As of today, I am two weeks through the third and final phase of my program here in Germany. My internship1 proceeds apace, and I am enjoying it immensely. My friends know I thrive on stress, though not always with much grace or stoicism. I prefer activity, even stressful levels of it, to lethargy. Thus I had looked forward to once again being truly busy.
Somehow, though, I had forgotten that with being busy comes... well, being busy.
Hence the pause since my last post. My job has me writing almost constantly. I have found little energy for blogging after writing for nine straight hours at work. On the plus side, I have managed to find even more respect for certain bloggers who've kept that pace for some time now. My next topic will be Karneval... but not yet. That pandaemonium of pageantry has aligned itself in constellation-like fashion with a few other events in my life, which I will be tackling collectively in the near future. Don't worry: I won't be assaulting you with any rambling diatribes just because Europe's getting all serendipitous on me.
For now, let me just say this: Cologne has a Karneval rallying cry, "Kölle Alaaf!" Hearing that everywhere made the whole event sound like some sort of call to a jovial jihad.
Stay tuned.
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1I use that term loosely. The responsibility and feeling of satisfaction are decidedly job-like. The pay... well, not so much.
Showing posts with label CBYX. Show all posts
Showing posts with label CBYX. Show all posts
Friday, February 15, 2008
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Teutonic Travels, Part Three: München and the Staatsoper
Ludwigstraße, one of the main thoroughfares of central Munich, does not hint at its Italian influence so much as revel in it. Ludwig I, the first king of Bavaria, had a great love for Italian architecture and art, and he wanted as much of his capital to recall that tradition as possible. Thus does a visitor to Munich find himself walking through a number of Florentine arches. More often, however, Munich reflects its true position as the largest and wealthiest city of the Southern German world.1 As one moves away from Ludwigstraße, the decor rapidly dissolves into the deep-red roofs and painted stucco walls that characterize picturesque southern villages. Alongside this old-world flair are the imposing edifices of some of Munich's monuments: the Frauenkirche, the Neues Rathaus2 and the Theatinerkirche. Munich's appearance is therefore at once complex and forthright. The streets elegantly trim the city's many modern amenities with the ornamentation of Bavarian history, including Italian flourishes.
Following these streets leads to some pretty impressive places, as I learned throughout the past week. InWent assigned me to Munich for my mid-year seminar. There are worse places to deflate for a few days. Munich is Germany's most expensive city, and it shows. Besides the city's beauty, both art and industry thrive here. Munich houses BMW's headquarters, a bizarre edifice that seems to erupt from the ground like some massive piston. More memorable for me was the Bayerische Staatsoper, Germany's most important opera house. Fitting with the city's Italian undertones, this past week saw performances of Rossini's Il Turco in Italia, a fairly typical buffa with infidelity, death threats, and all the other clean family fun for which opera is known.3
The performance was weak for a stage like the Staatsoper. Most of the leads struggled to keep their runs audible and in tempo. At times the orchestra swallowed them completely. David Alegret, whose name I can only assume means "aggravating" in Spanish, was particularly bothersome as Don Narciso. I suspect Mr. Alegret feared he would be unable to provide sufficient resonance, because he sang through his nose the entire evening. Insult joined injury when Maximillian Schmitt, playing the relatively small role of Albazar, sang his first notes late in Act Two. Here was a perfectly competent tenor relegated to comic relief while a Spanish Paul Lynde honked his way through the night. A miscasting if ever there was one.
The silver lining of this so-so ensemble was Valentina Kutzarova, who captivated my attention with luscious coloratura every time she entered. Her Zaida was the treat of the evening, especially compared to Alexandrina Pendatchanska's Fiorilla. Though Ms. Pendatchanska improved enough in Act Two to give a massive performance of her closing aria,4 she tended both to warble and to slide lazily during cadenzas into colorless, indiscriminate vowels.5 Alessandro Corbelli managed at least to amuse throughout the evening, if not impress. With a stocky frame, rumpled garb and a wiry gray disaster of hair, his Don Geronio resembled no one so much as Peter Falk's Columbo, pacing hunched about the stage with pensive hands clasped behind his back.
If some of the leads were not up to the task, their support certainly did not falter. Herbert Murauer supplied sets that were clever without intruding. Opting for contemporary setting, Murauer initially decorated the opening scene, a gypsy camp, with a single modern camper trailer. Through terrific use of the trapdoor, over thirty performers entered from that one camper. The directorial team kept the audience laughing throughout this entire procession. The leads may have failed to grab the baton from their ensemble, but not for lack of a strong setup.
Perhaps I wax a little too critical. It is not every evening this American expatriate gets to visit one of Europe's best opera houses free of charge. Would that my program bothered to bribe me more often.
--------
1Vienna is in fact slightly larger, but the Münchner economy is much stronger. Conversely, Vienna has a higher overall quality of life, and is the home of Sacher Torte, arguably the best chocolate cake in the world. So it balances out.
2Firstly, this is something of a misnomer. The older city government building was destroyed in the war and subsequently rebuilt. Thus, the "new" Rathaus is actually the older of the two buildings. Given its massive size and drippingly Gothic style, it looks it, too.
Also, you have to love any language that calls a political office a "Rathaus."
3Il Turco also has a memorable mistaken identities cliché, but mentioning that didn't really fit into the above wisecrack. But yes, masquerade party, dramatic irony, blah blah blah, the whole shtick.
4("Warmups! I knew I forgot something!")
5To be fair to Ms. Pendatchanska, who is both talented and gorgeous, I am hopelessly biased against her. I hate Fiorilla. Hate her, hate her, hate her. My own mother could sing the role flawlessly, and I'd still be crotchety.
Following these streets leads to some pretty impressive places, as I learned throughout the past week. InWent assigned me to Munich for my mid-year seminar. There are worse places to deflate for a few days. Munich is Germany's most expensive city, and it shows. Besides the city's beauty, both art and industry thrive here. Munich houses BMW's headquarters, a bizarre edifice that seems to erupt from the ground like some massive piston. More memorable for me was the Bayerische Staatsoper, Germany's most important opera house. Fitting with the city's Italian undertones, this past week saw performances of Rossini's Il Turco in Italia, a fairly typical buffa with infidelity, death threats, and all the other clean family fun for which opera is known.3
The performance was weak for a stage like the Staatsoper. Most of the leads struggled to keep their runs audible and in tempo. At times the orchestra swallowed them completely. David Alegret, whose name I can only assume means "aggravating" in Spanish, was particularly bothersome as Don Narciso. I suspect Mr. Alegret feared he would be unable to provide sufficient resonance, because he sang through his nose the entire evening. Insult joined injury when Maximillian Schmitt, playing the relatively small role of Albazar, sang his first notes late in Act Two. Here was a perfectly competent tenor relegated to comic relief while a Spanish Paul Lynde honked his way through the night. A miscasting if ever there was one.
The silver lining of this so-so ensemble was Valentina Kutzarova, who captivated my attention with luscious coloratura every time she entered. Her Zaida was the treat of the evening, especially compared to Alexandrina Pendatchanska's Fiorilla. Though Ms. Pendatchanska improved enough in Act Two to give a massive performance of her closing aria,4 she tended both to warble and to slide lazily during cadenzas into colorless, indiscriminate vowels.5 Alessandro Corbelli managed at least to amuse throughout the evening, if not impress. With a stocky frame, rumpled garb and a wiry gray disaster of hair, his Don Geronio resembled no one so much as Peter Falk's Columbo, pacing hunched about the stage with pensive hands clasped behind his back.
If some of the leads were not up to the task, their support certainly did not falter. Herbert Murauer supplied sets that were clever without intruding. Opting for contemporary setting, Murauer initially decorated the opening scene, a gypsy camp, with a single modern camper trailer. Through terrific use of the trapdoor, over thirty performers entered from that one camper. The directorial team kept the audience laughing throughout this entire procession. The leads may have failed to grab the baton from their ensemble, but not for lack of a strong setup.
Perhaps I wax a little too critical. It is not every evening this American expatriate gets to visit one of Europe's best opera houses free of charge. Would that my program bothered to bribe me more often.
--------
1Vienna is in fact slightly larger, but the Münchner economy is much stronger. Conversely, Vienna has a higher overall quality of life, and is the home of Sacher Torte, arguably the best chocolate cake in the world. So it balances out.
2Firstly, this is something of a misnomer. The older city government building was destroyed in the war and subsequently rebuilt. Thus, the "new" Rathaus is actually the older of the two buildings. Given its massive size and drippingly Gothic style, it looks it, too.
Also, you have to love any language that calls a political office a "Rathaus."
3Il Turco also has a memorable mistaken identities cliché, but mentioning that didn't really fit into the above wisecrack. But yes, masquerade party, dramatic irony, blah blah blah, the whole shtick.
4("Warmups! I knew I forgot something!")
5To be fair to Ms. Pendatchanska, who is both talented and gorgeous, I am hopelessly biased against her. I hate Fiorilla. Hate her, hate her, hate her. My own mother could sing the role flawlessly, and I'd still be crotchety.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Deutsche Dankopfern
I've done a fair amount of good-natured griping on this blog. Today, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I share a few of the things for which I am thankful:
1. Thanksgiving in Germany -- While the holiday is obviously not celebrated here, InWEnt, my sponsor organization, was good enough to put together a feast for us heimweh Americans. Last Monday, many of the PPPler's living in my province gathered at a brewery in Duisburg for a massive meal. It's truly the most I've eaten in one sitting since I arrived here, and it was completely worth the gastronomically induced nightmares.1
2. Did I Mention It Was in a Brewery? -- Self-explanatory.
3. Malleable Accents -- According to one guest at Monday's feast, I have adopted a convincing Kölsch accent. Germans tend to spot American visitors through linguistic giveaways2 such as strong R's and certain word-choice oddities. Since I've managed to jettison most of these habits while unintentionally adopting Kölsch pronunciation, the Duisburgers thought I could almost pass as a local. I thought this curious since Germans used to tell me I spoke with an Austrian accent. Maybe I should try to pick up Plattdeutsch and really start screwing with people's heads.
4. Bored Seminar Groups -- One of my more interesting classes at the Cologne Academy of Music has been a graduate seminar, whose title translates as "Qualitative Research Methods: The Interview." Though the class is intended primarily for grad students working towards a Diplom,3 I decided to sign up since the central research focus is contemporary arts institutions. As it turns out, the class is experiencing a dearth of available experts for interviews, so next week a panel of students will be researching... me. It's about time, too. It's been weeks since my last round of "Embarrass the American." I was beginning to feel neglected.
5. My Family and Friends -- My fondest wishes to you all. Happy Thanksgiving.
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1I blame the "cranberry paste."
2After first checking for cowboy boots, white high-tops, or an aggressive foreign policy.
3A German degree acquired before the doctorate but after the Vordiplom. In case you were wondering, Vordiplom is German for "You poor bastard, you have sooo many years of school left."
1. Thanksgiving in Germany -- While the holiday is obviously not celebrated here, InWEnt, my sponsor organization, was good enough to put together a feast for us heimweh Americans. Last Monday, many of the PPPler's living in my province gathered at a brewery in Duisburg for a massive meal. It's truly the most I've eaten in one sitting since I arrived here, and it was completely worth the gastronomically induced nightmares.1
2. Did I Mention It Was in a Brewery? -- Self-explanatory.
3. Malleable Accents -- According to one guest at Monday's feast, I have adopted a convincing Kölsch accent. Germans tend to spot American visitors through linguistic giveaways2 such as strong R's and certain word-choice oddities. Since I've managed to jettison most of these habits while unintentionally adopting Kölsch pronunciation, the Duisburgers thought I could almost pass as a local. I thought this curious since Germans used to tell me I spoke with an Austrian accent. Maybe I should try to pick up Plattdeutsch and really start screwing with people's heads.
4. Bored Seminar Groups -- One of my more interesting classes at the Cologne Academy of Music has been a graduate seminar, whose title translates as "Qualitative Research Methods: The Interview." Though the class is intended primarily for grad students working towards a Diplom,3 I decided to sign up since the central research focus is contemporary arts institutions. As it turns out, the class is experiencing a dearth of available experts for interviews, so next week a panel of students will be researching... me. It's about time, too. It's been weeks since my last round of "Embarrass the American." I was beginning to feel neglected.
5. My Family and Friends -- My fondest wishes to you all. Happy Thanksgiving.
--------
1I blame the "cranberry paste."
2After first checking for cowboy boots, white high-tops, or an aggressive foreign policy.
3A German degree acquired before the doctorate but after the Vordiplom. In case you were wondering, Vordiplom is German for "You poor bastard, you have sooo many years of school left."
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.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Diplomacy, the Musical
I have tried to keep the amount of this blog that is directly about my life to a minimum. My working assumption is that German culture and what it has to offer is more interesting than whether I am getting along with my Gastfamilie. I have been told, however, that this is a pretty funny story, so here goes.
We proud participants of the Parlementarisches Patenschafts-Programm (the German name for my fellowship) attended an event in Düsseldorf last Friday, which was charmingly referred to as a "Stipendiatentag." Germans rarely hesitate when it comes to the creation of new, very LARGE words, so I was hardly surprised to learn that they would conceive a word which means -- and this is the only definition, mind you -- "a party for recipients of a scholarship."
Along with the Cologne contingent of the PPP, many other international students were invited: Europeans, mainland Chinese, and students from various South American countries. We were informed of the existence of this event about a week in advance, and the Americans were encouraged to attend. Some of our number who are more musically inclined were additionally encouraged to prepare some sort of performance, in order to share our American culture with the group. Taking this simply as a suggestion, we did not think we were seriously expected to perform. It was clear that a performance would be appreciated, but I for one did not think it was by any means expected. The party was only a week away, after all. On Friday, as we rode the bus to the party, I spoke with Daniel, a fellow "PPPler" and future orchestral conductor, about what we might hypothetically perform, were this a serious event.
We soon realized our error: Germans do not take such important matters as musical numbers lightly. Immediately upon entering the party, Daniel and I were seized by the regional director. She asked us what we had in mind to perform for everyone there, perhaps 200 heads, as a "representation of American culture." Evidently, the purpose of this performance was an example of that "junior ambassador" stuff they keep talking about. We were to represent America. And were to do it in song. And we were on in twenty-five minutes.
Scrambling, Daniel and I came up with a plan. We quickly ran through which songs Daniel could reconstruct from memory, and then cross-referenced it with which of those songs for which I knew the lyrics. We then triangulated these results with a list of songs silly and campy enough that no one could mistakenly think Daniel and I were taking ourselves seriously.
And that is how I ended up singing "A Whole New World" as both Aladdin AND Jasmine in front of an international assembly.
All in all, I would have to admit it went rather well. I wasn't pitch-perfect, but I had fun, and Daniel came through masterfully on the keyboard. We were silly, we were schmalzy. And everyone laughed, which I guess is all you can ask for in such circumstances. The regional director was very grateful, and I received a number of compliments from both American friends and international students for a very amusing performance. So while the beginning to my ambassadorial endeavors may not have been conventional, it does appear to have been successful.
We proud participants of the Parlementarisches Patenschafts-Programm (the German name for my fellowship) attended an event in Düsseldorf last Friday, which was charmingly referred to as a "Stipendiatentag." Germans rarely hesitate when it comes to the creation of new, very LARGE words, so I was hardly surprised to learn that they would conceive a word which means -- and this is the only definition, mind you -- "a party for recipients of a scholarship."
Along with the Cologne contingent of the PPP, many other international students were invited: Europeans, mainland Chinese, and students from various South American countries. We were informed of the existence of this event about a week in advance, and the Americans were encouraged to attend. Some of our number who are more musically inclined were additionally encouraged to prepare some sort of performance, in order to share our American culture with the group. Taking this simply as a suggestion, we did not think we were seriously expected to perform. It was clear that a performance would be appreciated, but I for one did not think it was by any means expected. The party was only a week away, after all. On Friday, as we rode the bus to the party, I spoke with Daniel, a fellow "PPPler" and future orchestral conductor, about what we might hypothetically perform, were this a serious event.
We soon realized our error: Germans do not take such important matters as musical numbers lightly. Immediately upon entering the party, Daniel and I were seized by the regional director. She asked us what we had in mind to perform for everyone there, perhaps 200 heads, as a "representation of American culture." Evidently, the purpose of this performance was an example of that "junior ambassador" stuff they keep talking about. We were to represent America. And were to do it in song. And we were on in twenty-five minutes.
Scrambling, Daniel and I came up with a plan. We quickly ran through which songs Daniel could reconstruct from memory, and then cross-referenced it with which of those songs for which I knew the lyrics. We then triangulated these results with a list of songs silly and campy enough that no one could mistakenly think Daniel and I were taking ourselves seriously.
And that is how I ended up singing "A Whole New World" as both Aladdin AND Jasmine in front of an international assembly.
All in all, I would have to admit it went rather well. I wasn't pitch-perfect, but I had fun, and Daniel came through masterfully on the keyboard. We were silly, we were schmalzy. And everyone laughed, which I guess is all you can ask for in such circumstances. The regional director was very grateful, and I received a number of compliments from both American friends and international students for a very amusing performance. So while the beginning to my ambassadorial endeavors may not have been conventional, it does appear to have been successful.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Teutonic Travels, Part One: My Year Begins
After a short visit to DC, I have finally arrived in Germany. I am spending the next two months in Cologne, a major city in the Rhineland, Germany’s most populous region. Cologne is somewhat typical of modern German cities, with a bustling Innenstadt full of tourist attractions, fine dining, and culture, nightlife, usw.* It reminds me a little bit of the week I spent last year in Berlin, but only in the vague ways all German cities resemble one another. To me, the similarity is much like the vague commonality shared by northeastern American cities such as Philadelphia and Boston. As I have said, however, I have not spent much time here yet, and will have more to tell on the subject of Cologne in the future.
Since I have already been through orientation for my year on the CBYX, I have met most of the participants of this year’s program. They are by all accounts a friendly bunch, and the liveliness amongst the participants is surprisingly uniform. I wouldn’t be surprised if the administrators of CBYX look for such traits, be it actively or passively, since the program leaders continuously make a point of informing us that we are acting as American ambassadors to the Germans we meet and befriend during our year here.
Beyond the ubiquitous friendliness and approachable dispositions, most of the participants also seem to have a healthy amount of drive, similar to my classmates at alma mater. Like CMC students, many of them possess an interest in international relations/public policy/politics/business/economics,** and almost everyone likes to drink. Though Claremont had a diverse student body, I would argue the CBYX group is even more so. I’ve met a future pastry chef, orchestra conductor, mason, another chef, more than a handful of engineers, businessmen and a forest ranger. Even more exciting, they come from all sorts of universities and colleges as well: community colleges, state schools, small liberal arts colleges and large research universities. It’s exciting to talk to people from regions of the country that I have never visited nor its locals encountered.
Unfortunately, shortly after meeting one another, we were all placed on an overnight flight to Frankfurt, where we split into separate groups to reach each of our separate language schools. Language school for those to whom I have not explained this, is the first part of the CBYX program, lasting from my arrival yesterday to the end of September. Each participant spends two months at a language-training center run by an affiliate of CBYX, the Carl Duisberg Centren. I am studying at their office in Cologne with forty other members of the program, so fortunately I still have a number of friendly faces in the city with me. Little of interest has happened at CDC yet, so I’ll come back to that later.
After the long (8 hours) yet tolerable (arrived early) flight on Lufthansa, we proud participants found ourselves on the ground in Europe… at quarter to six in the morning… after little to no sleep… with a fully scheduled day ahead of us. It was the first true test of the Cologne group’s mettle. Many struggled to stay awake. Many more fell asleep from time to time. Some did so open-mouthed in presentations by the language school director.*** Others did the same while giving their cabbie directions.**** But in the end, everyone survived that first very long day in Germany and lived to tell the tale.
At the end of that long day, I finally met my host family, or Gastfamilie, for the first part of the program. They live in the eastern suburbs of Cologne, and have been very friendly to me thus far. The woman of the house, Frau Zielinska-Lange, is very warm and friendly, and she tolerates my German Fehler with patience mixed with schoolteacher firmness and seize-the-day type attitude for learning experiences. Her last name tripped me up the first few times I tried to say it,***** and her daughter Lena told me I can call her by her first name, Goska… which did not help much either. In any case, I’ve stuck to the Sie formal address when speaking to Frau Zielinska-Lange, since I still barely know her, and she has been kind enough to welcome me into her home. The aforementioned daughter, Lena, is a graduate student at the University of Bonn home for the summer. She has also been quite friendly, and she had the resourcefulness to introduce me to a system wherein I can call the U.S. from land lines for only 0.0114€ a minute!****** There is also a man of the house, Herr Lange, but I have not yet met him. I went to sleep only an hour or so after arrival yesterday out of sheer exhaustion, and he is not yet home as of this writing. Thus far I have been able to determine he is a repairman by trade, of what no one seems to know, and is very busy during the summer.
The Lange family also has two dogs, Maya and Saba, who are by far two of the friendliest, most obedient dogs I have ever seen. I am not really a dog person, but these two are getting me there. The language barrier here is a little thicker, so I will update with more on the dogs later as well.
If you are still reading at this point, particularly with the increasingly irrelevant footnotes,******* you must be pretty interested in what is going on over here. I will post again to keep you apprised of my adventures and mishaps. There have been a couple thus far, but I thought they would be more amusing and less pathetic and bedürftig sounding if amusingly compounded together into a reflection on the mishaps of traveling. Till then, let me leave you with this thought on European fauxhawks: in the time since I was in Austria last summer, one of the following has occurred:
1. Nothing, and they are just typically more extreme and architectural in this region
2. The fashion has moved towards a more angular, bird-like look
3. I have become stodgier
I intend to resolve this mystery by the time I write my next post.
Until then, bussi bussi.
--------
*und so weiter – the German equivalent expression of et cetera.
** Just one I’ve met so far, but she’s adamant, so that compensates.
***They know who they are, and if they are reading this, I hope they have a good sense of humor.
**** …I don’t want to talk about it. Ok? Don’t judge me.
***** Go ahead, read it aloud. I’ll give you a hint. It rhymes with NOTHING.
****** Subject to change without notice.
******* I read David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest before I left this summer. Wallace’s relationship with footnotes in that book is, shall we say, intimate and involved.
Since I have already been through orientation for my year on the CBYX, I have met most of the participants of this year’s program. They are by all accounts a friendly bunch, and the liveliness amongst the participants is surprisingly uniform. I wouldn’t be surprised if the administrators of CBYX look for such traits, be it actively or passively, since the program leaders continuously make a point of informing us that we are acting as American ambassadors to the Germans we meet and befriend during our year here.
Beyond the ubiquitous friendliness and approachable dispositions, most of the participants also seem to have a healthy amount of drive, similar to my classmates at alma mater. Like CMC students, many of them possess an interest in international relations/public policy/politics/business/economics,** and almost everyone likes to drink. Though Claremont had a diverse student body, I would argue the CBYX group is even more so. I’ve met a future pastry chef, orchestra conductor, mason, another chef, more than a handful of engineers, businessmen and a forest ranger. Even more exciting, they come from all sorts of universities and colleges as well: community colleges, state schools, small liberal arts colleges and large research universities. It’s exciting to talk to people from regions of the country that I have never visited nor its locals encountered.
Unfortunately, shortly after meeting one another, we were all placed on an overnight flight to Frankfurt, where we split into separate groups to reach each of our separate language schools. Language school for those to whom I have not explained this, is the first part of the CBYX program, lasting from my arrival yesterday to the end of September. Each participant spends two months at a language-training center run by an affiliate of CBYX, the Carl Duisberg Centren. I am studying at their office in Cologne with forty other members of the program, so fortunately I still have a number of friendly faces in the city with me. Little of interest has happened at CDC yet, so I’ll come back to that later.
After the long (8 hours) yet tolerable (arrived early) flight on Lufthansa, we proud participants found ourselves on the ground in Europe… at quarter to six in the morning… after little to no sleep… with a fully scheduled day ahead of us. It was the first true test of the Cologne group’s mettle. Many struggled to stay awake. Many more fell asleep from time to time. Some did so open-mouthed in presentations by the language school director.*** Others did the same while giving their cabbie directions.**** But in the end, everyone survived that first very long day in Germany and lived to tell the tale.
At the end of that long day, I finally met my host family, or Gastfamilie, for the first part of the program. They live in the eastern suburbs of Cologne, and have been very friendly to me thus far. The woman of the house, Frau Zielinska-Lange, is very warm and friendly, and she tolerates my German Fehler with patience mixed with schoolteacher firmness and seize-the-day type attitude for learning experiences. Her last name tripped me up the first few times I tried to say it,***** and her daughter Lena told me I can call her by her first name, Goska… which did not help much either. In any case, I’ve stuck to the Sie formal address when speaking to Frau Zielinska-Lange, since I still barely know her, and she has been kind enough to welcome me into her home. The aforementioned daughter, Lena, is a graduate student at the University of Bonn home for the summer. She has also been quite friendly, and she had the resourcefulness to introduce me to a system wherein I can call the U.S. from land lines for only 0.0114€ a minute!****** There is also a man of the house, Herr Lange, but I have not yet met him. I went to sleep only an hour or so after arrival yesterday out of sheer exhaustion, and he is not yet home as of this writing. Thus far I have been able to determine he is a repairman by trade, of what no one seems to know, and is very busy during the summer.
The Lange family also has two dogs, Maya and Saba, who are by far two of the friendliest, most obedient dogs I have ever seen. I am not really a dog person, but these two are getting me there. The language barrier here is a little thicker, so I will update with more on the dogs later as well.
If you are still reading at this point, particularly with the increasingly irrelevant footnotes,******* you must be pretty interested in what is going on over here. I will post again to keep you apprised of my adventures and mishaps. There have been a couple thus far, but I thought they would be more amusing and less pathetic and bedürftig sounding if amusingly compounded together into a reflection on the mishaps of traveling. Till then, let me leave you with this thought on European fauxhawks: in the time since I was in Austria last summer, one of the following has occurred:
1. Nothing, and they are just typically more extreme and architectural in this region
2. The fashion has moved towards a more angular, bird-like look
3. I have become stodgier
I intend to resolve this mystery by the time I write my next post.
Until then, bussi bussi.
--------
*und so weiter – the German equivalent expression of et cetera.
** Just one I’ve met so far, but she’s adamant, so that compensates.
***They know who they are, and if they are reading this, I hope they have a good sense of humor.
**** …I don’t want to talk about it. Ok? Don’t judge me.
***** Go ahead, read it aloud. I’ll give you a hint. It rhymes with NOTHING.
****** Subject to change without notice.
******* I read David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest before I left this summer. Wallace’s relationship with footnotes in that book is, shall we say, intimate and involved.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
First Blog, First Post
So it appears I will be spending the next year in Germany. My Germanic jaunt is graciously funded by the Congress-Bundestag Youth Exchange. Beyond that, I have little more to share thus far, but I'll be sure to let you know once something interesting has happened.
Bussi bussi.
Bussi bussi.
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