he was sporting. Could have killed whole villages if released in quantity.

I love visiting England - it always feels like my second home. Adding to the excitement was that a friend and I apparently walked right by Josh Hartnett in Soho (she saw him, I didn't) and I nearly ran into Michael Cera on his way out of Heathrow Terminal 2. He looks exactly like he does on TV/in the movies, although he's thinner and shorter than I expected.

Pigling and such

Yesterday in the canteen at work they served pork roast, vegetables and mashed potatoes. The chalkboard had the English translation as "Pigling, vegetation and puree potatoes". Sometimes Germany is awesome. Although I have since learned that pigling is a word. Huh. 

Today I had to sign my rental contract and because it was pouring like the end of days, I decided to drive. I left my house in Ingelheim at 7am. I did not make it to my flat in Frankfurt until 8:45. Traffic was ridiculous. Like I-76 in Philly ridiculous. The good news was that traffic the other way was marginal. This bodes well as I am actually now considering getting a car. While I can take the train, I need one more stop than I thought and the times aren't as convenient as I thought - I think the timetables have been adjusted. Driving in the city was surprisingly easy and not too stressful even at rush hour. 

The new flat is 5 min walk to a tube station and 20 min walk to the main train station, so for most in-city things I can use public transport or the bicycle I'm going to buy. (With a basket! Maybe even a bell!) But I've realized I want to explore Germany and lots of the towns I want are not super easy by car. 

My goods arrive from storage on the 3rd which means my bed!!! I'm waiting to connect with the Internet company so I can get that scheduled. They keep calling but when I'm in meetings or busy. I have all the measurements for the rooms and so I can begin buying what I need. Which is a bunch of stuff. May baby Jesus bless IKEA for existing and for being willing to assemble. Left to my own devices my furniture would end up looking like a sculpture by MC Escher. 

I'm now en route to London for work and then a weekend with friends. We are going to Ascot. I'm quite excited - I have a big hat and everything! And on the plus side, I only got a half pat down from the security Frau this morning. I really don't think her heart was in it ;)

Side note: American and British airports could learn from Frankfurt. Security was a breeze (aside from the token rub down), there were plenty of agents at passport control, and the gate was orderly. An agent checked passports and tickets on the way into the gate area, and handed out UK landing cards. Then they boarded first class. Everyone else boarded using automatic ticket scanner machines. No hassle, no fuss. 

The only downside is that this plane reeks of BO. I will never understand the European fear/lack of appreciation for deodorant. Seriously, this place reeks like an NFL locker room at halftime. Das yuck. 

Hilfe!

So. I need to book some doctor's appointments. My relocation consultant gave me a website where I can locate an English speaking physician. I used the website and found a local doctor who indicated that she spoke English, German and Italian. I sent a request online for someone to contact me (in English) to schedule an appointment.

This morning, I received a nice email in English with a few appointment time options and instructions to call the office to choose a time. So, silly me, I called the office. The woman answered in German. Here's how the conversation went...

Receptionist (R): "Jallo [insert name of doctor's office]."
Me: "Jallo. Entschuldigen. Sprechen Sie English?" Hello. Excuse me, do you speak English?
R: "Nein." No.
Me: (long pause, confused)
R: "Jallo? Kann ich Ihnen helfen?" Hello, can I help you?
Me: (looking frantically at the email I received) "Entschuldigen. Ich spreche venig Deutsche. Ich kann sprechen mit [insert name of person who emailed me]?" Excuse me. I only speak a little German. Can I speak to [insert name]?
R: "Nein." No.
Me: "Entschuldigen. Jemand sprechen Englisch?" Excuse me, anyone speak English?
R: "Nein. Sie moechten einen Termin?" No. Do you wan tot make an appointment?
Me: (understanding what she said) "Ja!!! Mit arzt, bitte." Yes!!! With a doctor, please.
R: "Something something something Friday something something doctor"
Me: "Entschuldigen. Ich verstehe nicht. Hilfe? Englisch?" Excuse me, I don't understand. Help? English?
R: (laughing at me now) "Nein"No.
Me: (silence)
R: "Jallo?" Hello?
Me: "Um... I will just call back. Tschuss!"

I hung up the phone. Keep in mind that the above involves quite a bit of paraphrasing as that woman and I went round and round for quite some time. I think at one point I was pulling out every German word I've learned trying to piece a sentence together.

Imagine my surprise then when, about five minutes ago, I receive a phone call from the office assistant who originally emailed me. He spoke perfect English, albeit with a very heavy Bavarian accent. He apologized for the situation earlier and helped me make an appointment. I was incredibly impressed - not only was he incredibly helfpul, but he called me.

I'm finding that on the whole, Germans are incredibly polite.
Also, I cannot wait until I understand more German. I'm already quite pleased with the words I have been able to master, and the fact that I can put a few sentences together but it is SO frustrating not to be able to communicate. The upside is that I'm understanding quite a bit of what I hear. The downside is that my conversational skills are limited to discussing chicken, bread, ball point pens and how to spell my name.


 

First World Problems

Every time I have an early morning flight, I can guarantee that someone at the airport will try my patience. Like today. I woke up at 4:45 after what I would generously call 4 hours sleep. I'm still re-adjusting to German time and also am never able to sleep well when I know I have to be up before the crack of dawn.

Managed to get to the train on time with minimal fuss and get to the airport. That's where the fun began. It seems that Lufthansa has adopted the practice of having its passengers do the airline's work. I had a mobile boarding pass and just needed to drop my bag. Apparently this requires going to a machine, typing in all my info, getting a printed bag tag, putting the tag on my bag myself and then pushing a button to send it off into the magic conveyer belt. Which wouldn't be so bad - IF I weren't on 4 hours sleep and if the bag machine didn't look exactly like the check in machine. I had a few fun moments figuring that out. 

On to security, where the Germans actually have a pretty good system. As you get to the head of the line, a screen directs you to the fastest lane. The best part was watching many, many people stare right at this huge 60" plasma screen with a big ass number on it and then proceed to go to the wrong lane. 

I went to the right lane and put my computer and Kindle in one tub and my bag and shoes in another. The security agent then proceeds to ask me three times in German if I have a computer. I kept saying yes, and pointing to the one in the tub. She clearly wasn't picking up what I was laying down as she then turned my bag upside down to apparently "shake out" any hidden computers. 

I then went through the metal detector only to have the pleasure of being subjected to a "random" search and pat down by a woman who looked like Dog the Bounty Hunter - on a bad hair day. Adding to this indignity was the fact that they let a couple very shifty looking types waltz through while she and I were getting to what felt like second base. 

I pray for all I encounter today that I can manage a bit of sleep on the plane. 

Back in the DE!

Back in Germany after 2 weeks in the U.S., and it feels a bit like I've moved all over again. I wonder how long it will take before I stop finding myself surprised that everyone speaks German, that every sign is in German, that I don't understand most of what is happening around me?


Had a great time on my work trip - got to see many friends, and do some much needed shopping as I haven't quite sussed out the stores here to find which ones are affordable and work for my Hobbit-like stature. I also stocked up on coffee (the coffee here is NOT good) and Twizzlers - two of the necessities in life.

I could write pages and pages recounting the hilarity that was my US trip, but since this blog is about my adventures in Germany, I'll just leave that to your imaginations. Suffice it to say that vodka is no longer my friend, and I have a new appreciation for seafood platters.

My flight back was one of the best flights I've ever had. Why, you ask? Was it because I was upgraded to a first class suite and waited on hand and foot? Was it because I was seated next to some devastatingly handsome, single, articulate man? Was it because I didn't have to take a bus to get to the plane? The correct answer is D) none of the above. It was because, for the first time EVER in my life, I slept through the entire flight. Not a couple hours. Not even dozing off after dinner. I literally got on the plane, managed to keep my eyes semi-open during the safety briefing and then woke up when the lights came on and the captain announced 20 minutes to landing. I have to thank my good friend KR for introducing me to the magic that is Advil PM. Two of those suckers and I was OUT. Which is fascinating because I have literally tried taking Ambien (which put me more into what I would call a fugue state than sleeping), Dramamine (which resulted in semi-sleep and a lot of drooling) and copious amounts of alcohol - all in the hopes of catching some much needed sleep and resetting my body clock. For the first time in all my flying history, I landed fully rested and acclimated to my new time zone. I had a bit of trouble falling asleep last night, but nothing compared to my usual days of sleepless agony after hopping the ocean.

I landed, gathered my two HUGE suitcases (did I mention I traveled over with just one?) and hailed a taxi as ain't nobody got time to be lugging two huge suitcases in 88 degree weather on the train. My taxi driver was a very friendly Turkish woman who had quite a hilarious grasp on the English language. Rather, it was more like she kept grabbing at English, and English kept squirming away. It was touch and go in terms of communicating until I shared that I was heading to Turkey in August for holiday with my good friend and ultimate travel buddy WF. Once I was able to properly pronounce the name of the area I was going to, she was off like a rocket. Apparently, we will be "finding many of the husbands" and "so many muches of the food stuffs". Additionally we can look forward to "watering ourselves" and "doing the suntime". She also told me that everybody in Turkey knows her, and if I have "some of them troubles", to just say her name and they will "calm it all to the down". All this was taking place while she was seriously driving like a bat out of hell being chased by Michael Bay special effects. At one point I KNOW we were on three wheels taking a turn. It reminded me of my trip to Istanbul, also fondly known as "the near-death experience".

After I lugged my suitcases up the four flights of stairs in my temporary flat, I had the pleasure of putting my fan together. I'm glad I was smart enough to buy one a couple weeks ago before it got hot - but I forgot that the instructions would be in German. Thank goodness for pictures. I only put it together wrong three times before getting it right. Considering that I once put an entire set of flat pack shelves together completely backwards, I was very, very proud of myself. I spent the rest of the weekend doing laundry, picking up groceries, and watching the first season of Empire on my iPad. I was all over that free hotel wi-fi in the U.S. (PS - can I just say how much I LOVE Cookie?)

I came back to my office to find a fan ready and waiting for me, all put together by our trusty assistant. Did I mention that the office here does not have air conditioning? Luckily we have huge big windows that open out sideways or from the top, and there seems to be a good breeze. Apparently in Germany, it is a law that workers be near a window and exposed to sunlight and fresh air. Having spent many a year trapped in the purgatory that is the modern cubicle farm, this is a very welcome change. Lunch today was Wienerschnitzel - for real. Actually, it was a choice of that or something which looked suspiciously like vegetables sauteed in butter, topped with dill yoghurt. I grabbed the schnitzel and a salad - have to say, it wasn't too bad. Following lunch, I had a meeting with a colleague who had an excellent grasp of English - and also seemed to think that dropping the F bomb to describe people, places, situations, the weather - was appropriate. So that made for a fun half hour.

I also had another German lesson - during which I realized that what I have been saying all along when people ask me if I speak German is HILARIOUSLY wrong. I have been saying "Ich nein spreichen sie Deutsch" - which I thought meant "I don't speak German". What it REALLY means is "I no speak you German". Which, in my defense, is sort of what I was trying to say. But it explains the pained looks I received my first few days here. What I should be saying is "Ich spreiche kein Deutsch" or "Ich spreiche venig Deutsch" - either I speak no German, or I speak very little German. I also am learning that the letters lie! An "s" is a "z" sound, unless there is a "t" after it, in which case the "st" becomes a "scht" sound. "V" is most often an "f" sound, except when it isn't. The words for state and city are ridiculously close to my hearing - "Staat" is state and "Stadt" is city. One is "schtaaat" and one is "schtadtt". Yeah. Try that after a few beers.

I'm enjoying learning, though. It's coming in handy. Like today, when I got my Wienerschnitzel, I was able to say "Enschultigung, kein (points to gravy), bitte" - and it worked like magic. Between my tiny vocabulary and my awesome charades skills, I think I'm going to do just fine.