Evidently, there is a secret to meeting beautiful women on a German university campus. Are you ready?
Take a law class.
Go ahead, read that sentence again. I'll wait.
I discovered this little tidbit of college lore a few weeks ago, near the end of my Sprachkurs at language school. My instructor took the class to the University of Cologne for an informational scavenger hunt, the type where rather than collecting particular objects, participants seek the answers to a list of questions. The purpose of this excursion was to begin inoculating us to university life, before our imminent plunge therein. One question asked, "In which academic departments can the best-looking students, male and female, be found?" I wondered what questions of this sort were supposed to prepare us for, but that's for another day.
Every student asked answered consistently that the most attractive men studied Sport1 and women Jura, or law. Apparently, these are commonly accepted stereotypes in German higher education. Since I am not on the market, nor am I at a large university, the veracity of this claim is, for me, largely academic.2 The results intrigued me, however, for what you will undoubtedly conclude is a far less interesting reason. I am considering becoming a lawyer, but something holds me back: I think America has too many lawyers already. I raise this topic because my observations of German legal education have given credence to my concerns.
Before we dive into that topic, a little background: ever since I read my first John Grisham novel at age ten,3 I have considered law as a potential career path. I took a number of courses on law and legal philosophy in college, and I also spent two summer internships in law offices. Since my arrival, I have also done some casual research into German legal practice. I have observed some differences between the day-to-day practice of American and German lawyers, but the more notable distinction is between American and German law students.
University structure undoubtedly plays a role in this difference. General education receives far less emphasis in German universities than it does in the States. German students enter university with both their major area of study and their terminal degree in mind. Thus, German law students do not have a four-year period to study something else prior to law; they study it immediately. This means the opportunity cost of studying law in Germany is much higher than in the United States. A student cannot decide to become a lawyer after four years of studying German literature without finding himself significantly behind his peers in the field. I suspect this diminishes the number of German students who find themselves studying law.
I use the phrase "find themselves" because I believe many American students in law school end up there almost by accident. In my personal experience, American students often have very vague notions regarding why they attend law school. I suspect the promises of high pay and a respected profession often play a large role in the decision. Additionally, I have often heard Americans talk about how a law student need not necessarily practice law after getting a law degree.
Leaving aside the accuracy of that claim, the very idea of studying law to do something else is pretty foreign to the German mindset. You study law to practice law. Law is not considered a stepping stone to other careers in Germany as it sometimes is in the States. For instance, I know many bright and ambitious Americans my age who are considering running for public office some day. Many of them think a law degree will boost their political career. Not so much in Germany. Here, most politicians rise out of the civil service. While a civil career is not a requisite for public office -- Chancellor Merkel's training, for instance, was as a physicist4 -- it is seen as the standard approach, much the way law is viewed by many in the States.
The comparison between German and American law students leads me to certain conclusions. There are more lawyers in America partially because Americans see law as a more versatile education than Germans do. Additionally, my observations here have reiterated a concern I have had for some time: legal education is creating a brain drain in the United States. Every year, thousands of bright, capable students who want meaningful, fulfilling careers choose to pursue law not because they want to practice law, or even because they find it interesting, but because of the structure of the educational system. Unsure of what to do after college, law school provides an answer to that difficult question, and the students are assured the answer they have chosen will be both rewarding and respected, and possibly financially lucrative.
I have heard similar concerns from some pretty reputable sources. Last year, Justice Antonin Scalia of the United States Supreme Court visited Claremont McKenna, and I had the honor of sitting at his table at a formal luncheon in his honor. Perhaps the most enlightening part of the afternoon was when he was asked, "What would you say to a young person today considering going to law school?" After pausing for a moment, Justice Scalia answered, "I think too many promising young minds are wasted on it."
I was astounded. Here was one of the sharpest legal minds in the country bemoaning his own profession. To my gratitude, Justice Scalia explained himself. Of course he considers the law a worthwhile pursuit, but it is his belief that the best law schools are drawing many of the best students of my generation away from pursuits where they could be put to better use. The best legal minds in the country should not be writing merger contracts for deals in major New York firms. There is nothing wrong with such work, but an overemphasis on it can be to society's detriment. In a sense, these career choices, societally speaking, are a zero-sum gain: every bright young person on Wall Street is one less medical researcher, one less government reformer, one less entrepreneur or composer. Put too many of them there, and these other fields suffer.
In light of all this, I look at the massive number of lawyers in America -- I have read some estimates that put the number at nearly 1 million in practice -- and I wonder whether my services, and those of my peers, could not be put to better use elsewhere. Of course, one million is just a number. Perhaps in our modern economy, that is how many lawyers are required. Besides, I still think law is a noble and worthwhile profession. But after considering the German perspective on a legal career, I want to make sure it's where I can do the most good.
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1Yes, it turns out you can major in soccer at some German universities. Not sure what I think of this yet, or how it compares to the practice of lick-and-a-stamp degree conferrals at some of the Big 10. More on this later.
2Ba dum ching.
3What? It's not like I didn't watch Power Rangers, too.
4Props to Jeff of "The Ruling Zeitgeist" for fact-checking me on this one. Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Because It Is My Name
As I have said here before, I am not an official student at the Cologne Academy of Music. I am enrolled at the Center for International Arts Management, which is an institute for graduate study only. Since they do not permit students to register fully for only one semester -- and since I probably will not be taking final exams anyway -- I was forced to register as a Gasthörer, literally someone who has formal permission to visit the classroom. It might give some sense of scale if I use a completely unrelated analogy. The Gasthörer is to the German university classroom as an unnamed ensign is to the USS Enterprise. No one knows his name. No one cares to know his name. He has nothing to say, and the most valuable contribution he can make is to die on an away mission to highlight the seriousness of the situation.1
My status as a Gasthörer has made a number of situations, ranging from administrative to social, somewhat awkward. New acquaintances never react well upon learning my registration status. Sometimes they suddenly seem uncomfortable in my presence, while others have actually made piteous "aww" noises. I have discovered the best reaction I can hope for in these exchanges is shock, as in, "I am shocked to hear that you are one of them."
Such was my experience while speaking to a student yesterday. Ralf, a local installation artist who is pursuing a master's at CIAM, met the news that I was a Gasthörer with a flattering degree of indignation. As many artists are wont to do, Ralf immediately sought to remedy this grave injustice. He assembled a number of other CIAM students whom I had not met, introduced me, then explained my plight2 to the group.
They unanimously agreed that the term suited me poorly. Instead, my status would be better referred to as a stipendiatender Austauschstudent, or a "fellowship-holding exchange student." Despite the mild horror I always experience when hearing Germans concoct such serpentine phrases, I was intrigued. The group explained that, in general, German sentiment towards American exchange students is tolerant at best. The average American student in German classrooms is there for a semester abroad, often with little or no grasp of the language. Conversely, my little ad hoc counsel told me that American students who speak German are usually met as a pleasant surprise, particularly if they are intelligent enough to be in Germany on a scholarship.3 They were quick to add that this change of title was also not a deceit. Rather, the real fault lay with the administration for diluting my status.
My confidence bolstered by this conversation, I decided to try out my new title. After class, I headed to the little coffee bistro on the ground floor, and introduced myself to the first friendly face I saw. Upon hearing that I was not a lowly Gasthörer but a mighty stipendiatender Austauschstudent, the girl's eyes widened, and a shriek of glee escaped from her lips. She called her friends over, and they immediately began clamoring to introduce themselves, ask me questions, or just to touch the hem of my coat, even for an instant. The crowd around me quickly grew until I was forced to hastily retreat, lest I be arrested for causing a fire hazard.
...Or not. Though actually, I have discovered I am met with more warmth and curiosity than I was before. German culture makes a big to-do of titles and certificates, especially with regard to education, so I probably should have been less surprised. In any case, it feels good to have risen a little through the ranks. I also have a freshly minted and equally unrelated analogy for my new status: The stipendiatender Austauschstudent is to the German university as the comely alien woman is to the USS Enterprise. This character is only here for a short while, and her allure results from her exotic background and accompanying entertainment value. Kirk will probably sleep with her, but at least she's not getting eaten by a space lizard.
I can live with that.
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1The German word for away mission is "Seminar."
2Ralf's word choice, not mine. Technically, he called my situation a Bedrängnis, which could also be translated as "affliction," but I thought that made for too weepy a translation. I am beleaguered by paper pushers, not tuberculosis.
3I decided to be discrete about CBYX's dubious status as a "scholarship," as they were all being so nice.
My status as a Gasthörer has made a number of situations, ranging from administrative to social, somewhat awkward. New acquaintances never react well upon learning my registration status. Sometimes they suddenly seem uncomfortable in my presence, while others have actually made piteous "aww" noises. I have discovered the best reaction I can hope for in these exchanges is shock, as in, "I am shocked to hear that you are one of them."
Such was my experience while speaking to a student yesterday. Ralf, a local installation artist who is pursuing a master's at CIAM, met the news that I was a Gasthörer with a flattering degree of indignation. As many artists are wont to do, Ralf immediately sought to remedy this grave injustice. He assembled a number of other CIAM students whom I had not met, introduced me, then explained my plight2 to the group.
They unanimously agreed that the term suited me poorly. Instead, my status would be better referred to as a stipendiatender Austauschstudent, or a "fellowship-holding exchange student." Despite the mild horror I always experience when hearing Germans concoct such serpentine phrases, I was intrigued. The group explained that, in general, German sentiment towards American exchange students is tolerant at best. The average American student in German classrooms is there for a semester abroad, often with little or no grasp of the language. Conversely, my little ad hoc counsel told me that American students who speak German are usually met as a pleasant surprise, particularly if they are intelligent enough to be in Germany on a scholarship.3 They were quick to add that this change of title was also not a deceit. Rather, the real fault lay with the administration for diluting my status.
My confidence bolstered by this conversation, I decided to try out my new title. After class, I headed to the little coffee bistro on the ground floor, and introduced myself to the first friendly face I saw. Upon hearing that I was not a lowly Gasthörer but a mighty stipendiatender Austauschstudent, the girl's eyes widened, and a shriek of glee escaped from her lips. She called her friends over, and they immediately began clamoring to introduce themselves, ask me questions, or just to touch the hem of my coat, even for an instant. The crowd around me quickly grew until I was forced to hastily retreat, lest I be arrested for causing a fire hazard.
...Or not. Though actually, I have discovered I am met with more warmth and curiosity than I was before. German culture makes a big to-do of titles and certificates, especially with regard to education, so I probably should have been less surprised. In any case, it feels good to have risen a little through the ranks. I also have a freshly minted and equally unrelated analogy for my new status: The stipendiatender Austauschstudent is to the German university as the comely alien woman is to the USS Enterprise. This character is only here for a short while, and her allure results from her exotic background and accompanying entertainment value. Kirk will probably sleep with her, but at least she's not getting eaten by a space lizard.
I can live with that.
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1The German word for away mission is "Seminar."
2Ralf's word choice, not mine. Technically, he called my situation a Bedrängnis, which could also be translated as "affliction," but I thought that made for too weepy a translation. I am beleaguered by paper pushers, not tuberculosis.
3I decided to be discrete about CBYX's dubious status as a "scholarship," as they were all being so nice.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Damn You, Robert Moses or: A Feather in the German Cap
Thus far, my exultations of German culture on this site have been... restrained. Perhaps a symptom of culture shock is reticence to laud one's new home's achievements. Maybe it's because they're weird foreign people who smell funny. Whatever the cause, today I break my silence. Today, the Germans get their due.
Public transportation in this country is awesome.
You may find this a mild source of adulation, but I give this complement with a healthy amount of perspective. I grew up on Long Island, New York. It is not hyperbole to say that Robert Moses designed modern New York as we know it. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the man, Moses was a civil engineer whose vast political influence allowed him to design the New York transportation system as it is today. He is not, however, remembered particularly fondly. Though he managed at one time to amass a full 25% of the federal urban planning budget in New York projects, the results of that work, as New Yorkers would say, pissed off a lotta people.
Forget Levittown; it was Moses' decision to favor highways over railways that led to New York becoming the largest commuter culture in the world of its time.1 It was Moses who designed the Long Island public beaches (one is even named after him), and it was Moses who decided to build his highways through neighborhoods in Brooklyn and the Bronx, eventually leading to a generation of urban decay. A lot of people have never forgiven Moses for the ramifications of these decisions. It's said he deliberately made the toll bridges to the beach too low for buses in order to keep the black community out. My grandfather's just mad he made the Dodgers skip town.2
Obviously, I come to bury Robert Moses, not to praise him. But I raise his example not because of his bigotry, but because of his single most influential decision: he favored automoblies as a mode of transportation over trains. I can only imagine this seemed a forward-looking perspective in the thirties and forties. Today, however, the result is near unfathomable congestion and traffic completely surrounding the city. Long Island alone -- which, by the way, is geologically nothing more than a silt deposit scraped off a passing glacier's shoe -- has over 7.5 million inhabitants. That's more than Ireland, and they all live on a strip of land the size of Yellowstone National Park.
Urban planning has a better history here in Germany. Following the near total destruction of the country's major cities in World War II, the Wessis3 advanced on the old railway system to produce thorough transit lines around all of the densely populated areas, as well as an efficient system of connections between all of Germany's medium- and large-sized cities. Modern consensus is the latter was either a wise investment or a Keynesian Wunderwerk. In either case, the trains streamlined reconstruction, and make travel around Germany an inexpensive and relatively environmentally friendly affair.
I raised this topic now not despite the strikes going on at Deutsche Bahn, the national train line, but rather because of them. The recent series of strikes is the first in the company's history, and while the German press has been in quite a huff, it is still possible to get pretty much wherever you want to go. Since arriving, I have not once found myself thinking, "I wish I had a car." Regional travel is cheap, accessible, and even during a strike, service is reliable. I'll miss that.
As a last note on the subject of civil engineers with bad reputations: Cologne's current most influential civil architect has the unfortunate burden of being named Albert Speer Jr. If the name sounds familiar, it's probably because you've heard of his father. Please note Speer the younger had apparently little relationship with his father and is highly respected for his work throughout the architectural community.
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1I don't have the figures, but having braved LA freeways, I have to think the City of Angels has since claimed this title. If they haven't, I really don't want to know who has.
2For the full story on Moses, read Robert Caro's biography. I've only read portions of this 1300-page tome, but the book gets almost nothing but praise, and is the definitive work on Moses.
3West Germans.
Public transportation in this country is awesome.
You may find this a mild source of adulation, but I give this complement with a healthy amount of perspective. I grew up on Long Island, New York. It is not hyperbole to say that Robert Moses designed modern New York as we know it. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the man, Moses was a civil engineer whose vast political influence allowed him to design the New York transportation system as it is today. He is not, however, remembered particularly fondly. Though he managed at one time to amass a full 25% of the federal urban planning budget in New York projects, the results of that work, as New Yorkers would say, pissed off a lotta people.
Forget Levittown; it was Moses' decision to favor highways over railways that led to New York becoming the largest commuter culture in the world of its time.1 It was Moses who designed the Long Island public beaches (one is even named after him), and it was Moses who decided to build his highways through neighborhoods in Brooklyn and the Bronx, eventually leading to a generation of urban decay. A lot of people have never forgiven Moses for the ramifications of these decisions. It's said he deliberately made the toll bridges to the beach too low for buses in order to keep the black community out. My grandfather's just mad he made the Dodgers skip town.2
Obviously, I come to bury Robert Moses, not to praise him. But I raise his example not because of his bigotry, but because of his single most influential decision: he favored automoblies as a mode of transportation over trains. I can only imagine this seemed a forward-looking perspective in the thirties and forties. Today, however, the result is near unfathomable congestion and traffic completely surrounding the city. Long Island alone -- which, by the way, is geologically nothing more than a silt deposit scraped off a passing glacier's shoe -- has over 7.5 million inhabitants. That's more than Ireland, and they all live on a strip of land the size of Yellowstone National Park.
Urban planning has a better history here in Germany. Following the near total destruction of the country's major cities in World War II, the Wessis3 advanced on the old railway system to produce thorough transit lines around all of the densely populated areas, as well as an efficient system of connections between all of Germany's medium- and large-sized cities. Modern consensus is the latter was either a wise investment or a Keynesian Wunderwerk. In either case, the trains streamlined reconstruction, and make travel around Germany an inexpensive and relatively environmentally friendly affair.
I raised this topic now not despite the strikes going on at Deutsche Bahn, the national train line, but rather because of them. The recent series of strikes is the first in the company's history, and while the German press has been in quite a huff, it is still possible to get pretty much wherever you want to go. Since arriving, I have not once found myself thinking, "I wish I had a car." Regional travel is cheap, accessible, and even during a strike, service is reliable. I'll miss that.
As a last note on the subject of civil engineers with bad reputations: Cologne's current most influential civil architect has the unfortunate burden of being named Albert Speer Jr. If the name sounds familiar, it's probably because you've heard of his father. Please note Speer the younger had apparently little relationship with his father and is highly respected for his work throughout the architectural community.
--------
1I don't have the figures, but having braved LA freeways, I have to think the City of Angels has since claimed this title. If they haven't, I really don't want to know who has.
2For the full story on Moses, read Robert Caro's biography. I've only read portions of this 1300-page tome, but the book gets almost nothing but praise, and is the definitive work on Moses.
3West Germans.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
His Name is Schulz, Does That Count?
This definitely counts as a "miscellanea" post.
I don't know who David Michaelis is, but his new biography of Charles Schulz, creator and fifty-year author of the Peanuts comic strip, received reviews from not one but two authors far more famous than himself.* You can read Bill Watterson's review here, and John Updike's review here.
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*Michaelis, not Schulz.1
1How impressed are you? Two line post, and I still fit in not only a footnote, but a footnoted footnote! Now that's consistency.
I don't know who David Michaelis is, but his new biography of Charles Schulz, creator and fifty-year author of the Peanuts comic strip, received reviews from not one but two authors far more famous than himself.* You can read Bill Watterson's review here, and John Updike's review here.
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*Michaelis, not Schulz.1
1How impressed are you? Two line post, and I still fit in not only a footnote, but a footnoted footnote! Now that's consistency.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Out of the Internet Cafe and Back in School
Good Lord, it feels good to be in college again.
…After a fashion, anyway. Studies at the Cologne Academy of Music are definitely handled differently from my typical fare of the past. The Hochschule is as distant from CMC curriculum-wise as it is geographically. The most obvious difference from Claremont, however, is the manner of dress. Instead of flip-flops and board shorts, the young men at the Hochschule tend to wear dress coats and scarves. I have no qualms about this attire, but taken en masse, it does give the school the impression of a Doctor Who convention with cellos.
There is also very little in the way of what I have heard some Germans demeaningly refer to as “handholding.” Over the last century, the trend in American higher education has gradually been to make university a home away from home. Dorms commune, departments eat and drink together, and an entire array of activities take place to form what we in the USA call “campus life.” No such thing at the Hochschule. Students certainly befriend one another, and they bond through performance groups and research projects. But a visiting American would probably say the organization of the Cologne Academy of Music more resembles a high school than a college. Most of the studies, rehearsals and even performances are contained in one building, which itself is very reminiscent of all those concrete industrial behemoths built in the States to educate the baby-boomers of the sixties and seventies.
The classroom experience, however, is pure university fare. Indeed, I would say students at the Hochschule are much more engaged than the average university student. They are all aware how lucky they are to be in such a specialized and highly regarded school, as opposed to navigating the madness that is the main university system.* The average student I have met here is very happy as well as industrious in their chosen instrument and/or field. This has been particularly exciting for me since I have resumed singing. Somehow, over the past week, I’ve ended up in three different choirs: one intentionally, one through a lucky audition, and one by accident. And since every student in the school is a musician of one sort or another, the level of quality and professionalism is already evident.
I’m taking actual lecture classes, as well. These have been a little dizzying thus far. It’s amazing how one little variable can completely trip up a well-honed practice. Over the last four years, I acquired the necessary college acumen for following a discussion on social policy or qualitative research methods while simultaneously producing a transcription and contributing my own points to the progression of the dialogue.**
Suddenly, the whole thing’s in German, and now it’s a crap chute.
That said, my particular program is proving exciting enough to be worth the effort. The Center for International Arts Management, like most fledgling research institutes, isn’t so much a building or even a proper organization yet. It’s more an assemblage of faculty going about their particular projects while roping in graduate students as contributors/slave labor. Which is fine by me. This field is still mostly foreign to me, so I’m happy to soak up whatever experience I can.
Provided, of course, that I don’t alienate any more faculty. I have begun attending the Center’s central lecture series of the semester, which revolves around something called “Voices and Vocal Concepts.” As a singer, I was intrigued, so I swung by the first one to see what it was all about. As it turns out, the first lecture was to be given by the same gentleman who led the Voice Department meeting I ran out of so suddenly last week. When he was introduced, not only did I learn he was the school Rektor (i.e. president), he is none other than Josef Protschka. He is also Josef Protschka. And Josef Protschka. Hence my additional frustration when, as he entered the ninetieth minute of his sixty-minute lecture with no signs of stopping, I realized I was late for dinner plans and had to leave. The room was dark, and I probably could have made a decent getaway, had I not managed to knock over what seemed like every chair between mine and the exit.
Next week, I’m going to act like a proper American, and sit in the back.
--------
*If you dare, see last post.
**Not to mention writing sentences like that without triggering my gag reflex.
…After a fashion, anyway. Studies at the Cologne Academy of Music are definitely handled differently from my typical fare of the past. The Hochschule is as distant from CMC curriculum-wise as it is geographically. The most obvious difference from Claremont, however, is the manner of dress. Instead of flip-flops and board shorts, the young men at the Hochschule tend to wear dress coats and scarves. I have no qualms about this attire, but taken en masse, it does give the school the impression of a Doctor Who convention with cellos.
There is also very little in the way of what I have heard some Germans demeaningly refer to as “handholding.” Over the last century, the trend in American higher education has gradually been to make university a home away from home. Dorms commune, departments eat and drink together, and an entire array of activities take place to form what we in the USA call “campus life.” No such thing at the Hochschule. Students certainly befriend one another, and they bond through performance groups and research projects. But a visiting American would probably say the organization of the Cologne Academy of Music more resembles a high school than a college. Most of the studies, rehearsals and even performances are contained in one building, which itself is very reminiscent of all those concrete industrial behemoths built in the States to educate the baby-boomers of the sixties and seventies.
The classroom experience, however, is pure university fare. Indeed, I would say students at the Hochschule are much more engaged than the average university student. They are all aware how lucky they are to be in such a specialized and highly regarded school, as opposed to navigating the madness that is the main university system.* The average student I have met here is very happy as well as industrious in their chosen instrument and/or field. This has been particularly exciting for me since I have resumed singing. Somehow, over the past week, I’ve ended up in three different choirs: one intentionally, one through a lucky audition, and one by accident. And since every student in the school is a musician of one sort or another, the level of quality and professionalism is already evident.
I’m taking actual lecture classes, as well. These have been a little dizzying thus far. It’s amazing how one little variable can completely trip up a well-honed practice. Over the last four years, I acquired the necessary college acumen for following a discussion on social policy or qualitative research methods while simultaneously producing a transcription and contributing my own points to the progression of the dialogue.**
Suddenly, the whole thing’s in German, and now it’s a crap chute.
That said, my particular program is proving exciting enough to be worth the effort. The Center for International Arts Management, like most fledgling research institutes, isn’t so much a building or even a proper organization yet. It’s more an assemblage of faculty going about their particular projects while roping in graduate students as contributors/slave labor. Which is fine by me. This field is still mostly foreign to me, so I’m happy to soak up whatever experience I can.
Provided, of course, that I don’t alienate any more faculty. I have begun attending the Center’s central lecture series of the semester, which revolves around something called “Voices and Vocal Concepts.” As a singer, I was intrigued, so I swung by the first one to see what it was all about. As it turns out, the first lecture was to be given by the same gentleman who led the Voice Department meeting I ran out of so suddenly last week. When he was introduced, not only did I learn he was the school Rektor (i.e. president), he is none other than Josef Protschka. He is also Josef Protschka. And Josef Protschka. Hence my additional frustration when, as he entered the ninetieth minute of his sixty-minute lecture with no signs of stopping, I realized I was late for dinner plans and had to leave. The room was dark, and I probably could have made a decent getaway, had I not managed to knock over what seemed like every chair between mine and the exit.
Next week, I’m going to act like a proper American, and sit in the back.
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*If you dare, see last post.
**Not to mention writing sentences like that without triggering my gag reflex.
Friday, October 5, 2007
Teutonic Travels, Part Two: The Difference a Week Makes
[Typed on a laptop, saved to a USB drive, posted in an internet cafe]
My Sprachkurs ended this past Friday, bringing the first part of the CBYX program, Language Training, to an end. All those members of the program not remaining in Cologne bid their goodbyes this past weekend and departed for cities throughout Germany. I intend to visit a number of them throughout the coming months, so I will share more about our adventures as they occur. As for myself, I am staying here, though I have relocated. I moved out of my Gastfamilie's home Monday morning into an apartment in the southern Cologne neighborhood of Zollstock.
I should note that the first part of the CBYX program is by far the most structured. More than half the program had been located in Cologne for the first two months, and we all had a very regimented schedule: class began at 8:45 am sharp, five days a week. I knew coming into this second part of the program that life would be more independent and less regimented.
I had not known that the first few days would be complete and utter chaos.
There is no simple way to summarize the past week. Instead, I'll just give you the full run-down day by day.
MONDAY:
I left my Gastfamilie behind, with one last parting gift from my Gastvater in the form of a free ride to my new apartment, and with one last parting shot from my Gastmutter regarding a couple of stray foodstuffs I had left in the fridge (you may recall my former Gastfamilie's distaste for leftovers). After crossing the Rhine, I arrived at my new apartment, where I found the former tenant still in the process of "cleaning." I use this term loosely, because despite the fact that I was witnessing his attempts to scrub the floor, it was obvious by both 1) his poor technique; and 2) his lack of success in affecting the state of the floor, that housekeeping was a relatively new concept in this apartment. Indeed, though I had found the apartment somewhat dirty upon visiting it a few weeks earlier, the place appeared to have degenerated ever further since. The kitchen, bathroom and bedroom were all coated in the vague sticky coating that easy-to-clean surfaces like linoleum and tile acquire when they are never... well, cleaned. To add insult to injury, the former tenant is a chain-smoker, and although the bedroom window has been open more or less constantly for five days at this point, the room still smells faintly like W.C. Fields, Winston Churchill and the Marlboro Man used to bunk here together.
While the former tenant finished rearranging the filth, I decided to drop off my bags and attend to some of the various chores I needed to accomplish this week. Thus began this week's adventures in German bureaucracy. My intended tasks for the afternoon were relatively simple: 1) sign up at the University of Cologne in order to access the internet account in my new student housing; and 2) purchase a "Mensa Card" at the main Mensa (i.e. dining hall) so that I might use the laundry machines in my building. I arrived at the student services office at the University to find that internet service registered a number for my matriculation, which I had never received. Worse yet, my actual studies are taking place at the Cologne Academy of Music, which is located across town. I had already been there once to register as a Gasthörer, essentially the German equivalent to auditing classes, and I was not enthusiastic about revisiting their own labyrinthine offices. Nonetheless, off I went. Upon arriving, I learned that Gasthörers do not in fact receive matriculation numbers, and the Academy would not be able to provide me with one. Frustrated, I called the registration office to explain to them what the Academy had told me, only to learn that they could in fact provide me with a "künstlich" matriculation number to get me through the system. They said this was standard operating procedure for Gasthörers. Rather than ask why they did not tell me this in the first place, I headed back across town to register.
After registration, I was a little low on cash. I didn't want to buy a Mensa Card without any credit on it, so I headed to my local Deutsche Bank to withdraw some funds. Evidently, they've been having some computer troubles at my local branch, because the ATM ate my card. I mean that literally, by the way. There was gnawing and grinding, and I think I saw it drool. Horrified, I went inside to ask for help, where I was informed about said computer trouble, and was redirected to another branch where something was actually operational. Once I got to the other branch across town, I waited in line for half an hour before being told that I would need to order a new card, and that I would not have it for a few days. In typical German fashion, the woman behind the counter also used this moment as an opportunity to chastise me for my irresponsibility (the Germans love to criticize one another). Conversely, I used the opportunity as a test of my own patience, to see how much I could endure in one day without beating someone within an inch of his life.
Following that, I finally headed to the Mensa to buy a Mensa Card, only to find the Mensa had closed mere minutes before.
I'm fairly confident the scream that erupted from me in that moment registered on a Geiger counter somewhere.
Frustrated, I consoled myself that I had at least successfully registered for internet access... that is until I discovered that the internet connection in my room does not, in fact, work. The ancient modem which I am required to use may actually function, but since I can't read the Sumerian cuneiform in which the instruction manual is written, I'll probably never know.
TUESDAY:
Refusing to be defeated, I awoke early Tuesday full of good intentions, optimism, and all the other personality disorders of the naive traveler. My first stop was the Mensa, to purchase the Mensa Card I failed to acquire the day before. From there, I headed to Orientation at the Cologne Academy of Music. I had been told that the first orientation meeting for my program would begin at 10:30. My program is at the Center for International Arts Management, a graduate institute which has a very professional atmosphere. Thus I was quite proud of myself for arriving at 9:30, and took the time to chat with a few students and write one or two short emails from the internet kiosk. Shortly after 10, I strolled to the designated room to secure a seat.
As it turns out, I had been misinformed. Orientation began at 10 o'clock sharp, and I was the last person to arrive. The only remaining seat was an empty chair at the front of the room, immediately adjacent to where the ENTIRE FACULTY of the Center were seated. I was beckoned to this chair, and seeing no alternative, I sat in it, where the entire student body of the Center had opportunity to stare at the stupid American who had shown up late.*
As a Gasthörer, there wasn't much else going on that day that concerned me, save a meeting regarding the singing program that afternoon. I decided to use the afternoon for food shopping since I would not have any time that evening. Megan, a friend from CBYX, and I had plans to attend Theater-Nacht Köln, an annual event where all the theaters of Cologne put on small productions, and for a flat rate the audience can run from theater to theater, seeing as many as five short plays in an evening.
My afternoon was a tight schedule, and I more or less had to run back to the Academy to make my afternoon meeting. I headed to the bathroom to wash up, where I put the tickets on the counter to avoid them falling out of my shirt pocket. About halfway through my meeting, I had one of those horrifying icy moments when one realizes he has done something incredibly stupid. The tickets were still on the counter. Without saying anything, I discreetly got up and gracefully walked to the door. Once through it, I bolted to the bathroom, only to find the tickets were, of course, gone. After asking the front desk if anyone had turned them in, I left my phone number in case they turned up, and ran to the nearest ticket counter to purchase more.
Immediately after buying two more tickets, I received a call from the front desk saying my tickets had been turned in. Now I had four tickets for two theatre-goers. After calling everyone in the CBYX program still in Cologne, I headed to English Books and Tea to see if Chris and his wife might like to come along. Chris was unfortunately under the weather, but one of his regular customers and part-time help was there. Emma, who I had met once before, is a student at the University of Cologne. Originally from The Netherlands, she speaks flawless English (she sounds like she's from Sacramento), and very strong German. A literature student and theater junkie (she worked at the English Theater at Uni. Köln), she happily obliged to come along.
Thus the day was finally beginning to look up... were it not for the fact the theater was all so amateurishly bad. Save the short scene we watched from Beckett's "Kreb's Last Tape," the evening's performances were hilariously bad. I was not particularly impressed by the first piece we saw, a Passion play with Jesus portrayed as Indie rock star, nor the last piece of the evening, which resembled a bizarre hodgepodge of Sex and the City, The Witches of Eastwick and the First Wive's Club.... or so I'm told, having never seen any of those, of course.
WEDNESDAY:
October 3 is Der Tag der Einheit, the German equivalent of the Fourth of July, when Germany celebrates the reunification. The average German celebrates this by sleeping in and remaining completely oblivious to why they have off from work that day.** I planned to lunch with friends from CBYX and to finally tackle the epic cleaning job ahead of me. Lunch went off without a hitch, but my cleaning plans were derailed when an afternoon stroll and catch-up chat with my regional program representative ended up lasting five hours. I was able to see Cologne's beautiful parks -- all of them, it seems -- but the fresh air did little for the state of my apartment. My one consolation is that I celebrated Der Tag der Einheit in true German fashion: unproductively, and with a feeling of mild frustration and helplessness.
THURSDAY:
As you can imagine, I had been feeling pretty bleak by this point. Luckily, I had the opportunity to chat with my mother Wednesday night, which was a wonderful blessing: I hadn't spoken with my family in what felt like ages, and getting caught up on family business was rejuvenating. So I approached Thursday with a renewed sense of determination that I would do something right this week. My friend Sannie and I met early to handle our Ummeldungen, the required change-of-address registration Germans must fulfill every time they move. Despite both of our birthdays being incorrectly registered in the German databanks, the whole process was unbelievably painless, requiring only fifteen minutes. Confident from having finally won a battle against German bureaucracy, I entered my second melee of the day: German shopping.
Emma and I had previously arranged to travel to the local IKEA to pick up to some furnishings for our new apartments. It may have taken two trains and a bus to get there, but IKEA was a sight for sore eyes. I've never liked shopping, especially in big warehouse mega-stores, but after almost a week of government offices, a little interaction with the private sector felt like being waited on hand and foot.
I admit, Emma and I may have gone a little overboard. We were so excited that there were so many cheap deals (I barely spent €60), it was only upon payment that we discovered just how much we had purchased. And so began the adventure of returning home, juggling four large shopping bags, two wastepaper bins, a boxed chandelier, a drying rack and a rug. This proved quite a challenge on a journey that required us to board a bus and two trains just to get back to the city. We eventually evolved a system where we would each board/depart with two of the bags, then Emma would hold the doors open while I threw everything else out the door. By the time we made it back to the city, we were pretty proud of ourselves. Only then did we encounter our greatest challenge. While our combined purchases could be mixed in a way that made them cartable between the two of us, once we separated our purchases, we found that both individual piles were too awkward to be carried by a single person. The bakery on the corner refused, in no uncertain terms, to watch any of our bags for us, so we resolved to take turns lugging our belongings home. I waited with the pile while Emma carried her purchases home in two loads. Afterwards, she helped me transport my own assorted bric-a-brac. Seven hours after our departure that morning, we concluded the day by celebrating out success with dinner at her favorite Indian restaurant, where we had a leisurely discussion about both great English literature and Harry Potter.***
FRIDAY:
As of midday today, my new apartment is half-clean, half-assembled, and half-draped in the laundry that is still drying from Wednesday evening. But I survived the week. I faced the gaping maw of the German "service" industry, and though I am scarred both physically and emotionally, I'm still alive. This week saw the beginning of the real challenge of my time here: finding a place for myself in this bizarre land of tortuous red tape, semi-celebrated holidays and ATMs with attitude problems. It's been tough so far, but I've had a number of small victories. My apartment is homier, my clothes are clean, and I have a new literary acquaintance to commiserate with. And I now fully understand why Kafka wrote his bureaucratic nightmare tales in German.
Oh, well, back to work. These ominous wall stains aren't going to clean themselves.
Bussi bussi.
--------
*Most Germans have no trouble instantly recognizing me as an American, or at the very least not German, by my style of dress. Though my usual wardrobe does actually resemble German casual clothes, i.e. leather shoes and button-down shirts, I don't typically spend €100 on jeans or shellack my hair with the contents of the Exxon Valdez every morning. I imagine I look to Germans somewhat like Jane Goodall in reverse.
**I'm not kidding. A recent TV news story asked a number of Germans on the street what the Day of Unity celebrates. For someone who's been worn a little thin on "stupid American" jokes, the answers these Germans gave were refreshingly ignorant.
***Zing.
My Sprachkurs ended this past Friday, bringing the first part of the CBYX program, Language Training, to an end. All those members of the program not remaining in Cologne bid their goodbyes this past weekend and departed for cities throughout Germany. I intend to visit a number of them throughout the coming months, so I will share more about our adventures as they occur. As for myself, I am staying here, though I have relocated. I moved out of my Gastfamilie's home Monday morning into an apartment in the southern Cologne neighborhood of Zollstock.
I should note that the first part of the CBYX program is by far the most structured. More than half the program had been located in Cologne for the first two months, and we all had a very regimented schedule: class began at 8:45 am sharp, five days a week. I knew coming into this second part of the program that life would be more independent and less regimented.
I had not known that the first few days would be complete and utter chaos.
There is no simple way to summarize the past week. Instead, I'll just give you the full run-down day by day.
MONDAY:
I left my Gastfamilie behind, with one last parting gift from my Gastvater in the form of a free ride to my new apartment, and with one last parting shot from my Gastmutter regarding a couple of stray foodstuffs I had left in the fridge (you may recall my former Gastfamilie's distaste for leftovers). After crossing the Rhine, I arrived at my new apartment, where I found the former tenant still in the process of "cleaning." I use this term loosely, because despite the fact that I was witnessing his attempts to scrub the floor, it was obvious by both 1) his poor technique; and 2) his lack of success in affecting the state of the floor, that housekeeping was a relatively new concept in this apartment. Indeed, though I had found the apartment somewhat dirty upon visiting it a few weeks earlier, the place appeared to have degenerated ever further since. The kitchen, bathroom and bedroom were all coated in the vague sticky coating that easy-to-clean surfaces like linoleum and tile acquire when they are never... well, cleaned. To add insult to injury, the former tenant is a chain-smoker, and although the bedroom window has been open more or less constantly for five days at this point, the room still smells faintly like W.C. Fields, Winston Churchill and the Marlboro Man used to bunk here together.
While the former tenant finished rearranging the filth, I decided to drop off my bags and attend to some of the various chores I needed to accomplish this week. Thus began this week's adventures in German bureaucracy. My intended tasks for the afternoon were relatively simple: 1) sign up at the University of Cologne in order to access the internet account in my new student housing; and 2) purchase a "Mensa Card" at the main Mensa (i.e. dining hall) so that I might use the laundry machines in my building. I arrived at the student services office at the University to find that internet service registered a number for my matriculation, which I had never received. Worse yet, my actual studies are taking place at the Cologne Academy of Music, which is located across town. I had already been there once to register as a Gasthörer, essentially the German equivalent to auditing classes, and I was not enthusiastic about revisiting their own labyrinthine offices. Nonetheless, off I went. Upon arriving, I learned that Gasthörers do not in fact receive matriculation numbers, and the Academy would not be able to provide me with one. Frustrated, I called the registration office to explain to them what the Academy had told me, only to learn that they could in fact provide me with a "künstlich" matriculation number to get me through the system. They said this was standard operating procedure for Gasthörers. Rather than ask why they did not tell me this in the first place, I headed back across town to register.
After registration, I was a little low on cash. I didn't want to buy a Mensa Card without any credit on it, so I headed to my local Deutsche Bank to withdraw some funds. Evidently, they've been having some computer troubles at my local branch, because the ATM ate my card. I mean that literally, by the way. There was gnawing and grinding, and I think I saw it drool. Horrified, I went inside to ask for help, where I was informed about said computer trouble, and was redirected to another branch where something was actually operational. Once I got to the other branch across town, I waited in line for half an hour before being told that I would need to order a new card, and that I would not have it for a few days. In typical German fashion, the woman behind the counter also used this moment as an opportunity to chastise me for my irresponsibility (the Germans love to criticize one another). Conversely, I used the opportunity as a test of my own patience, to see how much I could endure in one day without beating someone within an inch of his life.
Following that, I finally headed to the Mensa to buy a Mensa Card, only to find the Mensa had closed mere minutes before.
I'm fairly confident the scream that erupted from me in that moment registered on a Geiger counter somewhere.
Frustrated, I consoled myself that I had at least successfully registered for internet access... that is until I discovered that the internet connection in my room does not, in fact, work. The ancient modem which I am required to use may actually function, but since I can't read the Sumerian cuneiform in which the instruction manual is written, I'll probably never know.
TUESDAY:
Refusing to be defeated, I awoke early Tuesday full of good intentions, optimism, and all the other personality disorders of the naive traveler. My first stop was the Mensa, to purchase the Mensa Card I failed to acquire the day before. From there, I headed to Orientation at the Cologne Academy of Music. I had been told that the first orientation meeting for my program would begin at 10:30. My program is at the Center for International Arts Management, a graduate institute which has a very professional atmosphere. Thus I was quite proud of myself for arriving at 9:30, and took the time to chat with a few students and write one or two short emails from the internet kiosk. Shortly after 10, I strolled to the designated room to secure a seat.
As it turns out, I had been misinformed. Orientation began at 10 o'clock sharp, and I was the last person to arrive. The only remaining seat was an empty chair at the front of the room, immediately adjacent to where the ENTIRE FACULTY of the Center were seated. I was beckoned to this chair, and seeing no alternative, I sat in it, where the entire student body of the Center had opportunity to stare at the stupid American who had shown up late.*
As a Gasthörer, there wasn't much else going on that day that concerned me, save a meeting regarding the singing program that afternoon. I decided to use the afternoon for food shopping since I would not have any time that evening. Megan, a friend from CBYX, and I had plans to attend Theater-Nacht Köln, an annual event where all the theaters of Cologne put on small productions, and for a flat rate the audience can run from theater to theater, seeing as many as five short plays in an evening.
My afternoon was a tight schedule, and I more or less had to run back to the Academy to make my afternoon meeting. I headed to the bathroom to wash up, where I put the tickets on the counter to avoid them falling out of my shirt pocket. About halfway through my meeting, I had one of those horrifying icy moments when one realizes he has done something incredibly stupid. The tickets were still on the counter. Without saying anything, I discreetly got up and gracefully walked to the door. Once through it, I bolted to the bathroom, only to find the tickets were, of course, gone. After asking the front desk if anyone had turned them in, I left my phone number in case they turned up, and ran to the nearest ticket counter to purchase more.
Immediately after buying two more tickets, I received a call from the front desk saying my tickets had been turned in. Now I had four tickets for two theatre-goers. After calling everyone in the CBYX program still in Cologne, I headed to English Books and Tea to see if Chris and his wife might like to come along. Chris was unfortunately under the weather, but one of his regular customers and part-time help was there. Emma, who I had met once before, is a student at the University of Cologne. Originally from The Netherlands, she speaks flawless English (she sounds like she's from Sacramento), and very strong German. A literature student and theater junkie (she worked at the English Theater at Uni. Köln), she happily obliged to come along.
Thus the day was finally beginning to look up... were it not for the fact the theater was all so amateurishly bad. Save the short scene we watched from Beckett's "Kreb's Last Tape," the evening's performances were hilariously bad. I was not particularly impressed by the first piece we saw, a Passion play with Jesus portrayed as Indie rock star, nor the last piece of the evening, which resembled a bizarre hodgepodge of Sex and the City, The Witches of Eastwick and the First Wive's Club.... or so I'm told, having never seen any of those, of course.
WEDNESDAY:
October 3 is Der Tag der Einheit, the German equivalent of the Fourth of July, when Germany celebrates the reunification. The average German celebrates this by sleeping in and remaining completely oblivious to why they have off from work that day.** I planned to lunch with friends from CBYX and to finally tackle the epic cleaning job ahead of me. Lunch went off without a hitch, but my cleaning plans were derailed when an afternoon stroll and catch-up chat with my regional program representative ended up lasting five hours. I was able to see Cologne's beautiful parks -- all of them, it seems -- but the fresh air did little for the state of my apartment. My one consolation is that I celebrated Der Tag der Einheit in true German fashion: unproductively, and with a feeling of mild frustration and helplessness.
THURSDAY:
As you can imagine, I had been feeling pretty bleak by this point. Luckily, I had the opportunity to chat with my mother Wednesday night, which was a wonderful blessing: I hadn't spoken with my family in what felt like ages, and getting caught up on family business was rejuvenating. So I approached Thursday with a renewed sense of determination that I would do something right this week. My friend Sannie and I met early to handle our Ummeldungen, the required change-of-address registration Germans must fulfill every time they move. Despite both of our birthdays being incorrectly registered in the German databanks, the whole process was unbelievably painless, requiring only fifteen minutes. Confident from having finally won a battle against German bureaucracy, I entered my second melee of the day: German shopping.
Emma and I had previously arranged to travel to the local IKEA to pick up to some furnishings for our new apartments. It may have taken two trains and a bus to get there, but IKEA was a sight for sore eyes. I've never liked shopping, especially in big warehouse mega-stores, but after almost a week of government offices, a little interaction with the private sector felt like being waited on hand and foot.
I admit, Emma and I may have gone a little overboard. We were so excited that there were so many cheap deals (I barely spent €60), it was only upon payment that we discovered just how much we had purchased. And so began the adventure of returning home, juggling four large shopping bags, two wastepaper bins, a boxed chandelier, a drying rack and a rug. This proved quite a challenge on a journey that required us to board a bus and two trains just to get back to the city. We eventually evolved a system where we would each board/depart with two of the bags, then Emma would hold the doors open while I threw everything else out the door. By the time we made it back to the city, we were pretty proud of ourselves. Only then did we encounter our greatest challenge. While our combined purchases could be mixed in a way that made them cartable between the two of us, once we separated our purchases, we found that both individual piles were too awkward to be carried by a single person. The bakery on the corner refused, in no uncertain terms, to watch any of our bags for us, so we resolved to take turns lugging our belongings home. I waited with the pile while Emma carried her purchases home in two loads. Afterwards, she helped me transport my own assorted bric-a-brac. Seven hours after our departure that morning, we concluded the day by celebrating out success with dinner at her favorite Indian restaurant, where we had a leisurely discussion about both great English literature and Harry Potter.***
FRIDAY:
As of midday today, my new apartment is half-clean, half-assembled, and half-draped in the laundry that is still drying from Wednesday evening. But I survived the week. I faced the gaping maw of the German "service" industry, and though I am scarred both physically and emotionally, I'm still alive. This week saw the beginning of the real challenge of my time here: finding a place for myself in this bizarre land of tortuous red tape, semi-celebrated holidays and ATMs with attitude problems. It's been tough so far, but I've had a number of small victories. My apartment is homier, my clothes are clean, and I have a new literary acquaintance to commiserate with. And I now fully understand why Kafka wrote his bureaucratic nightmare tales in German.
Oh, well, back to work. These ominous wall stains aren't going to clean themselves.
Bussi bussi.
--------
*Most Germans have no trouble instantly recognizing me as an American, or at the very least not German, by my style of dress. Though my usual wardrobe does actually resemble German casual clothes, i.e. leather shoes and button-down shirts, I don't typically spend €100 on jeans or shellack my hair with the contents of the Exxon Valdez every morning. I imagine I look to Germans somewhat like Jane Goodall in reverse.
**I'm not kidding. A recent TV news story asked a number of Germans on the street what the Day of Unity celebrates. For someone who's been worn a little thin on "stupid American" jokes, the answers these Germans gave were refreshingly ignorant.
***Zing.
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