Wanderlust!

New Year

2012-01-16T11:27:00.001-08:00

It has been far too long since I last wrote. I'm not one for making (and with that, keeping) New Year's resolutions, but I have elected to write more. Write more blog posts. Any at this point. Write more letters. Write more chapters of my story. Express myself in ways that are completely divorced from my schoolwork.

Oh, and did I tell you? I've also started to paint. Watercolors, mostly. I'm still very, very amateur, but it relaxes me and I'm proud of what I've done so far. I'll post a few finished pieces next time.

Now, about Boston.

I know that describing my Freiburg nostalgia would make it sound like I hate Boston. So I won't begin that way. Suffice to say - I miss Freiburg.

Boston is a pretty cool place, though. I can walk to the grocery store, multiple bookstores, cafes, bagel shops, and numerous ethnic restaurants. There are plenty of vegatarian options. Now if only we could afford to go out more often! That is my only problem with Boston so far. There's so much to do...if you have money.

One of the best things Evan and I did was getting library cards. Now we can watch free movies at home. I can resist the urge to spend my paycheck at Brookline Booksmith. We can even get free and discounted tickets to museums. Not to mention the perks that come with being a graduate student at Harvard; namely, occasional free food, awesome speakers, free admissions and +1s to museums, etc.

Another awesome thing we did when Dawson visited was going on a tour of the Harpoon Brewery. Let's just say that for $5, you get a lot to drink. Plus it's educational!

For another $5, you can go to Salem. We went on Halloween. The freezing rain was the scariest part. But we did get a free dream and spirit reading, with free hot chocolate to boot.

Buying souls is a draining business. Ha

For $1.50, the bus provides an interesting entertainment option. There are some interesting characters on the bus. There was that old guy who was wearing a bear shirt and a fisherman's cap who whispered all of his knowledge of Cambridge-area architecture to me. Evan was out of listening range and was confused. There was also that other guy, that construction worker, whose accent was taken straight from "Good Will Hunting." I heard his life story - his dreams and aspirations, his frustration with the construction industry, his failed attempts at love. Then there are the people who sit in the back of the bus and sing their hearts out. They're the best. Why do people get annoyed when they can witness such pure, uninhibited joy?

Perhaps my gripe should become, "There's so much to do...if you know where to find it." Just take the bus.

Transitioning

2011-08-02T19:27:00.000-07:00

Where to begin? I've been in the US for over a month now, yet it seems like a year since I was bumbling around Europe.

Evan has moved into our apartment in Boston and is waiting for me to arrive to really make it our own. After a year apart, it's hard to believe that this is actually happening. Not to mention graduate school.

There have been several trips that sadly did not make it to this blog. Towards the end I became quite derelict in my blogging. For now, I am posting one picture from my trip to Edinburgh. It was a beautiful sunset that turned the clouds into torches. How I felt that night, I still feel today: unsure of what will happen in the coming year, but optimistic, mostly confident and incredibly lucky about everything that I've been given the chance to do.

I promise that one day I will actually get around to writing about my last months in Europe--especially before it all fades to foggy memory.

Eating Locally: Nothing New in Freiburg

2011-04-14T07:54:00.000-07:00

In America, a movement is growing to develop better eating habits. I'm not just talking about Michelle Obama's efforts to combat obesity--I'm talking more about the White House vegetable garden. More people are trying to eat locally (and organically) to support their local farmers, eat fresh foods, cut down the costs of transportation and, more simply, to understand where their food comes from. Eating locally creates choices and sometimes asks us to make small sacrifices. If it's not natural for strawberries to grow in December, opt for mandarines in your salad instead of paying for the fossil fuels used to ship them from Spain. Then, when strawberry season rolls around, you'll be excited. You won't take the juicy sweetness for granted. You'll savor every bite while supporting your neighbor.

In Germany, there is great support for small farmers. You can see evidence of this in Freiburg's Münsterplatz. Local farmers bring their crops and goods for people who prefer fresh, local crops (and have a few extra cents to spare).

Wednesdays and Saturdays are the big market days. The place is bustling with people making their way through a maze of vegetables, fruit, flowers, locally-prepared foods and handicrafts. There are also several different wurst stands, where the most popular fast food is the Freiburger Lange Rote (Long Red). It looks just like it sounds--a long, red wurst extending from a small Brötchen and often smothered in ketchup, mustard and onions. I can't deny that it smells good, but being the devoted vegetarian that I am, but the cheese, olive and dried fruit stands are ore tempting to me. When I'm short on cash, I usually opt for the Studentenfutter (student's feed), a mixture of cashews, walnuts, hazelnuts and dates.

Noemi with a Lange Rote

Bags of tea

"Aladdin's Magic Balls": all-natural, fruity and filling

Hot chestnuts

Ye olde meat truck

Perhaps it is the cobblestone square, the old, colorful buildings or the majestic Münsterturm reaching into the sky. It is a scene that seems quaint and typically European to the American visitor, but it is not necessarily something foreign.

course, there are farmer's markets in many American cities and towns. The market in Lancaster was open two days a week and had an impressive sprawl of almost everything. I loved taking the kids there, watching them ooh and ahh over the delicious variety (and sometimes over the Amish merchants). Although I've never been, I've heard the Charlottesville, VA farmer's market is something special, considering the local food movement there and the many nearby farms, including Joel Salatin's famous Polyface Farms. In Williamsburg, VA--my home for four years--the farmer's market was held every Saturday. In 2009, it was voted the best mid-sized farmer's market in the nation and the 5th best farmer's market overall. On Saturdays not preceded by eventful Fridays, we would walk down Duke of Gloucester Street in Merchant's Square and sample creamy spreads, pumpkin bread, Greek food and cheese. Sometimes we'd even buy something--although never the bison meat, even when it was attractively sold to us as the healthiest, leanest meat there is.

Williamsburg Farmer's Market

When I have the money, I hope to live in a place with a great farmer's market where I can buy delicious things every week. Until then, I will be happy just to browse the seemingly endless culinary possibilities, letting my eyes feed on the colors and the crowds.

Kölle Alaaf!

2011-04-08T11:45:00.000-07:00

Imagine the biggest frat party you've ever been to. Perhaps it was on Halloween? Now imagine it 1,000x bigger and filled with old people, children and countless 20somethings, and add a whole lotta candy. That's Karneval in Köln!

It's a circus, and everyone's got an act. You've got monks and nuns, leagues of pirates, plenty of cross-dressing, animals and many politically incorrect costumes (turbans? come on). What's really amazing is how quickly the mess is cleaned up. Directly after the parade, people were collecting old beer bottles for money before the street cleaners could get to them ten minutes later. Likewise, Kölners went back to work the next day.

Puts my paper mache to shame.

During the parade, mass was sparsely attended.

Katie with Lars and Siggy, our gracious hosts

The parade drew Bavarian pirates with pink poodles...

...and world leaders.

In October, I was told that Halloween wasn't the big deal in Germany that it is in the U.S.--mostly it's just an excuse to buy candy. Everyone told me, "just wait until March. Karneval will blow Halloween out of the water."

Personally though, comparing Karneval to Halloween is like comparing apples to oranges. Karneval (or Fasching, as it's called in southern Germany) is a huge celebration leading to Lent. Halloween, on the other hand, is All-Hallows-Eve--the celebration of the dead. It's full of creepy, supernatural stuff. Karneval is mostly filled with creepy old guys. It's Mardi Gras, without the beads but with lots of shenanigans and candy. The candy is decidedly better than at Halloween--whole bars of quality chocolate were thrown at me after simply shouting, "Karmelle!" I will always remember it as the time of year in which otherwise serious German adults morph into children, pushing for candy and partying in the street.

"Liebchen, vergiss mich nicht..."

Evie the Marienkäfer

Jake the sailor

Blonder version of me

Thanks to Karneval, I have a new collection of Ohrworms in my head--made even more frustrating by the strange Kölnisch dialect:

Denn wenn et Trömmelche jeht,

dann stonn mer all parat

un mer trecke durch die Stadt
un jeder hätt jesaat
Kölle Alaaf, Alaaf - Kölle Alaaf.

A Note on Nudity--and German Gyms

2011-03-12T13:51:00.000-08:00

In November, as the harsh German winter descended on us spoiled pseudo-southerners, Melissa and I decided to join the gym. The thought of cracking skin, 8 measly hours of sunlight and no working heater (which I didn't have at the time) made the move necessary. We joined a sleek place which has since tried to sell us everything, from men's dandruff shampoo to chalky protein drinks and strange sugar squares filled with "energy." The classes are pretty fun (except those by a certain instructor who probably attended seminars with Richard Simmons) and our bodies have thanked us with increased flexibility and energy, occasional so-good-it-hurts pains and, last but not least, increased socialization with other bodies.

That does not mean what it sounds like it means.

I remember the first time we saw the dressing room. "Ooh, a sauna! nice lockers! nice...wow..."

We were surrounded by breasts, cheeks of both sorts and other anatomical bits and pieces from all angles imaginable. Melissa and I looked at each other and hesitated, but not in horror. Not exactly. We had been expecting this moment--how can you really live and Europe and be a prude?

I thought back to the college days. Instead of going to the dressing room, I would just peel off my layers, stuff them in a cubby and sometimes I would ask Alison to hold my shorts up while I took of my yoga pants, as they often attempted a sneaky escape across the border. I remembered when Alison and I shared a room (all four years, thank you) and we would tell the other: "Don't look! Underwear is coming off!" I remembered the discomfort felt by my compadres as we sat on the beach in South Beach, Miami and were surrounded by free, unsheltered European breasts. The suggestion to bond by bearing our own was merely meant for the thrill of watching eyes pop and faces turn bright red.

Suddenly, however, Melissa and I were going to become very close friends. The clothes came off quickly and were replaced just as speedily by new clothes. We did it! I saw your nipples, teehee!

Now, we are veterans of the process and we don't bat an eyelash when we enter the dressing room and are greeted by cheeks. One thing is still noticeable, however. Surprise: naked women compare themselves to other naked women. Shocking!

Some bitties just like to show off. They stand there, stretch, talk on the phone, lotion up, catch a glimpse (or 20) of themselves in the mirror. Yes, you've got a nice body. But you should really get a mirror at home. Most irritating are the clouds of Fa, a German spray deodorant for ladies comparable to Axe.

All in all though, the experience has allowed me to bond with my body. We're partners for life, after all--I shouldn't be ashamed of her.

Bonsoir.

2011-02-07T07:01:00.000-08:00

Having been to Paris twice now--once in summer and once in winter--I think I can safely say that it is a city that shines despite the season. Seeing Paris with a good friend makes the city even more interesting. It brings to light the diversity of the city, the (mostly) harmonious coming together of people and time. By yourself, you can miss the evolution of Paris. If you're like me and prefer the winding old-world neighborhood of Montmartre to the Haussmannization of the elegant downtown, it might be easy to overlook recent transformations. When I was backpacking in 2008, I visited the Louvre and the Musee d'Orsay and overlooked the Centre Pompidou. This time, I greeted the modern, sprawling building with ambivalence as I wondered whether it was always meant to look under construction. Long ago, my appreciation for modern art surpassed my desire to see halls and halls of medieval madonnas; still, Carla's fascination with modern architecture offered me an entirely new way to see Paris.

Carla has been my close friend since middle school, and boy have we come a long way from offering nickels for friendship. (Yes, that was me.) We have also come a long way from Emporia. I can still remember how badass it felt as juniors and seniors to ride in our own cars to Carla's house for lunch, because GSHS food wasn't particularly appetizing (Chuckwagons, anyone?). Or how we would walk toward the parking lot after school to drive away. The parking lot was the place to see and be seen. What a good feeling it was at the time! The preoccupation with the future, college and a world we were eager to discover. A world we felt like we'd earned.

Since then, Carla and I have changed a lot. For instance, we don't spend nearly as much time getting ready (perhaps partly because we also have less acne to contend with). Most importantly, we are just more comfortable with ourselves. What do we have to prove to each other, to anyone else? We're here, Paris. Challenge us--we dare you.

First challenge: you might know German now--maybe a little Spanish--

but French will conquer you.

Getting around Paris and the suburbs with only a torn map and a French phrase book is tough. Sure, people may understand your butchered French, but you probably will not understand their answers. This is particularly true when people resort to clapping in rhythm to explain the bus system to you. I even convinced Carla that I knew the language, responding with my own dialect of rhythmic nods.

Second challenge: Which side is the Left Bank and which is the Right?

It is extremely important to know which side the Left Bank is on, considering that most guidebooks will simply say, "it can be found right across the bridge on the Left Bank. Basically, the Seine breaks Paris into a frowny face (I could make a comment here, but it wouldn't be original) and the Left Bank is the chin of the frown. This is where most artists and notable literary figures spent their time (again, I could comment here).

Third challenge: How can I afford to eat?

Eat bread! Pastries! Crepes! Most restaurants will be in the $15-$20 range. If you are like me, you probably can't afford to eat that way every night. Go to a supermarket and buy some French goods. There are also nice places to get French cuisine on-the-go. I got Ratatoille, stuffed tomatoes and delicious green beans this way. Note: if you get a cheesy crepe and enjoy your arteries, ask them to go light on the cheese. If you are a vegetarian, learn your French meat words. The French love meat even more than the Germans.

College reunion: Mahmoud, Lenore, Carla and me

Centre Pompidou

Inside the Centre Pompidou

Me in 2008 in Cafe des 2 Moulins, where Amelie was filmed. Carla and I ate here the first night we arrived. They serve delicious popcorn in the evening!

Musee d'Orsay: former train station until the train system was expanded. It houses 19th century masterpieces like Toulouse Lautrec, Van Gogh, Monet, Manet, Degas, Renoir--everyone formerly considered not worthy for the Louvre.

The winding streets of Montmartre

Sacre Cour on the Butte Montmartre (Summer 2008)

I have a hard time deciding which church I appreciate more: The Sacre Cour or Notre Dame. Both were remarkable for their times, but having been exposed to medieval cathedrals for a while now, I have to give the Sacre Cour credit for being totally different.

Clock in the Musee d'Orsay

Notre Dame

The bridge over the Seine

Versailles

Hall of Mirrors in Versailles

Marie Antoinette's "getaway": she liked to live like the peasants. Well, if this is how the peasants in France live, I want their welfare system.

Shakespeare & Co. is an amazing bookstore across from Notre Dame on the Left Bank. This is the bookstore's second location--the first closed during WWI and reopened at this site. The first Shakespeare & Co. was frequented by Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, James Joyce and Gertrude Stein, to name a few. The post-war store was a favorite among bohemians and cultural icons, like Allen Ginsberg (perhaps explaining why there is a whole section dedicated to the Beat Generation). There are so many books, it is impossible to know where to start. The floors creak, it smells a bit dusty and you could easily spend hours searching through piles of new and used books before you find the one you want to befriend. Upstairs, there is a reading room where you can read for hours. The most exciting part for me was seeing where Jesse reunited with Celine in one of my favorite movies of all time, Before Sunset.

The Louvre

Arc de Triomphe

Carla outside of the Villa Savoye, designed by the famous architect Le Corbusier.

Paris invites chic head-tosses at every turn.

Looking for ways to deepen your friendship? Take it international! Although I have to warn you: be careful who you travel with. A trip can make or break a friendship, believe me. Lucky for us, we knew exactly what we were getting into!

Soul Food

2011-01-30T03:20:00.000-08:00

When I wake up in the morning, it's dark. When I come home at five, it's dark. In between, it's gray. Sometimes I see the sun for short bursts of time, but usually it feels like it's hiding under the blankets and sleeping until spring comes. In winter, even the sun is depressed. Why should I get out of bed when even the sun can't muster the energy?

I should count my blessings, I'm told. Winter in Freiburg is nothing compared to Berlin, Hamburg, etc. You barely have to wear a scarf. People are still out, riding their bikes--they look happy, don't they? What's your problem? You don't even have to work that much.

Well, sorry. I'll let my brain know as soon as she returns from her mood swing.

I try to convince myself that I should be having the time of my life, but I don't know what that means. It sounds like something that requires more money than what I have. Thank god I get paid tomorrow--I spent my last eight euro on Friday. It was okay to be poor at college. I was so busy, I barely noticed. Most of my friends were within a half a mile of me. If I went to the Daily Grind and brought my own cup, I could drink delicious coffee for $1 and get a refill for 50 cents. I could sit there all day, writing my thesis and talking to people who came by. That was a great day.

Now, I've found something else to write (this blog not included). It's under wraps for now, but I know that writing it will be more challenging than the thesis ever was. Evan and I are reading the same book and discussing it to keep our long-distance relationship (and our brains) fresh. Melissa and I are starting a Sunday writing club at an awesome coffeeshop in Stühlinger called Jos. Fritz. Now I need to start smoking and buy a beret. Maybe start meditating.

TV is great, but it won't pull me out of my funk. Usually I just feel lazy afterwards. The gym is great for my body, but it's so hard to get up and go. Skype/Google voice/Google chat help me feel less isolated, but the screen is like a strange barrier that can sometimes make conversations feel a little superficial. Planning trips gives me things to look forward to; after all, this will probably be the last time I will be in Europe for so long.

Still, I need soul food.

Stille Nacht, Guten Rutsch

2011-01-22T02:29:00.000-08:00

Christmas 2010 will go down in history as a year of firsts:

1. First Christmas abroad

2. First Christmas sans Andells (a sad first)

3. First snowy Christmas (Mom and Dad, can you verify this?)

4. First time celebrating Christmas morning as a couple

5. First Christmas Eve at a German church (and probably the last)

6. First Weihnachtsmarkt (Christmas Market), and thus the first Glühwein

7. First attempt at homemade pesto (too much oil)

8. First homemade crepes made for a boyfriend (delicious and a good way to use oily pesto!)

9. First slumber party in a haunted, Nazi-tainted castle

And while certainly not firsts, long walks, good conversation, delicious coffee and pretzels were enjoyed by all.

The Weihnachtsmarkt: where friends, Glühwein and shopping mix!

To Europeans, the Münster is another cool cathedral.

For Americans, it's a marvel.

Glühwein: spiced, heated wine.

New Year's resolution: be organized like the Germans!

Instead of simply putting lights on trees (especially not colorful lights like the Andells), Germans often light candles on their trees. This would scare the shit out of me.

Enjoying a house-brewed beer at Feierling

Evan loved Flammkuchen, a thin, German pizza with creme fraiche instead of tomato sauce.

In Freiburg, these stars (found also in red)

hung outside of most houses and businesses in the Altstadt

View from Freiburg's Schlossberg

Christmas morning: french toast and coffee.

A view of the Rhine in Bacharach, where we stayed in a castle.

"To the red bear": a gladiator facing certain death.

Bacharach

A front view of the castle, which was built in the 11th century and served as a youth indoctrination camp during the Nazi regime.

We stopped in this weird bar to have a drink. The town was inhabited by about 20 old people. When we came in, everyone stopped, stared and started talking about us. It was the perfect setting for a horror film--we stayed up all night scaring each other.

Those two weeks were about being young, poor and in love. I wish everyone on Earth could experience that.

The Arrival

2011-01-11T08:01:00.000-08:00

If you ask me what I did for two weeks this Christmas, I could tell you in a sentence. If you ask me how I enjoyed those two weeks, I might tell you (in Evan's poetic words) that it was "like living in the most beautiful movie ever made."

I'll admit, I was not smiling for most of the day preceding his arrival. I had been greeted for the past two days with squirms and assurances so superficial, that they felt like warnings. The airports in Europe were overflowing with stranded travellers--there were delays even in ever-punctual Germany. I had no idea whether Evan had made it to Milan, where he had a tortuous 8-hour delay. I also belatedly realized that the way I had written down my cell phone number could be confusing for anyone who had never called a European before. No one could drag my eyes from my computer screen (nor my teeth from my fingernails) as I watched his flight delay by 1 hour, then 2, then 3. It would have been impossible to catch his train to Freiburg at this point. I was a bad girlfriend, wasn't I? Why didn't I pick him up at the airport? Why did I leave him to the frustration all by himself--to save a little money?

Then, a moment of relief. With a 50-minute train delay, it would be possible for him to catch the train--IF he was among the first to pick up his bags, IF he didn't get lost in the sprawling Frankfurt airport, IF he didn't heed my previous advice that "German trains are always on time." If...

I busied myself as best as I could, watching "Leave it to Beaver," folding clothes, making pesto. When I couldn't wait any longer, I walked down to the train station, dark and deserted. His train would be the last to arrive for the night. I paced back and forth on the platform, sharing commiserating eyes with two strangers also waiting for their loved ones.

The approaching hum of the train (it was a fancy ICE train, nothing like the clumsy kerplunk of Amtrak), the whizz of white and red. I found myself chasing the train, as if it might not stop; searching for Evan's blonde hair, his red flannel coat, the bulge of his backpack.

It stopped. He climbed out. I had no words. I love you ran on repeat through my head.

He didn't smell as bad as I'd predicted.

Reality [TV] in Germany

2010-12-09T11:38:00.000-08:00

I don't have a TV in my apartment, and I'm not sure that I want one. The devil on one shoulder makes some good points. The days are getting shorter...wouldn't it be nice..."Pillars of the Earth (Die Säulen der Erde) without having to watch it at the gym...

But the angel on the other shoulder reassures me that I don't have the time, I should be social and at the gym and volunteering and making the world a better place, blah blah blah.

So, I will settle for TV at the gym--and boy, can it be entertaining.

Today, I watched a particularly inventive show called "Betrugsfälle" about women not only becoming victims of fraud, but, as one woman lamented, victims of a broken heart. Barf. A self-described "scripted-Doku," these women--usually middle-aged and blonde--are tricked by the same man who claims to be in love with them and then takes all of their money. One scene showed the victim's smarter, fatter brunette friend trying to knock some sense into her. The victim responded, doe-eyed: "that just isn't Frank! He would never do that! I love him!" At the end, the brunette lures Frank into a trap, in which he is ambushed by an army of blonde, middle-aged women who had given him their life savings. Is this supposed to be some sort of "Girl Power!" moment?

Another good one is "Bauer sucht Frau." It's about a rugged(?) farmer who is desperately in need of a wife. Check out these gorgeous men. Ok, so the dairy farmer isn't too bad, but I am really falling for the "schüchterne Schwabe."

Then there's "Deutschland sucht den Superstar." Basically, it's "America's Got Talent" or "American Idol." Simple enough.

"Blondine sucht Prinz" (there's a lot of seeking going on in Germany, apparently) follows another familiar storyline: aged model (stripper?) is looking for a man, and makes them compete against each other by doing ridiculous things. Oh, and her platinum-blonde, supertanned mother (I often confuse the two) helps her make the decision. One man has her face tattooed all over her body. Sounds like a winner!

Finally, there's apparently a show in which priests, in robes, fight each other. REALLY fight each other. I guess I'm not at the gym when this artistic feat is on. Damn.

Yoodle-ah-ee-hoo

2010-12-04T00:50:00.000-08:00

I realize that I've been derelict in my blog updates, but I've somehow been able to replicate the kind of business (busy-ness?) that made my life in college stressful, exciting and meaningful at the same time. In German, there's a difference between wohnen (to live) and leben (to live). Wohnen simply explains where one resides; leben, on the other hand, better describes the experience of life. The first few months here were about evolving, moving away from wohnen and becoming comfortable with leben. I've tried to really make a life for myself here, so that one day I can truly say, "I lived in Freiburg. Ich habe in Freiburg gelebt."

The catch is, doing that with little to no money. Luckily, I don't need a lot. Coffee, friends, asian food. The occasional trip. Some music thrown in. Meeting new people, warm socks (warm everything, really), cooking dinner for friends...is this too much to ask?

It definitely helps when your family visits. I haven't shared my full trip with you yet, and my family deserves at least another huge blog entry.

First, I should backtrack and say something about my family: they are the best kind of people. Warm, open-minded and big-hearted, they have supported me throughout my 22 years and have shown me the kind of person I want to become. I was lucky to rarely have babysitters, enjoying nearly every afternoon and weekend day with my parents and my little brother. As I have slowly begun establishing my place in the world, I have found it impossible not to ask their advice, even regarding the silliest things. Should I change my major? Should I go to graduate school? Should I get a haircut? Do you think making pumpkin pie without pumpkin puree will be ok?

I've always wanted to impress them, so they can be proud of the little person they've shaped and be happy that they devoted so much time to us, rather than traveling the world or becoming a senator or a famous artist. They could have done those things, but they devoted their life to their family, and I could not be more grateful to have them as my best friends. When I first saw them in Freiburg, I was so comforted. Home had made it's way to Germany.

With that mushy introduction, I'll make a less-than-graceful transition to the beginning of our trip. We spent time in Freiburg, made day trips and drove in the Alps before making our way to Venice.

For once, Grandma bypasses the shoe store. Guess there were no size 5s.

Freiburger Münster

Where's Heidi? Sister Maria?

German food = comfort food.

Dinner at Feierling in Freiburg, where they brew their own beer.

Neuschwanstein Castle. Home of mad King Ludwig and dedicated to the operas of Richard Wagner--only 1/8 was finished before Ludwig mysteriously died in a nearby lake. A conflicting mischmasch of themes. Byzantine church? Medieval castle? Cave?

We're standing in front of Ludwig's boyhood castle, Hohenschwangau.

Our rental car. You can't see the mysterious dent on the front, which appeared sometime between it's departure from Milan to Freiburg. This dent caused a lot of worry during the trip, although my parents would deem it "scheming."

I found that the further south you go, the friendlier people become. We tramped through the Alps without any hotel reservations, so we had to rely on locals' recommendations. In one small town (whose name I have forgotten), one man walked us all around town trying to find us a room. And, while confusing, directions were always well-intended.

It makes me wonder sometimes--how can such a lovable people show such hatred toward "the Other?" See this Swiss political campaign for the deportation of non-Swiss (the Swiss have VERY stringent citizenship rules) deemed "criminal." Still, despite the paranoia and political persuasions of some people in the region, being surrounded by family and natural beauty showed me how I want my life to be: simple, filled with love and beautiful sunsets.

Venice

2010-11-14T13:08:00.000-08:00

Venice is, at once, tragic and beautiful. It exists as a memory of its former glory. Like old western ghost towns, Venice was once a pleasure town--it witnessed the masquerades of Casanova fame, Marco Polo and the age of discovery and countless criminals who infamously crossed the Bridge of Sighs to their doom.

Today, the population of Venice is less than Richmond. Did I mention that it's sinking?

Part of what makes Venice so captivating is that it's endangered. Yet, signs of life were everywhere last week. When it finally stopped raining and clothes were hung out to dry in the sunshine, we smiled in relief; not for photographic opportunities, but for the city itself.

On Halloween, when miniature Venetians traveled from business to business near the Ca 'd' Oro; when, every morning, an old woman in our dark alley cheerfully lamented the lack of sun (and just as cheerfully rejected Dad's request to photograph her), we knew: Venice still lives!

Some highlights of the visit:

1. 40 euro for 4 cappuccinos in St. Mark's square (not to mention a classy band!)

2. Had a little fun with the [Egyptian] locals at a touristy restaurant: Dad ordered a side of roasted potatoes and ate them with his meal. Long after we had finished and were finishing the wine, a waiter approached us with a new plate of potatoes that he did not order. Dad, clearly confused, confused the waiter. Ten minutes later, the waiter came to the table with Dad's full meal--poking fun at his earlier mistake. A nice departure from the grumpy Italians!

3. Venice at sunset. It's as romantic as you imagine--even without the gondola. I held hands with Grandma.

Nice hats, y'all.

On the island of Murano.

Fish market

St. Mark's square at dusk

It's hard to get a good picture of the massive and ancient St. Mark's, so I picked a corner.

Nom noms

Italy, unite! You too, Pete!

Venetian glass

The trip wouldn't be complete without a picture with a gondolier.

German Leitkultur

2010-10-28T23:04:00.001-07:00

Interesting read--a fascinating time to be in Europe. While he makes a lot of good (and I believe, accurate) points, I don't really agree with his interpretation of the Stuttgart 21 protests. Rather than seeing them as anti-progress, I see them as a sort of citizen's arrest and holding government accountable.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/10/29/opinion/29Habermas.html?_r=1&hp

Vegetarianism in Bratland

2010-10-25T13:11:00.000-07:00

Perhaps my decision to become a vegetarian before coming to Germany was not well-timed, as Germans and Americans alike have told me. After all, this is the country of Bratwurst, Knockwurst, Leberwurst, Blutwurst, Rinderfleisch, Schnitzel, Sauerbraten and Mettbrötchen.

Some of these delicacies--namely, Blutwurst and Mettbrötchen--would be taboo in the States. Blutwurst is "blood sausage." It has such a high concentration of blood, it's more like a spread than a meat. Drooling yet?

You will find many people enjoying a filling Mettbrötchen on the square or in the market as a snack or quick lunch. Imagine ground beef. Raw. On a roll. With onions! yummy. Wanting to have the full German experience while in Frankfurt last year, I hesitantly ate one of these cold, texture-rich sandwiches. When I asked if there was harmful bacteria in it, I was told, "not enough to make you sick." Hmm.

Since then, I've realized that there are countless reasons why I am better fit to be a vegetarian than a meat-eater. There are ethical reasons, environmental reasons and health reasons for it; so many reasons, in fact, that I can't go into them now. I have always wanted to make the plunge. I've been teetering for too long. I have been a vegetarian since early July, and I'm not looking back.

This decision has not affected life here in Germany. Yes, sometimes the smell of Bratwurst in the market square does tempt me--but not enough to abandon my principles. It's easy to forget that factory farming exists in Europe, when you see these old-world, mom n' pop butcher stores. And while there is definitely more such stores here than in the States, you must make a conscious effort to choose this meat over the discount meat in Aldi. A lot of people aren't willing to make that sacrifice. Also, McDonald's is actually kind of chic here. Try putting "McDonald's" and "ethical" in the same sentence. It's not even as good as the German imbisses and bakeries. Yet, every time I walk by the McDonald's at the Martinstor, it's packed. I don't get it.

It can be hard to eat at traditional German restaurants, but it's not impossible. I would say that it's just as hard to eat at a German restaurant as it is at a southern, homestyle restaurant. I'm reminded of the night before I left for Germany when I ate at Cracker Barrel with my parents. I ordered the vegetable soup with an egg and a piece of cornbread. "We use beef broth in the vegetable soup," our server said, " and animal fat for the biscuits." Not wanting to be a cranky customer, I ate them anyway. I shouldn't have told him I was a vegetarian. On the other hand, they should offer more vegetarian options--what, with all of the Canadian and yankee travelers...

So, I've decided to make a list of German dishes fit for vegetarians (sorry, vegans):

1. Käsespätzle. Basically, German macaroni and cheese--but with eggy noodles and carmelized onions on top.

2. Lentil soup. I've made this several times myself, and it usually feeds me for days. I like to put lots of vegetables in it and eat it with a crusty piece of bread. Potato soup and pumpkin soup are also quite popular.

3. Flammkuchen. Flammkuchen is the German answer to pizza. It has a thin crust a white sauce instead of a tomato sauce. Lots of vegetarian options here, and pretty much every restaurant offers it.

4. Aufläufe. Think casseroles, but creamier. Usually baked with rice or pasta (my favorite includes gnocchi), cheese, cream sauce and vegetables of your choosing. Of course, you can also add meat, if you are a heartless animal-hater (joking. sorta.).

In Freiburg, there are plenty of Asian and Italian restaurants to keep vegetarians satisfied. Even Döner stands offer meatless kebabs for vegetarians (or for people who don't like to see their dinner scraped off a spinning tower of lamb meat).

Of course, meatless German staples include potato salad, cabbage and sauerkraut. The outdoor markets also offer a lot of local, fresh produce and fruit. The bread and pastries are also to die for.

Guten Appetit!

Day in the Seepark

2010-10-09T11:43:00.000-07:00

The weather in Freiburg is freaky--almost like the weather in Virginia. From what I've heard, most of Germany right now has been experiencing dreary fall conditions for a while now. And yes, deep down I know that Freiburg weather will not always be so lovely. November is supposedly downright depressing--far from the sunny, golden days of jumping in piles of leaves and taking long strolls in sweatshirts. But yesterday in Freiburg, it was over 70 degrees. Not knowing how long I'd be so meteorologically blessed, I couldn't let such a day pass me by--even after having gone to the late show of Eat Pray Love and spending hours afterwards reading blogs and talking to Evan. I only wish we'd seen Eat Pray Love during the day, so that I could have enjoyed the satisfaction of walking out of a theater during a cheesy and underwhelming film, only to find a beautiful day worthy of the park.

The Gymnasium where I work is on the edge of such a park, called the Seepark. For some reason, I hadn't explored it until two young teachers showed it to me last week. There's a big lake with boats and lots of turtles, as well as chestnut trees and a Japanese Garden. I brought my journal and my camera along, just in case the creative spirit moved me. It was a good move.

Although it was warm enough to wear flip flops, I recognized signs of autumn for the first time. The leaves have started to turn and fall, making me long for the leaf-covered brick pathways at William and Mary. Oh, how I'll miss cider, Halloween and Williamsburg in the fall...

There was also a delightful old man, who confused me for a married woman. After learning otherwise, he leaned in for a kiss...

Instead, we compromised with a picture.

Japanese Garden

See y'all soon.

Unterwegs, with Guns

2010-10-05T12:26:00.000-07:00

I have only just realized how little I have actually said about my school and my position here. My previous posts give the impression that I am simply bumming around Europe like a pretentious college graduate who pretends to know something about good cheese and wine. And photography. And that insipid platitude about finding yourself. Dear friends, the moment I utter those words, please boycott this blog. The truth is, I have a pretty good idea of who I am. I'm learning more every day and I continue to surprise myself (and bore myself, for that matter), but for the most part, I know what I want in my life.

I am working at a Gymnasium as an English teaching assistant, also known as Little American Underfoot. That's how I felt at first, anyway. My first week was about awkwardly watching classes from my little corner, smiling at children with curious, staring heads cocked to the side like my dog Luke when he watches TV. I struggled for a spot at a table in the teacher's lounge and read my book as "colleagues" raced passed me with arms full of books and notebooks. To make matters worse, the school is under renovation, so the classes didn't have set rooms and there was no plan for me. Basically, I sat there, obediently, waiting for my master to take me for a walk.

With the second week came questions and answers, usually preluded by "Sprechen Sie deutsch?" ("do you speak German?"), to which I would reply: "Nein, ich spreche kein Wort deutsch" ("No, I don't speak a word of German"). I asked the kids to give me their impressions of America. Do kids wear uniforms? Do you like McDonald's or Burger King? and from the older kids, What do I think about Obama? What do Americans think of Germans? Needless to say, some questions were harder than others--but I've led a few really excellent discussions and the kids really seem to be engaged. For the most part, it's exactly what I'd hoped for.

Of course, there's been the occasional misunderstanding. It's only natural when you're a newbie, or so most Hollywood movies tell me. It's endearing, even. But my problem is that I'm so eager to please. A miscommunication is automatically my fault, my failure to understand. Forgive me, I am just the lowly TA, I know not what I do. Then, after a long walk home, I'll cut myself a break and pledge to not react as a victim. I'm capable and competent, and I'll teach these kids something yet.

I love helping students. I love when they call my name to ask for the right word or inquire about the United States. I love to watch the wheels turning in their heads as they put the pieces together. I love their enthusiasm. I also enjoy crushing stereotypes about my country.

-"How many guns do you think my family has?"

-"How many people are in your family?"

-"Four."

-"Then your family must have four guns."

-"Would you believe that my family actually owns zero guns. zip. zilch. keine."

-"...interesting."

Yes, this is just one example. Gun rights in the US is a popular topic and makes for a good discussion. So good, in fact, that I was requested for a second appearance on Wednesday. The textbook introduces the subject with three pictures of "typical" Americans with their guns. The first picture shows a family in their front living room, a smiling mother and father each with their own gun, a daughter who is oblivious on the internet, and a fluffy dog. The second picture is a scary guy with a Tshirt that reads something like "faith in government denies both history and reason." No smile on his face. The last picture is a family of four on what appears to be your average Saturday afternoon. They are barefoot in the kitchen, each with his own gun, and again--a cute dog with his tongue hanging out. Probably salivating over the sheer power in the room.

As most of you know, I am one of the last people to argue on the side of "gun rights." Guns scare me and I have never held one. I don't understand why people think a law allowing people to bring their guns into bars actually makes the place safer. Not everyone should be Clint Eastwood. But this is not the Andell's America that I grew up in. It's hard to stand there and hear these stereotypes about my homeland, but I get satisfaction by been an exception to their so-called rule. Despite the rise of the Tea Party and manipulative, money-driven cable news/entertainment, I still love my country and I am determined to help make it better.

Sorry about the tangent, especially to those who have already heard my little rant (Thanks Mom, Dad, Evan). Bottom line is: I really love my job here, and I'm excited to see what the year brings.

Today, We Went to France.

2010-09-30T08:19:00.001-07:00

Freiburg is very, very close to France. It only took us about an hour or so to get there--as if I were driving to Richmond. So, it's not too strange that we woke up on Saturday and said, "so...feel like going to France today?" Three hours later, we went to Colmar.

I guess the biggest motivation was the cheese. I've eaten some pretty good cheese since I've gotten here, but you don't just sit at home and eat Roquefort. You just can't beat sitting in a Brasserie, eating a cheese plate with baguettes and Bordeaux. My favorite was probably the Munster--the Alsace specialty.

Like Germany, there are bakeries everywhere. I'm still baffled as to how Europeans are thinner than we are. I guess it's because you have to walk around the city all day to find a place that will accept your Pfands (money you get back for recycled bottles). Or, as happened in Colmar, you search up and down for a place that serves bread and cheese. After an hour, we started to get cranky and were silent, only grunting to show approval or disapproval of a potential eatery.

One shoe store and creepy French guy later, we found a place and were able to cheese out to our hearts' content for the petit price of 7 euro.

Getting hungry.

Happily imagining future cheese consumption.

Alsacian France is like Germany, if you replace colors with off-white

and give the umlaut some friends.

So this is where all the heads went...

Pigs are our friends. Until you want some pieds de porc panes.

Colmar is home to Bertholdi, the man behind such inspirational statues as the Statue of Liberty. This statue inspires me to take off my pants.

Schloss Sigmaringen

2010-09-20T14:26:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, the southwestern German Fulbright alumni chapter held a special event--a trip to Schloss Sigmaringen. The castle/palace was the home (and is still owned by) the Hohenzollern family. The family lived there until after World War II. There was a death in the family and now they're deciding who will be the lucky fellow ("sorry, ladies," as our sexist tour guide said) to fill the powerless-yet-elegant shoes. Unfortunately, we weren't allowed to take pictures inside due to "copyright issues." I guess it relieved the pressure to produce good photography.

A few words on the aforementioned sexist tour guide. First of all, he was an impostor--he wasn't a real German. He was British and had been living in Germany for 30 years. He had been speaking German so long that he couldn't speak English properly. He also had a think British accent when he spoke German. If this is what happens when you become fluent--you become mediocre at 2 languages--then I'm sticking with English, y'all.

To begin with, he assumed we were dumb Americans. The tour was moving a bit slowly ("could you repeat that again? What did the ladies do in the bathroom? What was the sink for?"), yet he asked the Fulbright guy in German whether he was going too quickly for our comprehension. The Fulbrighter answered, "some of these people are getting their PhDs in History." "I was just wondering. Our last American group was from the Bush Administration." Hmpf.

Sexist/Arrogant things he said:

1. "This was the system for calling the servants at the turn of the century. The princess pressed this button, and the servants knew exactly where to go in the castle. I suggested installing one for my wife. She didn't take kindly to it."

2. "That was back in the day, when servants were trained."

3. "His wife had a name, and so did his sword."

4. "This is the largest private collection of weapons in Europe. Of course, ladies usually aren't interested."

Just to spite him, I bought a cannon keychain.

Downtown Sigmaringen

Rule: when you see fresh linen hanging out of windows, always take a picture.

Here are some views of Freiburg from the Schlossberg.

20:00 at the Wasch-n-Fun

2010-09-20T13:47:00.000-07:00

To do laundry in my apartment, I have to knock on some stranger's door and buy some tokens to put in the machines. Like a carnival, but not as fun.

Instead, I decided to trek to Stühlinger, one of my favorite areas in Freiburg and only 10 minutes or so from my apartment. I found a place called Wasch-n-Fun, and I thought hey, it's Monday, I'm down for a good time.

For a while, it was just me and the furious sound of the washing machine. Like everything in Europe, washers and dryers are very small--like little R2D2s, with little buttons and knobs and strange, sad noises. My wash went through a lot in that hour. It started very gentle with a kitten-like kneading of the laundry. But after 45 minutes, the machine was shaking so furiously that my detergent was doing the Virginia Reel from corner to corner. I had no one to turn to to affirm the normality of the washer violence, as I can on airplanes during turbulence, when I gage my fear based on a rough evaluation of the other passengers' grips of their hand rests.

Student-types filtered in and out with their IKEA bags, sharing a smile which translated to "yeah, I ran out of underwear too."

Then, an older woman came in with a bouquet of flowers and began to pick up stray pieces of lint. I asked her if she needed help; she answered in muddled German, "no, we already have me, three Koreans and one Indian man working here."

So went my laundry experience. Not quite the romantic, meet-cute adventure you see in the movies, but at least I won't have to wear my bathing suit tomorrow.

Communication Frustration

2010-09-14T15:00:00.000-07:00

I've discovered recently: once you* begin learning a language and you are stuck somewhere between first-day-of-class novice and nearly flawless fluency, communication is a hot, sticky mess.

Sure, you're happy when you understand what people are saying. You pick up on colloquialisms and try them out on your friends, who are in the same position as you--eager to learn, dying to be understood. You write it down in your notebook when you get home, promising yourself that you will look at it again and again until it becomes as second-nature as Ich liebe dich.

Ganz einfach. Only not.

You begin talking to native speakers, you settle comfortably into the conversation, and suddenly words are bouncing off the tip of your tongue like little frogs. You're rolling now, it's like you're speaking in tongues--but for real! People can understand you! Aber du sprichst sehr gut deutsch!

Then, your brain pulls a fast one. What is that word? How do you say "hole" auf deutsch? I think it's Lauch...or is that "leeks"? What about Lücke? But isn't that "gap"? You mean it isn't the same thing? What was I talking about?

And it's gone. The German is no longer quite as impressed as she was when you were going on and on about how strange you find German banks. You've lost her; she's speaking English now.

*It's probably just me.

Willkommen in Freiburg!

2010-09-11T00:57:00.000-07:00

I have been in Germany for a week now and already I've met so many new people and seen so many familiar faces. My trip started perfectly, with a visit from Evan who drove several hours from Massachusetts to the Newark airport to hang out, calm me down and bring me fresh produce. I will remember it for the rest of the year as my last American experience: sharing a red pepper and some watermelon near the baggage claim, listening to impromptu serenades by an airport custodian.

But once Evan had gone and I sat alone near the gate to Frankfurt, there was no one sharing food or exchanging witticisms with me. Immediately, it dawned on me that I would not be in Germany for a vacation or for a summer, but for nearly a year. Adolescent worries about the first day of school showed their ugly faces as I wondered: Will people like me? Will people think I'm stupid? Will they think my shoes are ugly?

Frankfurt

Since my arrival, it's been a rollarcoaster. Luckily, my dear friend Marc picked me up from the airport and totally hooked me up with a phone, a day of free transportation around Frankfurt and a comfy futon. It was nice to see old friends again--Marc, Denisse, Felix, Lisette, and others--and I couldn't have imagined a better welcome. As I recovered from my jetlag, I became reacquainted with Frankfurt and all of its green and gastronomical splendor.

Cacti in the Palmengarten

Marc posing pseudo-naturally on a bridge

Frankfurt skyline from the Palmengarten

The first test was done, but next came Freiburg. Having lived in paid-for student housing all four years of college, this apartment and banking stuff was new to me. It didn't help that you pay your rent in a way that I've never heard of--in Germany, there are no checks. People know one another's bank account numbers and they transfer money that way. I had a minor freak-out, and then it was over. I embraced my new life here.

The apartment is really cute--not a lot of rooms, but just enough for me. Schade that there's no oven--but there is a magnetic stovetop, a french press, a microwave, a fridge. I think I can deal with that. As long as I can have my morning oatmeal (Haferflocken) and coffee, life is pretty good.

Altenberg/Köln

Almost immediately after my arrival, I had to leave for Cologne for an orientation. I had booked my tickets ahead of time with an arrival 30 minutes before we were supposed to meet the other teaching assistants, thinking that would give me ample time. Not to mention the infamous pünktlichkeit of the German train system. However, it was for naught. Somewhere between Bonn and Cologne, there was a Personenschaden, which sounds like a horrific type of accident. So me and several others had to get off the train at Bonn and get on the U-Bahn, a much slower and less comfortable mode of transportation between the two cities. Luckily, I met a few other Fulbrights and we were eventually able to split a Taxi to Altenberg, a church/Hostel/conference center in the countryside.

I met so many wonderful people here and reconnected with William and Mary folks, which was awesome. My roommate Melissa and 2 others will be in Freiburg or the Freiburg area, creating a fun support group here. We had to participate in a classroom simulation, and my group planned a lesson on American dating, which was really fun. German teachers were our mentors in the classroom, and all of them were really helpful and enthusiastic about our being there. They emphasized positive reinforcement--abundant in American classrooms but lacking greatly in German classrooms. One teacher said, "you may be the light in their day. They're just waiting for someone to tell them they did something well."

Freiburg

Freiburg is a thriving university city of about 220,000. Surrounded by wine and leading to the deep Schwarzwald, Freiburg is such an idyllic place to live. People surround you on bikes--students, families, bums--yet people seem to take their time here. It's very gemütlich, to use a German term (warm, friendly, cozy). It also enjoys the best weather in Germany, which doesn't hurt.

My neighborhood is wonderful and I couldn't have a better location. I'm near the Hauptbahnhof, the Uni and the Altstadt. Across the street is a beautiful museum, and nearby you can hear the flowing Bächle, or these little water gutters. They apparently cool the city in the summer. The legend is this: if you fall into one of these gutters, you are destined to marry a native Freiburger; being an American at heart, I need to watch my step.

The Gymnasium where I will be teaching is wonderful. The teachers are lovely and my Beratungslehrer is obsessed with country music and used to host a country music radio show. I will probably work 12 hours a week, 4 days a week. I am part of the Fulbright diversity program, which seeks to introduce the US to students who have had little to no contact with the country and its culture. Students with migrant backgrounds don't make it to the Gymnasium in large numbers in Germany; however, my Gymnasium has the largest number of immigrant students than the other Gymnasiums in the area. On Monday I go in early to watch the students receive their class assignments, which is supposed to be a pretty big deal. On Wednesday, my Beratungslehrer will show me the town before we participate in an English department conference.

One of the Uni buildings. The inscription above the entrance reads, "Die Wahrheit wird euch frei machen," or "The truth will make you free."

Rathausplatz

The Theater

Small vineyard in my neighborhood

Museum next to my apartment

The Uni

Random meat truck, for your occasional Bratwurst craving

Bächle

Around my neighborhood

So, as of now, I have a few things in mind for my stay in Freiburg:

1. Become a guest student at the university

2. Take free dance classes every Thursday downtown

3. Visit schools other than my own (Grundschulen, Realschulen, etc) to see the differences in teaching and administration, and to introduce myself

4. Make German friends (Last night was a start--Melissa and I went to an overpriced bar and tried to liven the place up with our best dance moves. Only some found it amusing)

5. See Joachim Löw, coach of the German national soccer team and resident of Freiburg

6. Get a bike?

7. TRAVEL!

I'll try and write in this every week, maybe make it a Saturday activity. Bis nächstes Mal!

Expectations

2010-08-09T20:09:00.000-07:00

This summer started out as most summers do: big plans for productivity and personal growth. There were extensive book lists, GRE flashcards, German novels to weigh me down as I listened to the cicadas outside. Well, I wasn't completely misguided.

With each passing day, I seem to view the world with a new pair of eyes. The things that happen to us--the job we take, the people we meet, even the food that we eat--shape our understanding of ourselves. As it turns out, I spent my time with some amazing people who have really inspired my creativity and lifestyle--such as my desire to take pictures and become a vegetarian (more on that later).

I just returned from six weeks at the Center for Talented Youth summer enrichment camp in Lancaster, PA. I arrived there in June with few expectations and with little hope of making real friends. By now, you'd think I'd have learned! One thing I have learned through travel is (as cliche as it sounds) to expect the unexpected.

For now, I will focus only on my lack of expectations of Lancaster. I thought that perhaps I would have to fight black horse-drawn buggies for parking spaces; instead, Lancaster had quite a bit to offer.

At least, picture-wise.

Pianos were scattered all over the city for people to pass by and play if the spirit moved them. Sometimes you would hear Beethoven, but usually "Chopsticks" (or in my case, "My Heart Will Go On") set the ambiance.

Downtown Lancaster is pretty diverse. The historic downtown area is home to a great variety of people and is not limited to upper-middle class liberals hoping to turn an old warehouse into an organic restaurant. There is little separation between socio-economic classes; it is almost hard to tell which houses have been revamped and which are lower-income. People shop where they live; as a result, there are numerous small markets, restaurants, used bookstores and cafes. Lancaster also provided me with my daily dose of Americana, which I will greatly miss when I'm in Germany.

Wohnung gefunden!

2010-06-19T17:51:00.000-07:00

Great news! I officially have a place to live in Freiburg. It's affordable and right in the middle of the city! I won't be far from the school and very close to the University and the Altstadt. The Gymnasium where I will be teaching is right next to a park where a lot of students live, grill and play sports; my apartment is a two-minute walk from the main train station. I couldn't have a better location! My roommate seems friendly. She's studying to be a dentist and loves sports--she's going to teach me how to ski! My room is furnished and quite big with a lot of sunlight. I'm looking forward to moving in and uploading some pictures!

I also found out that I can be a guest student at the University. Basically, that means I don't have to enroll or pay the 500 euro. They have a lot of awesome classes open for guest students. Ideally I would take a French class (I'll be about 20 minutes from France) and a class on education or immigration, but I think the French classes are pretty sought after.

Here is the school where I'll be teaching. They place a lot of emphasis on the arts and French--students actually learn English as their second foreign language. So I'll just be the lowly English teacher...

http://www.wentz.fr.schule-bw.de/

You can imagine my excitement when I saw that the film score concert included Titanic. I'm pretty pumped that I'm going to be at such a rockin' school.

Opa!

2010-06-06T11:00:00.000-07:00

I chose the name "Wanderlust" for this blog because in German, Wanderlust translates loosely to "desire to wander/travel." My goal is to share stories of my time in Freiburg, Germany with the Fulbright program. I will be an English teaching assistant at a nearby Gymnasium, the German equivalent of a high school. I will also teach the Kinder all about American culture. I'm pumped--I also hope to do some volunteering and sign up at the University as a guest student. To be a guest student--just attending classes without the rights or responsibilities of an enrolled student--costs only 26 euros.

Apparently, Freiburg is closer to Italy than to Berlin. Maybe I'll even pick up some French!

Right now, I'm searching for an apartment that is cheap-ish; well-located, either near the school or the university; furnished; houses a couple of nice Germans; and finally, needs a tenant for the dates I will be there. Sound easy? It's not. I just had a Skype date with the first place that fits those categories. I think it went well...? The bedroom is large and has some great furniture, and the kitchen is just slightly larger than my Tazewell kitchen (wouldn't take much, would it?). The girl I spoke with was really nice, but it's her room

I'd be taking, so I wouldn't be living with her. The apartment is very centrally located--2 minutes from the train station and very close to the Uni and downtown Altstadt. I should find out on the 26th, she said. Even if it doesn't work out, there will be other apartments.

So although I won't be in Germany until September 2nd, there is still traveling to be done right here in the good ol' US of A! I will start with the Greek Festival in Richmond, which I crashed with three of my best friends--Alison, Paige and Katie. We call ourselves the Fearsome Foursome; rather, we were called the Fearsome Foursome and it sort of stuck in a

big way.

We haven't seen each other since the day after Graduation, so when Alison suggested meeting on Thursday for the GreekFest, I naturally jumped. Also because I love baclava. And spanakopita. And dolmades...basically all Greek food. I have to admit, I was skeptical that Katie would like Greek food--she's pretty picky--but we were all very proud of her!

Greek salad, dolmades, spanakopita and Greek green beans.

Me and Alison after our delicious meal. If you look closely, you can see a bit of my dolmades nestled next to my eye tooth. Snack for later.

Where can I get me a frock like that?

To our great surprise, Katie not only finished everything on her plate, but started to eat off of Paige's plate, too!

I wish I'd gotten a picture of the fortune teller and his wife who sold me and Paige some earrings. Not only were we asked our opinions on open relationships, but we had our palms read. Apparently, Paige will have few relationships (probably long-lasting, healthy relationships), while I will have many. Also, my dreams (not my ambitions, but my weird night dreams which involve car accidents, celebrities and tornadoes) tend to come true. Hmmm.

And so it begins.

2010-05-23T09:07:00.000-07:00

In my room, there are bags still to be unpacked, but it is more or less becoming more of a refuge every day. Right now, the temperature is somewhere between pleasant and stifling. The AC is only effective when it is on high, although after 15 minutes, it feels like I'm living in an ice cream truck. Also, the knob is broken. Like many things in our house, I need to enlist outside help (in this case, a wrench) to turn it on. I even needed help adjusting the wrench, because it was so rusty. Welcome home!

I'm looking forward to reclaiming this room. It is such a strange time of life. I am now a college graduate who left home four years ago, each year packing all that I deemed to be necessary in boxes and arranging it differently every time. Having a space that reflects who i am has always been very important to me--the way that each space has morphed over time expresses (i think) a growth in maturity and creativity. Or perhaps just better feng shui? Maybe the only thing I've learned is to separate treasure and crap.

I will miss sharing my space with Alison. For four years, we had fun, late-night conversations about everything from guys to food to existential dilemmas, almost always ending in one of two questions: "So, are we really going to go to the gym tomorrow?" (Alison) or "what are you going to dream about tonight?" (me. I am still confident that you can plot out your dreams ahead of time, although the how is questionable). Sometimes talk didn't end with sleep--it often continued as entertaining mumblings, not always in English.

I miss Williamsburg already. I feel so much more at home at the Rec Center, for example, than I do at the Y. No matter what state I was in on Sunday morning, no one at the Rec seemed to notice or care. On my first day at the Y, there was hardly a person who I didn't recognize from school, work or some other context. I found myself feeling self-conscious the other day when I planned my transition from the elliptical to the weights, ultimately deciding against them when I noticed some guys from my high school hulking around them, comparing biceps. Also, Bodypump was cancelled here (tragedy!), so I'm feeling a little lost.

Mostly, I miss my friends. But I'm not too sad, because I know that Alison's birthday is just around the corner. Every time we reunite, it will be as if no time has passed at all.