Last weekend was spent in Dresden with Micha, where we ate lots of ice cream, took a pricey boat tour, got some old building culture, slept in a car, went to the German Hygiene Museum and drank beer at a GDR-style pub, where we tried really hard to think of something we have in common.
(We holdextremelydiffering opinions in regards to soccer, chocolate, holding hands, water sports and jewelry. The list of things we both like goes like this:
Softeis
Each other
Ace Ventura
...and that's all you need anyway.)
Friday The wheels
The Zwinger
Enjoying soft-serve ice cream, one of the three things we both like
Saturday Drinking beer in the sun in Neustadt
Spontanious hotel room outbursts
Micha on the banks of the Elbe
Sunday Forbidden photo taken in the Hygiene Museum, at an interactive exhibit designed to make people understand what it's like to live with a handicap. This apparatus is supposed to make you understand what it's like to go through life as a creature with two cups attached to its ears.
And that was it! We were kissed by the sun, got lost a lot and didn't really mind, and generally had A Very Nice Time.
Completely miserable sitting indoors, butt conforming to chair, feeling inhuman, hating life (not really, nobody freak out), and so forth.
I don't think Microsoft Word and newsletter layouts are the best of friends.
Never want to be an intern again. Have decided 'intern' is a ridiculous concept akin to slave and excuse to pay poorly or not at all.
Would want to go home right now if it weren't for the fact that everything else is wonderful, making for a really confusing daily medley of joy (sunshine, music, books, friends, being loved) and despair (no writing work, making zero career progress, making zero college progress, bursting into tears at inconvenient times/places, working alone for free, or at least trying to and then giving up, small-town claustrophobic insanity, uselessness, regret).
Is there anything about the situation I can change?Anything?
On Saturday evening, I went with Martin to a festival at Domplatz where there was, aside from music and beer, bungee jumping. I watched the people springing from sixty meters, my emotions running a weird loop between envy and cowardice. (The envy of that experience led to a desire to do it myself. Then upon noticing that I sort of wanted to do that too, the cowardly side drowned out all desire to do it, leaving me in envious awe of the people who were brave enough to jump. The envy made me want to do it myself.)
I watched the people getting sort of saddled in, climbing into a metal box, waving to their friends on the ground, and then being hoisted up into the sky with a crane. There were different jumping styles. Some of them stood in the box for several minutes before they sprung. Some of them took off right away. Some of them stretched out their arms and lifted their heels off the ground several times before the actual spring.
One of them stood in the box a particularly long time. He prepared to spring several times, but his feet never left the platform. I craned my neck to see. Five minutes passed. People began to gather below and murmur to each other. Five more minutes passed. My neck hurt from craning. People began to chant, "Springe, springe, springe!" The crowd wasn't going to let him back down easily. But he didn't spring.
I tried to remember the German expression for "between a rock and a hard place" so that I could describe the situation so to Martin, but I seemed to have forgotten it.
Martin said, "Spanne uns nicht auf die Folter! (By the way Anna, do you know this expression?)"
And I said, "My neck is getting a cramp (yes, I do know that one, thanks)."
The guy kept standing there, while the crowd below got more and more impatient with him. He had several false starts. Every time he got close to the edge and stretched his arms out, the crowd began to cheer. I still couldn't remember how to say "between a rock and a hard place," even though it had been in my online German flashcards loop that afternoon.
Sixty meters above, the man raised his arms like a bird, unsure before a first flight. I wondered why the attendant didn't just push him out of the nest. But if he jumped, my chance would be gone. It would be all over between me and this expression. I needed to know what it was.
His arms went back down. By now the crowd had doubled in size. "He must have terrible Höhenangst," I commented. Höhenangst is the same as acrophobia but sounds far more intense. But if he was so afraid, why did he pay 50 euros for the torture? The crowd began to chant again. Jump, jump, jump. 15 minutes had passed.What pressure. What beads of sweat must be forming on his brow. What was that freaking expression already?
Suddenly the big metal box began its descent back to Earth. A general boo of disappointment emanated from the groundlings. He returned to Earth as He Who Didn't Jump.
"He must feel pretty dumb," said Martin. He Who Didn't Jump set his feet on solid ground once again. Some people clapped. "However," conceded Martin, "you have to agree, not jumping is also brave in a way. He had the courage to say, 'hey, I'm not going to jump,' in front of that huge crowd."
I guess.
The jump went unjumped. The expression I'd been seeking after (zwischen Baum und Borke stecken) surfaced superfluously two days later. Some things can't be forced.
Mirjam having The Mirjam Experience (good music + good beer + intellectual conversation)
How is it possible to not have mentioned Mirjam in six months of blogging?
Mirjam is my tandem partner turned partner in crime and one of my favorite people in Erfurt. She is also one of the few English-speaking Germans who actually respects my wishes to speak in German most of the time. As a result, I learn some completely bizarre German word or expression every time we go out together. (And we do love to go out. In addition to the many other linguistic oddities I have picked up, I think I must have learned at least ten different ways to say "tipsy.")
Mirjam, in addition to being the most positive and dance-happy person I have ever met, is also amazingly well-informed. She seems to know about every single concert, reading, show, festival, dance party, film showing or other cultural event in Erfurt, no matter how obscure, and also seems to be on a mission to attend every single one of these events, where she inevitably knows everyone. All one needs to do as Friend of Mirjam is tag along for the ride...
This marks the second time a picture of me being stabbed by Erich has been a "Before" picture in a "Before and After" sequence (remember?). I fear its the beginning of a trend. Not that I am not happy to be a part of Erich's non-development!
Okay, that last one is at least cool in English too. Then there's the amazing word Zeug (stuff):
Fahrzeug ("Drivestuff") = vehicle
Flugzeug ("Flystuff") = airplane
Feuerzeug ("Firestuff") = lighter
Schlagzeug ("Beatstuff") = percussion
When you have a crush on someone, you "stand on" them (auf jemanden stehen). Then when you are tired of them, you "have the nose full" (die Nase voll haben). Maybe you even give them the basket and make finish with them. Makes perfect sense!!
On my third trip to Germany's capital, I was free of the pressure to take pictures of the Reichstag and the Brandenburger Tor and the Dom, so I decided to capture things that were just plain interesting.
An anti-Capitalist march ("Die Krise heißt Kapitalismus").
Discovered amazing cafe called Kauf Dich Glücklich, complete with creepy stuffed fox guarding the door.
Erich in front of a sparkly store which sold, among other things, urban hipster outfits for infants.
My goodness. Trip to Berlin for my Final Seminar with the Congress-Bundestag Youth Exchange for Young Procrastinators was saved by a certain half-Austrian kook. Thank God for Erich...
I strongly dislike being kept in large groups of Americans, which is what we always have to do at these seminars. I think after a year in Germany these people have sort of incubated and become more American than before (cultural incubation: has someone coined this term already?). I can't believe some people lived in Germany for a year without learning the language! And I can't believe the program leaders had to address the topic of alcoholism at the beginning of last week's seminar!! How humiliating.
I winced so much to hear people complaining to the organizers of their prestigious scholarship program. Perhaps it bothered me because I heard a bit of myself in their complaints: I was unhappy living in Erfurt for a solid 3 months myself (frigid temperatures, uninviting former living space, long commute, no internship possibilities in my field, loneliness) and I know I must have whined about it at some point to my friends, but I would never blame the people who flew me here, handled my paperwork and covered the bulk of my expenses. At least not loudly, to their faces.
We had another cultural trainer, like we have had at other seminars. And like we have done at other seminars, we drew on flip-charts, talked about German-American stereotypes, did role play exercises, slurped free coffee and didn't take things seriously enough.
(Let's talk about more positive things now)
I spoke a lot of Amerikanisch, which rang cheerful and sloppy in my ears. ("Like junk food that you speak," commented my freind Boombox once.)
We were guests at the Bundestag and at the new American Embassy. The American ambassodor to Germany greeted us and offered precious American commodities like Dr. Pepper and free water with ice cubes.
After the week-long seminar closed, I stayed with Erich in Potsdam, in order to hang out longer in the city.
(Like insignificant coincidences)
While getting lost in Berlin, we ran into Jens, from Aachen, who I stayed with during that last trip to Nord-Rhein Westfalen with Claudius and Daniel. He walked past me and I thought I recognized him, then dismissed it as impossible. Then he doubled around to ask me if there were any cool parties to go to in the neighborhood, and I ventured to say, "Haven't we met before?" and he said, "Don't think so." Then I reminded him that I stayed at his house in Aachen and that his name was Jens. That seemed to ring a bell.
The weird thing was, out of such an absurd coincidence came nothing of significance. We talked for a while and then went our separate directions. That was it.
(This sort of thing would never, ever happen in a film. In a film, it would have been Fate which brought us together. Something amazing would need to result from our encounter. We would have found each other for a Reason. But apparently, the cosmos just had coincidences to spare that evening. That was all. Like bakeries who toss out perfectly good bread at the end of the day.)
...is how much of my own money I have spent in Germany thus far since August 2009. $3,760.44! Ten months! (Not counting birthday/Christmas money, scholarship stipend, English lesson income, and tax refund.) And I live on Müsli and wear the same thing every day. I am a hobo.
Oh Em Gee, I interviewed the mayor of Erfurt yesterday, Andreas Bausewein, at the Finale der Spirit of Football Strassenfussballmeisterschaft zur Lange Nacht des Sports im Rahmen der Arena der Zukunft, or Street Soccer Finale in English. Sven introduced me as "unsere internationale Reporterin." I'd love to show you the video when it's ready. Hilarious.
On Thursday, Marcus from Todo Aleman came to town and interviewed me briefly about the differences between eastern and western Germany from the perspective of an American exchange student, for a film to be shown to American highschoolers considering studying in Germany. Apparently, every year they make such a film with a different topic (music, sports, etc.) and this year, as it is 20 years after German reunification, well, the topic is German reunification. Will share that film here too, if I get my hands on it.
Erich sent me a nonsensical email ("delirious and no makey sensey means two times the fun to read-y for yous mistah"). I think that boy gets an average of two hours' sleep per night. He lives in Potsdam but works in Berlin, only coming home between the hours of 1 and 8 a.m., when his ghastly host family is asleep.
There's nothing weirder than hearing the recorded sound of one's own voice, except perhaps hearing the recorded sound of one's own voice in German. My 'r' nearly made my ears bleed when I saw the videos today.
A writer living in San Luis Obispo, Calif., Anna likes cuddly animals, electronica, human absurdity, espresso, infobabble, sweet dreams, bicycles, German, good stories and traveling around.
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