Karnivorous Behavior

For what seems like ages now, I’ve been struggling to write something of substance about Karneval. The party-to-end-all parties,¹ that raucous din that consumed the city with costumed bedlam for almost a week, surely I needed to write about that.

For me, Karneval fell flat. Karneval is party without purpose, festivity following no particular event or cause demanding celebration. For five straight days, Cologne brimmed with merrymakers drinking themselves silly with what sometimes seemed to be desperation. I’m told Karneval originated as a last hurrah before the Lenten season began. It was, I can only assume, an attempt to load oneself with such a vicious hangover that the puritanical proscriptions of Lent would be seen as a sweet relief rather than a restriction.

For the most part, Cologne today is a Catholic city in name and skyline only. The beginning of Lent does not herald teetotalling so much as the mixing of pain-relief medications. So what was everyone celebrating? If the desperation to eek every last drop out of those days did not come from the approach of Lent, then where? Given the maturity² of the average partier, I find myself entertaining depressing theories about German denial: a generation rejecting a two-fold truth: 1) Eventually, youth passes you by; and 2) after a certain age, no one pulls off the drunk tooth-fairy look. The spectacle was, on the whole, a little sad. It reminded me of a theme party in Claremont, but less fun, and with more anonymity, rain and wrinkles.

I suppose at this point a disclaimer is in order. I had fun at Karneval, and my negative opinion on Karneval only developed later. Like everyone else, I looked forward to it. I assembled a pirate costume from odds and ends and a few accessories bought for pocket change on the street.³ I went to parties and watched the parade. But a celebration is meant to… well, celebrate something. Karneval is the quintessential party qua party. I just prefer having cause for my revelry.

Take Meagan’s last visit. She arrived off the plane terribly sick, so rather than castle-hunting along the Rhine, as planned, we spent the weekend recuperating. Though we took in some sightseeing⁴, most of the weekend was spent on my couch.

I haven’t been that happy in ages.

Celebration is good. But the desperate groping for happiness uprooted from cause, well, I’ve found it wanting. If you want to enjoy Karneval, by all means visit Cologne, or Essen or Rio or Venice or any of the other cities where the festivities at this time of year are famed. But bring your friends. They’re what’s worth celebrating.

So much for Karneval. Next time: Dvořák.

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¹Well, until after Lent, anyway.

²Biological, that is.

³Actually, my costume has yielded a lot of compliments. I don’t know how I feel about near-universal consensus that I look better in a bandana, buckles and breeches than I do in modern clothing. Probably just further evidence, alongside the stodgy timbre of this post, that I was born in the wrong century.

⁴Including the hospital. Calm down – she’s fine, now. I had fun, actually. I’d never been in an ambulance before.

I Live, Indeed

If you are reading these words, it means you still occasionally frequent this blog, despite no apparent signs of life from my direction in some time. I thank you for that.

If my absence is not forgivable, I hope it is at least understandable. Like so many, the Christmas season has been somewhat chaotic for me. I have returned to New York for Christmas, a welcome respite after the whirlwind of the past couple of weeks. You see, the third phase of the CBYX program, wherein participants are supposed to be employed, begins on or around February 1. As my departure date loomed, the quiet life I have developed in Cologne began to rumble with the tremors of responsibility: end-of-semester rehearsals and concerts filled my evenings, and mornings began earlier and earlier in order to attend job interviews before class.¹ Fortunately, in the midst of this merry maelstrom, there has also been time for a little bit of culture.

A couple of weeks ago, I had the pleasure of watching a performance of Pretty Ugly Tanz Köln, Cologne's premier contemporary dance company. Led by Amanda Miller, an American ex-pat, the company currently resides at the Schauspiel Köln, Cologne's most important theater. The performance which I witnessed, a medley of both Monteverdi and modern music, exhibited both the company's modernist leanings as well as its ability to construct a dance narrative. I particularly appreciate when a company makes that extra effort to communicate, because quite frankly, I usually just don't get modern dance. What Pretty Ugly does, however, is pretty nice.

That's it for now. Suffice it to say I still live, and regular updates will now resume. For my English-speaking readers, a happy new year to you. To the German speakers, ein frohes Silvester. To everyone else: who the hell are you, and how did you find this blog?

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¹An often miserable experience, since the December sun does not rise in Germany until shortly before 9 am. My heart breaks for the Swedish.

Glühwein, Women and Song

The Christmas season is in full swing here in Cologne. The Weinachtsmärkte opened fully last weekend, and to solicit them came both locals and travelers from abroad. As I have discovered, many of these seasonal travelers come from Britain specifically to visit the Christmas markets. I don't fully understand the logic behind purchasing €100 plane tickets in order to eat €2 roasted almonds, but then, the English also enjoy warm beer, so the lunacy is not without precedent.

To my great fortune, along with this English en masse emigration came Meagan, the lovely hostess of my last two visits to London. Together, she and I braved the extensive network of Weinachtsmärkte that have sprung up across Cologne like cinnamon-scented mushrooms. I bring to you now some highlights of our discoveries, which, we being hungry travelers, ended up being mostly culinary:

1. Glühwein -- For a full explanation of this marvelous substance, see last post. Suffice it to say that we drank our fair share.¹

2. Poffertjes² -- To be fair, the credit for this one goes to a Dutch acquaintance I made in Bonn a couple of weeks ago. Evidently a seasonal favorite in Holland,³ Poffertjes is breakfast transformed into the most unhealthy confectionary dessert imaginable. While Poffertjes poses as a mere waffle cup filled with miniature pancakes, the real magic of this dessert comes in the condiments. Appropriate toppings include syrup, butter, powdered sugar, whipped cream, Nutella, or preferably, all of the above. Sprinkle that bad boy with Baco-Bits and you've got the next American breakfast favorite.

3. Reibekuchen -- Also known as Rievkooche in Kölsch, these deep-fried potato pancakes make an excellent follow-up to Poffertjes if you somehow haven't managed a heart attack yet. Reibekuchen are usually served immediately after being cooked, so it is customary to eat them with a cooling condiment such as apple sauce, or if it's your second helping, Pepto-Bismol.

4. Himmel un Ääd -- I must exonerate Meagan and clarify that she did not at any time sample this unique dish. Himmel un Ääd translates to "heaven and earth" in the local dialect. It is so called because it is a mixture of mashed apples and potatoes, the apples which reside in heaven (i.e. on branches) and the "apples" which reside in earth (i.e. potatoes). Somewhere along the line, the Kölsch community decided to make this culinary concoction their own by adding blood pudding into the mix,⁴ a development I can't help but think of as the cooking equivalent of the snake entering the garden.

There's more to do at the Weinachtsmärkte than just eat and drink, of course. Particularly predominant are small shops and rides for the children. That said, having too little funds to purchase €15 Christmas tree ornaments and too much self-respect to ride the carousel,⁵ Meagan and I mostly browsed.

With the arrival of Advent also came my first major concert of the season. I have been singing with three choirs at the Hochschule, two of which are directed by Marcus Creed. Professor Creed has proven to be a prodigious conductor. He is generally reserved and quiet in demeanor, but he brings out a superb level of concentration and execution from the singers with whom I have seen him work. Among his other obligations, he directs both the Hochschule's main choir and its chamber choir, the latter of which I performed with on Wednesday evening.

I sang with the Claremont Chamber Choir through college, and I have grown to appreciate the sound a group of dedicated singers of that size can create. Even with that experience, I was very curious to hear what the chamber choir here would sound like. Though many of my colleagues in Claremont were music majors, this was an entire choir of music students, many of them with years of vocal training behind them. Thus I had little idea what to truly expect from the experience.

Our concert on Wednesday took place at St. Georgs, one of the smaller old Romanesque cathedrals. One could guess (rightly) by the modern look of town around St. Georgs that it was heavily damaged in the War. In its refurbished form, St. Georgs offers wonderfully resonant acoustics, ideal for an a capella choir. We performed two song cycles, one by Reger and another by Brahms, as well as a modern setting by James MacMillan of a medieval prayer titled "O Bone Jesu." It is easy to forget in the midst of preparing works of music that an audience will be listening with entirely different ears. So as the final note of the concert faded into the walls of the church, I was not sure what to expect from the little crowd in St. Georgs that night. They must have liked it, because they brought Professor Creed back for a total of five ovations, generous even for a German audience.

The past wonderful week did not come without repercussions. Regrettably, after spending my days out in the rainy markets and my nights rehearsing in a cold church, I have finally fallen ill. The doctor doesn't think it's anything serious, just a winter virus. At first, when I heard all I needed was probably some rest and lots of fluids, I was delighted. As it turns out, however, Glühwein doesn't count.

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¹Which, at €2,50 a glass came to one cup each. I can get a full bottle of wine for less than that. And I do.

²Pronounced by saying "Puffered? Tch! Yes!" quickly.

³I have no way to confirm or deny his claim, but I have my doubts. Almost all the Dutch I have met are very thin, and no one could eat Poffertjes with any regularity without resembling a Germanic Wilford Brimley, both in weight and diabetic condition.

⁴And you know they didn't pick something like blood pudding on a lark. There had to have been trial and error involved, which just makes me wonder: what didn't make it?

⁵Fine: they wouldn't let me. Are you happy now?

The Art of the Deal, or the Deal with the Art

New York is not Mecca. It just smells like it. -- Neil Simon

An anonymous editor at the New York Post -- I have a hunch I know whom¹ -- makes a strong argument condemning the strike of tech union Local One, which has kept most of Broadway closed through Thanksgiving weekend. The Post presents a point that would be self-evident anywhere but Broadway. A monopoly is an inefficient method for providing a service, and the New York theater scene is undoubtedly monopolistic.

To be clear, I do not mean that there is insufficient competition within New York; I would argue that's actually quite strong. Rather, I bemoan the pervasive perception that New York is America's performing arts Mecca. While I love New York, I think this common conception is unfortunate. I also understand why it prevails: it's true. No other city in the US can match New York pound-for-pound in quantity or quality of its museums, theaters, and concert halls.

It doesn't have to be that way, however. America's other major cities also offer strong cultural exposure. Those in the know have been long aware of Chicago's status as America's number two theater town, as Terry Teachout discusses in the Wall Street Journal this week.² Mr. Teachout goes on to lament the double damage Broadway's monopoly causes. With limited supply comes exorbitant prices -- Chicago is far cheaper, incidentally -- as well as limited exposure. Thus the monopoly is, in the long run, self-destructive, as Broadway undermines its own cultural relevance, becoming more and more a mere amusement for the wealthy, much the way American opera did a century ago.

Mr. Teachout sees an escape from this problem in the form of regional theater,³ where prices, if still appalling to the average middle-class tourist, are far more reasonable. As Ceaseless Rosemary⁴ brought to my attention, off-Broadway remained largely open in light of the strike. Astoundingly, it turns out front-row tickets need not cost $500 for a theater to function.

Cologne has taught me much in this regard. With only a fraction of New York's population, the Kölners keep over 30 independent theaters running. True, the quality varies between inspirational and insipid, and you don't see a lot of productions with 42^nd Street budgets, but the shows are well-attended, well received, and well within reasonable prices. And it's worth noting that this is not Berlin, or Munich, or even Hamburg, Germany's true metropolises.⁵ So why can't Boston or Dallas or Cincinnati achieve their own claims to culture?

With the amount of talented actors, writers, musicians and technicians who remain both non-unionized and unemployed, there exists plenty of opportunity for American cities to contribute, to have their arts scenes thrive and be recognized for that achievement. No city can topple New York. Mecca will remain Mecca, and the hajj to New York will continue to be the apogee of the American art experience. But I hold out hope that the monopoly need not continue, and a freer, more accessible arts scene can still thrive, both in New York and elsewhere.

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¹Update: all right, I guessed wrong, but I'm leaving the link in place because I enjoy name-dropping.

²Might need to register to read this one. Apologies.

³This one, too.

⁴Merely her nom de plume, I assure you. Her parents aren't quite that hippie-esque.

⁵Metropoles? Metropolii?

City of All Saints

As several notable bloggers have already mentioned, this past Wednesday was Reformation Day. I celebrated the occasion in proper Protestant fashion: I went clubbing.

The club was Gebäude 9, the same venue where I experienced a rather bizarre passion play during last month's Theater Nacht Köln. A former factory turned bar and dance club, Gebäude 9 houses parties much more successfully than it does theater, particularly bad theater with painfully obvious metaphors. The play, as you may recall, was a passion play with Jesus as an indie rocker, preaching authenticity and warning against selling out. It would have been clever if it weren't so heavy-handed.

Dance clubs are an interesting experience here. Cologne is often touted as the center of gay culture in Europe, and the KölnerInnen pride themselves on being "multi-kulti." Thus I was not surprised to find partygoers of every stripe. What did surprise me was the communal experience the club offered. I am not normally a fan of drum and bass music -- I'd never even heard of it until the night before -- but somehow, the pulsing music and heavy cigarette smoke¹ combined to create an atmosphere that was almost warm. I was particularly struck by the absence of sexual tension across the dance floor. To be sure there were couples about, doing what couples ...erm, do, but the general aura was much more simple and free-spirited. It was lively, and it was fun. And that was all.

The crowd had filled Gebäude 9 from wall to wall, a somewhat surprising sight for a Wednesday. No doubt this resulted from the next day being All Saints Day. This being a Catholic region of the country, All Saints Day is an official holiday. So the next morning² I went to the Dom, the cathedral, for Mass. In the plaza in front of the Dom, I passed a street performer doing balancing tricks on a unicycle. He had gathered a sizable crowd, so I paused briefly to watch. Upon entering the cathedral, I noticed attendance was sparse, which normally would not have surprised me. It occurred to me, however, that the crowd in the cathedral was far smaller than had been on the dance floor the night before. Indeed, it was even smaller than the gathering watching the street performer outside. My surprise waned throughout the Mass. While outside the people laughed and enjoyed the spectacle, inside they murmured through the hymns without enthusiasm and beat their breasts over their "ewige Schuld," their eternal guilt.

While the Dom lacked the festivity of Gebäude 9 or the street performer, the Mass offered contemplation, a reflection on what community is all about. In his homily, the priest spoke of both the consolation and the hardship of Christianity. He spoke of finding comfort in the family of the Church, but also of living up to the demands of what that community stands for. Community, in other words, is more than just a good feeling, more than a party or a good show. He was inspiring; it's unfortunate more people didn't hear him.

I have been thinking about these rather dichotomous twenty-four hours ever since. Many people in Germany, especially the younger generation, are by and large disaffected in regards to faith. And many of the faithful are disaffected in regards to them. I doubt anyone else from Gebäude 9 went to the Dom the next day. Nor could I imagine too many of the attendants of that Mass at a drum and bass club. I have heard it said that Cologne is a city of contradictions. The city shares a history with the Catholic Church since the middle ages, and its influence has continued into the twentieth century. As recently as the Second Vatican Council, the influential Josef Cardinal Frings hailed from Cologne, bringing with him an intelligent young theologian named Joseph Ratzinger. Yet the history of diversity and "Multi-Kulti" also has a strong tradition in Cologne, evident in the city's history of commitment to art and culture, and the amazing assortment of people who live here.

I am not so sure this dichotomy is a contradiction at all. In both Gebäude 9 and the Dom, I saw the people of Cologne seeking, in different ways, the same thing: a sense of community, a sense of belonging. It reminds me of that amateurish passion play I saw at Gebäude 9 last month, with Jesus as indie rocker. Perhaps the image is not such a bad metaphor for this city, with its different groups of identical desires.

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¹Among other unmistakable aromas.

²Okay, fine, afternoon... late afternoon.

Gushing over Genia

I'm calling it, right here, right now. I want this in the Google cache, so that all may know, from this moment to Ragnarok, that I called it.

Genia Kühmeier is going to be huge.

Though maybe that's not the best choice of words when describing a classically trained singer. After all, there's a good chance she actually will be, erm, huge. She's a soprano. To paraphrase Victor Borge, she could very well end up being four and a half feet tall... lying down. It's kind of an occupational hazard of the profession.

That aside, Ms. Kühmeier is unabashedly amazing. I had the great fortune to hear her at the Kölner Philharmonie last night, where she performed six Strauss Lieder for soprano and orchestra. Particularly stunning were her renditions of Strauss' "Zueignung" and "Morgen." I do not often indulge in closing my eyes at concerts, but Ms. Kühmeier's voice demanded it. She generated a tone, a color, a sensation that filled that house and created the feeling any great musician should create: that the audience is so very lucky, so very privileged to be exactly where thay are at that moment, hearing what they hear.

If you don't believe my word that Ms. Kühmeier is going to be the next Renée Fleming or Anna Netrebko (or at least the next Angelika Kirschlager), just look at her track record. In the past year, this wonderful performer has premiered at the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden, the Théâtre Musical de Paris Châtelet, and the Bayerische Staatsoper, undoubtedly three of the most important opera houses in Europe. She will also perform the role of Pamina in Die Zauberflöte at the Metropolitan Opera in New York during the 2007-2008 season's run. Pamina is admittedly not the most important or demanding female role; it's not even the most demanding female role in The Magic Flute. But Genia is too young to be performing roles like the Queen of the Night, anyway. She is, however, cornering the market on performances of Pamina. That she has been so frequently hired for it as of late may mean she is on the cusp of fame.

Long story short, for those of you who are in New York, make the most of this opportunity, and hear her when The Magic Flute returns to the Met. Tickets don't seem to be available yet, but stay sharp.

And just in case you still don't believe me, please feel free to sample her talent as Pamina for yourself.

Street Music

When I was in Austria last summer, I toured Burgenland singing with a classical music festival. Our little band managed to fill virtually every venue we visited. This experience gave me a real appreciation of what music lovers Europeans can be. Likewise, while I worked in Austria last summer, I was able to hear a number of free concerts in one of Austria's best venues. As I went about my errands today, I chanced upon great music three times, and I thought both the quality and serendipity of the experiences were worth sharing.

Along the west bank of the Rhine lies St. Kunibert's Basilica, one of the more impressive Romanesque churches of Cologne. As I walked past, I heard the distinct sound of a powerful organ as muffled through thick walls. I went inside to find one of the largest organs I have ever seen. At the bench was one Gerhard Blum, who filled the church with Baroque music for the next twenty minutes almost without pause. Besides three assistants of some sort, I was the only other person in the church. After he finished playing, I stopped him for a moment to get his name and thank him for the pleasure of his playing. He seemed in a hurry, so I let him go, but I afterwards regretted not asking him when I could hear him performing again.* It had been a while since I had heard live music that impressed me so.

I was not long in waiting for more. I came across another act about a half kilometer south on the Frankenwerft, a scenic part of the western Rhine filled with charming restaurants. This time it was some sort of amateur drum corps, performing an ongoing circular routine to cheer on the spirits of runners in the day's marathon as they blasted past. Their performance place was at the base of a semi-circular staircase between Frankenwerft and the Rhine, and an appreciative audience assembled on that staircase as they played, including a pair of homeless men who managed to get a decent portion of the crowd to dance. I watched this routine slowly develop into a small impromptu street party, which was still going on when I left for the evening.

Just south of Frankenwerft on the Fischmarkt I came across a street band composed of accordion, fiddle and bass. I have seen them a few times in this vicinity, and while it would probably be a stretch to say they have a following, the crowd usually appears pretty appreciative. One would think the band makes enough in tips, since they come around so often. The band's repertory was very familiar: an Oompah rendition of Joplin's "The Entertainer," what I believe was "Monty," and selections from Fiddler on the Roof. If for nothing else, my day was worth hearing two entire outdoor restaurants break out together into singing along to "Wäre ich ein reich Mann."

This town is starting to grow on me.

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* It turns out Herr Blum is the Kantor at St. Kunibert's, so if you're in town and Baroque music is your thing, Mass at the basilica is probably a safe bet to hear him.

Kölner Kirchen, Part One: The Dom

I have heard Cologne referred to as the City of Churches. The name is apt. Though Cologne began as a Roman colony, that age is most evident in the many Romanesque churches that overlook the streets. Sadly, there’s not much of the city's history to be seen besides the churches. Most of Cologne was bombed during World War II, and virtually all of the current urban landscape was built in the postwar reconstruction or thereafter. Many of the churches, however, survived the bombings. Those that were damaged underwent extensive and careful repairs, a process that went on into the 1990’s, and still goes on in occasional spot work today.

Since so much of Cologne’s remaining architectural history is tied up in these beautiful buildings, I thought I should give them some consideration here. And any discussion of Cologne’s architecture, history, or most anything else really, must begin with Cologne's Gothic cathedral, the Dom.

The cathedral, the center and symbol of the city, is simply called the Kölner Dom, or just “die Dom.” It is the tallest building in the city at 509 feet, and with the exception of a few skyscrapers that have sprung up outside the Altstadt, it towers over everything like a behemoth. The Dom can be seen from just about everywhere, and is often used as a directional guide, e.g. “Head towards the Dom, keep the Dom on your right, etc.”

The history of the Dom is well documented, and I would be doing little other than a disservice, were I to attempt to summarize it here. What I can say is that the building took 600 years to build, and its presence gives a unique character to the city. For instance, when I change lines on my morning commute, I rise out of the U-Bahn to a platform that faces the bridge across the Rhine. This bridge leads to Cologne's central station, which is directly next to the Dom. Thus, if one enters the city from the east side of the Rhine, then the Dom greets your entry.



The Dom is the second tallest church in Europe, and it just barely misses first. Students can climb the southern tower for just 1€, and from there one can see the entire city.



It’s worth the hike.













The interior of the church is also spectacular. Regrettably, the stained-glass windows were all destroyed in the war, but they were beautifully reconstructed… though they do incorporate the occasional oddity. This stained-glass window can be found on the western wall when entering the church. In the bottom right corner, there is a picture of the planet Saturn, a picture that very closely resembles the symbol of the popular German electronics store of the same name, which just happens to have an outlet directly outside the church.




The symbol...

...which can be seen on the store across from the cathedral, on the left side here.

The most difficult thing to explain about the Dom is its size. It is practically impossible to express the sheer physical presence of the cathedral in words and pictures. To give some scale, however, you'll note the two Kreuzblumen adorning the Dom's towers:














Here's a to-scale replica on the ground.

















Even that comparison does not do justice to the impression the Dom makes on visitors. After all, if pictures did the Dom justice, it probably wouldn't be the single most visited building in Europe. But as the Kölners would note, it's not like it's hard to find, either.

See what I mean?

Some Light Reading

I have been living in Cologne about a week, and language school has already begun to occupy much of my time. This means I have had less spare moments for exploring than I might like. Since my days have been almost entirely filled with the German language, I decided to allow myself a small treat of the Muttersprache to and from school on the train. The only English reading I had brought with me was a collection of Edna St. Vincent Millay poetry, which – like that really good chocolate you have every intention of making last for a very long time – I had consumed rather quickly. So, I went in search of a bookstore that sold novels in English.

What I found was English Books and Tea .

Located on Ritterstraße just off the Hansaring (the main road where the CDC is located), English Books and Tea is a small shop that sells eponymous wares to what appears to be a circle of loyal customers, many of them British and American expatriates. I was rather surprised to find a shop specializing in books in English in the middle of Cologne, though fellow CBYX participant Sannie tells me that the phenomenon is actually common in major German cities. She seems quite educated in these matters, so I believe her. That said, I have not seen any others, so I was elated to find exactly what I was looking for less than four blocks from school.

The proprietor is an Englishman named Chris Potter – go ahead, make a Harry Potter joke, I’ll wait – originally hailing from Essex. From what I can tell, he speaks terrific German, and he claims to speak excellent Russian as well, though to that I cannot speak informedly. He alternates between English and German from behind the counter while making tea for customers and conversing on all manner of subjects with all manner of people. The first time I visited his shop, he did an excellent job of helping me defuse a rather disgruntled member of the American Air Force, who decided to quarrel with me when he overheard that I a) was from New York, and b) believed most Americans do not care very much about history. I politely indulged the Flatbush native’s loaded questions about my education and take on various topics, and Chris was courteous enough to mediate the whole situation. This proved to be quite indicative of Chris’ general demeanor, which is at once self-effacing and witty in a way only the British can pull off.

Taken altogether, English Books and Tea and its proprietor have been one of my more pleasant finds thus far. Chris’ heritage is half-German, and he’s been in Cologne for seven years, so he and his shop could technically be considered part of the local color. The community certainly seems to think so. His shop is home for everything from reading groups to AA meetings to the kind of gossipy exchanges that bind a neighborhood. Chris also knows the area quite well. A few of us from CBYX have befriended him, and he was kind enough to take us on a small Kneipentour (a Cologne version of a pub crawl). So take heed, English-speaking travelers. Should you find yourself in Cologne, be sure to visit Chris’ shop. I’m sure it’s hard staying afloat as a proprietor of a small bookshop, especially when most of your customers stand around talking rather than buying. So if you’re in town, give Chris some business. He might even show you around.

And yes, I bought a book… eventually.

Bussi bussi.

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.

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*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.