One Housemate

Have you been wondering what ever happened to the Polish guy who won the fencing world championship back in the late seventies? Wonder no more, he is (well, he was) one of my housemates. A new gym has just opened in Minden and former Polish fencing champion is here to do personal training and teach fencing to small children.

He seems like a nice enough guy, he liked Formal 1 racing, and baking strange meat concoctions out of ground beef, mayonnaise, and pickles. (Him to me: You’re really going to put mustard on that tomato sandwich? Americans eat strange things.)

Then one day, I heard the landlord banging on his door, and later on, like Kaiser Sose, he was gone. The story? Apparently, he kept getting disoriented in the middle of the night and wandering into another roommate’s room. After this happened enough times she complained to the landlord who threw him out. “Disoriented?” the landlord said to me later “Yeah, right.” So much for our brush with celebrity.

My Landlords

I really, really want to talk about my landlords who finally returned from their three week trailer trip around Poland. They invited me down for coffee and to get the rental contract taken care of, but wow, they’re funny. They’re an older couple who have lived in this house for a long time, raised their children here and decided to turn the upper floors and the basement into guest rooms. The man seems like a typical, happy, joking German grandpa. Sometimes I see him sprawled out on a lawn chair in the afternoon taking a nap. His wife is a bit like Martha Stewart, very into decorating and gardening. She spent the whole afternoon in her bathing suit, planting hedges in the garden, which is fairly elaborate, with a goldfish pond, etc. They have the meanest, scariest dog I have ever met in my life. When I was in the yard, they said that they would let him out to sniff me, and that I could pet him, but that I should by no means get up from where I was sitting. Apparently, he’s fine with strangers if they are sitting quietly, but if they get up he thinks they are trying to steal things and will attack them. “Just stay where you are and try not to move very much,” they told me. “Either a dog is a watch dog, or he isn’t.”
Also, the fire-safety plan that I mentioned earlier, is apparently not too far off the mark. “If there’s ever a fire,” they told me, “the staircase is made of wood and will pull the fire up just like a chimney. You’ll all be stuck up there on the fourth floor.” Here’s a picture of the flammable staircase:

In order to keep those of us living upstairs from being roasted alive, they have provided us with a thick rope which we are supposed to tie around one of the exposed beams in the ceiling (“make sure you tie it really tight”) and use to climb down the roof and onto the glass roof of their enclosed porch (“don’t jump too hard on the glass roof, because it might break”) from which I guess we can jump safely into the yard with the man-eating watch dog. They also warned me not to fall out of my bedroom window (“there’s supposed to be a grate across it, but we didn’t like the way it looked and so we took it down.) Good to know.

Fun With Plants

One of my favorite things so far about being here is that I keep running into things that I’ve forgotten about from my childhood. Here is one of those things:

When I was younger, my friends and I called this a “Knallerbsen” plant, which I think translates roughly to “Exploding Peas.” In Griesheim, where we lived, there were only a few of these bushes, and one of them was in the yard belonging to a town police officer. Once a year, whenever the bushes would grow these white “peas,” we liked to pick them and then either throw them on the ground as hard as we could, or stomp on them. Why? Well, they make a really loud, cool popping sound that resembles bubble wrap. It’s really fun, even now. Back then there was the added rush of having to steal something from a police officer’s yard, but they seem to grow all over the place here.

Another fun plant (no picture, sorry) has thin green pods that shoot tiny black seeds if you pop them. I think I’ve lost the knack for it; I need to practice more. Also represented in Minden is the dreaded “Sting Weed,” but so far I’ve managed to avoid any close encounters.

Maybe You Don't Want to Visit pt.2

Have I mentioned that a major stress in my life right now is throwing things away? Seriously, it’s a big problem. We have five garbage containers in our kitchen!
So, as far as I can tell, it happens this way: compost-type things, like orange peels, go in a little brown container, which has specific bio-degradable bags that you have to buy. Empty plastic containers, like candy bar wrappers and yogurt cups, go in a big yellow bag. Paper goes somewhere, I’m not really sure where, and everything else goes in a little section of a big, white garbage can. I think paper must go in the big section of that can, but no one ever throws paper away in my house, apparently. Okay, this is great, yes, very eco-friendly. The problem is, there are things that are confusing, like toothpaste tubes (Plastic? Waste?) and paper towels (Paper? Waste? Bio?) and, well, just about everything I want to throw away, really. What about the lids of yogurt containers? It’s a mystery.
To keep from annoying my roommates with incessant questions about the garbage (I think they already hurry away to their rooms when they see me looking like I’m about to throw something away), I have a tiny secret garbage can upstairs in my room, where I put things I don’t know what to do with. I know, I know, someday it will be full; I’ve got that covered. My plan is to sneak out late one night and slip it into one of the twenty garbage cans outside our house under the cover of darkness. Stealth disposer. Hopefully they won’t kick me out of Germany.

Detmold

This weekend I took a trip down to Detmold to spend time with friends from orientation. Detmold is cool, small, like Minden, but with a castle and a moat. It's even got the "Party Bus," a late-night bus with florescent stars pasted on the side, techno music playing, and a bus driver who really seems to want everyone to feel like they're on a mobile disco. Most passengers were sleeping, but the idea was nice. It was a fun trip, and good to be able to speak English for a bit.

The weirdest part of the trip, though, was the train station in Minden when I got back. I was trying to leave the train station, and suddenly there were police everywhere, not just hanging out, all of them with heavy-duty guns and serious faces. They seemed to be blockading the stairs leading up to the exit, but other people were walking past, so I did too. Then suddenly there was a parade of angry people marching past the train station with banners and a loudspeaker, all of them shouting things and waving flags. I couldn’t really figure out what they were saying, but another man near me started yelling things back at the parade, and the police restrained him, while a man with a camera ran over to shoot footage. I just kept walking, and passed three separate groups of people having arguments about whether or not foreigners are taking jobs away from Germans. Otherwise, the streets were deserted except for me and a million police (they were like movie set police, too: the men huge and rugged, the women beautiful with flawless makeup). Finally I came to a road blockade, and had to talk police officers into letting me pass. “We can let you out,” one told me, “but you can never come back.” That was really no problem for me.

I saw on the news later that right-extremist groups were holding demonstrations in several cities, and it turned out that city officials expected much more trouble than they got, thus all the police. I think the strangest part was being so disoriented: not really knowing where I was going, what people were saying, and what was happening, except the general sense that people were angry about foreigners.

The immigration issue in Germany is interesting, especially when thinking about immigration attitudes in the U.S. There are lots of good articles and statistics online, but for a basic general overview, you can look here.

Maybe You Don't Want to Visit

I’d like to talk for a minute about the shower in my bathroom. Here is a picture:

I guess shower, is a maybe a loose word for this contraption, which I think most people in my apartment do use as a shower, i.e. not a bath/shower combination. I don’t know them well enough yet to ask, but I’ve been planning out a line of questioning for a few days now. At first inspection, I thought, okay, you just stand up at the far end of the tub and use the shower attachment. I didn’t take height into account though. I’m too tall to stand up in this shower. What ends up happening is a complicated combination of squatting and kneeling. It’s a little painful.

While we’re at it, let’s talk about this sticker that’s on the inside lid of our toilet:

When I first saw it, I thought it was a joke that wasn’t really funny. In general though, our apartment and the apartment building are very serious. In fact, I don’t think there’s anything funny anywhere. Actual instructions, then? I guess it’s up for debate.

Let me just mention a sign that was posted over the door inside the bus back from Altenberg as tangential evidence. It read: "Vor dem Hinausstreten sind die Kleider zu ordnen." In other words: before getting out of the bus, make sure your clothes are orderly. There’s lots of advice being given out around here. There are hard-core rebels hiding out somewhere, I know it.

The Place Where I Live

Here’s a photo of my house in Minden. The square window at the very top is my room. For anywhere I live, I like to draft up a personal fire escape plan in the event of fire emergency. This has been a tough one. Right now the best I can come up with is that I’ll climb on the bookshelf, out the side window and onto the roof, where I’ll leap to a nearby pine tree and climb down to safety. A slight consolation is that I won’t have to worry about constructing a sling out of bedsheets and dental floss for Gromit. I miss him!

Here’s an inside look at my room. Sources tell me that it’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter, but I really like the exposed wooden beams. I also like the desk in front of the big window where I can write misspelled, weird English-translator-voice masterpieces. Fabulous.

School

Here is a picture of Herder-Gymnasium, the school where I am working this year in Minden.

The red part of the building is the old school, and the yellow is the new addition. Inside is a funny collection of stairs and hallways that don’t always connect to one another. My first few days I was always walking up a flight of stairs or down a hallway and finding myself in some dead end with a bunch of broken furniture and having to turn around and go a different way. The school serves grades 5-12, although there are also some students in grade 13. I’ll end up working with a variety of different classes and instructors throughout the year, but right now I have a sixth, a seventh, a tenth and a twelfth grade class.

There are lots of differences between schools here and American schools. Some basics: school goes from 7:45-13:00 (everything’s on 24 hour time), with two fifteen minute breaks. Teachers are all responsible for teaching two subjects; one of my mentors teaches English and Biology for example, the other, English and German. Teachers don’t have their own classrooms, everyone has a seat a table in the teacher’s lounge and several have their own box where they can leave things like books, CD players etc. Most English instruction that I’ve seen has been very text-based, reading passages, doing workbook exercises, etc., although I don’t think that’s always true. Homework is marked on the honor system and rarely spot-checked or collected. Students start learning English in fifth grade and continue all the way until they finish school.

At first I just get to observe to figure things out before I start teaching. Recently I followed a sixth grade class around all day, just so see what an average day is like for students. This is what they did during the six periods: French (or Latin), Religion, English, English, Music, History. The schedule is different for them every day, but I was amazed at all the time spent studying languages. No math! No science! No German reading and writing! They have those things, of course, on other days, but still, there’s definitely a much greater focus on learning foreign language and culture. I was also interested in the religion class. I talked to a colleague and it sounds like religious instruction focuses mainly on Catholicism and Protestantism, depending on the grade. In some places they also include Islam, if it’s followed by a significant proportion of the population. The class I attended wasn’t on nuts and bolts theoretical issues, so much as ethics. Why do people get made fun of? What do you do if someone is getting picked on by others? There was no praying, no mention of Jesus even, although I’m sure that comes in other classes. Music was thirty thirteen-year-olds with recorders. I might skip that one next time around.

Learning Things in Altenberg

Most of this week I spent at a mandatory orientation required by the-prestigious-organization-funding-my-year-in-Germany. Haus Altenberg is an old convent that has been converted to a kind of convention center. Here’s a photo of Altenberg taken from the inside cloister.

Because of the religious nature of the space there were some very specific rules. One was that the front gate would be closed and locked every night at 9:45 pm. If you were outside, too bad. Another thing was that bells were rung every morning at 6, 6:30, 7, and 7:30 – about ten minutes of ringing each time (of varying tempos and volumes – I think there was an actual bell ringer up there taking care of that job.) After the first morning I actually ended up liking all the ringing. My first night here a few of us threw a Frisbee around in the courtyard. Everyone cringed every time the disc hit the old stone, although I guess the cathedral has seen worse.

It might be in bad taste to note that the-prestigious-organization-funding-my-year-in-Germany is, in fact, somewhat disorganized. During one particularly memorable speech, a prestigious individual seemed unaware that he needed to speak directly into the microphone. His speech was obviously unplanned, and went something like this: “mumble-mumble -be sure to- mumble mumble mumble –bummed around Europe- mumble mumble –an apt sports metaphor- mumble mumble.” After speaking, he fell asleep. I only mention this because it made me think that anyone reading this could have done a better job than this guy, and still could, if that’s something you aspire to.

All in all, orientation ended up being pretty good. I met some fun people, and learned a few things. It’s good though to be back in Minden, where I can go outside at 10 p.m. if I want. Here’s another photo of the cathedral, this time from the outside:

Deutschland, Endlich

Hier bin Ich! It was really a strange experience to get on a plane, sit for eight hours, and get off and suddenly speak a language I haven’t seriously spoken for a long time. I had a moment of panic on the plane when I suddenly thought “Holy crap! I can’t speak German well enough to live in Germany!” Immediately I decided to read absolutely everything in the German Lufthansa magazine in the seat pocket. The Berlin airport has some new artwork, apparently. Then I decided that I needed to watch all of “Akeelah and the Bee” in German. Obviously that would solve everything.

It has been okay, so far though. My roommate seems really nice. She teaches Latin and history at a school in a nearby town, and is married to a German diplomat who is stationed in Latvia (I think). Most frustrating about speaking German is that I can’t say big, useful, adult words. Nordrhein-Westfalen, the Bundesland where I’m living, has just started regulating the big test that students all take at the end of 10th grade, which basically determines whether or not they go on to college. My roommate was telling me how people are worried about this, and I wanted to talk about some experiences a good friend of mine has had with standardized tests and curriculum while teaching in Philadelphia. I started to explain, but midway through realized I didn’t know how to say “standardized” or “economic” or “racial inequality” in German. I kept going, but I could tell she had no idea what I was trying to say. I’m going to make flash cards or something to practice.

Another weird thing that’s happened is that as soon as I stepped off the plane, I seem to have forgotten how to spell in either language. And, most upsetting, is that when I think or write in English, I hear my thoughts in that weird English translator voice that they use in airports. “Please secure your own air mask before helping passengers who may need assistance.” That voice.

My favorite part of the plane trip was the card with the seat pocket instructions for things like “Breathe and Relax,” “Reduce Your Fear of Flying,” and “Get Your Circulation Going.” They were very specific. Here, for example:

“Sleep peacefully: Cross your ankles, let the knees relax and fall slightly to each side. Place hands lightly on the thighs, close your eyes, breathe deeply. Imagine sketching the outline of a large ball with chalk.”

These instructions didn’t help so much at the time, but maybe I need more practice imagining sketching a large ball with chalk.