Eindrücke eines fremden Landes

Um meine mühsam erworbene Sprachkenntnisse nicht verloren gehen zu lassen, werde ich (hoffentlich) regelmäßig auf Deutsch schreiben. Das bringt drei meiner vier Leser nicht besonders viel, da sie kein Deutsch können, aber ich erhoffe mir, dass einige meiner Freunde aus dem deutschsprachigen Raum die Augen hierhin richten.

Eigentlich komme ich aus diesem Land, hier bin ich geboren und aufgewachsen. Wie kann es mir denn fremd vorkommen? Culture Shock existiert, anscheinend in beiden Richtungen. Zunächst war ich erstaunt, wie verdammt groß alles ist. Ich werde es nicht übertreiben und mich über die Konsum-Kultur auslassen, sondern einfach bemerken, dass hier ein kleines Auto eher die halbe Autobahn blockiert hätte. Solche große Straßen gibt es hier auch, sie heißen Interstate Highways und sind leider nicht so höflich befahren wie in Deutschland.

Die Gegend, wo ich aufgewachsen bin ist, wie oft platt bezeichnet, ein ,,Dorf in den Bergen". Für diejenigen, die noch nie in den USA waren, oder die nie im Westen waren, ist das Konzept von ,,Dorf" um wesentlich unterschiedlich von das der Deutschen. Es gibt eine lange, breite Straße, die von der Hauptstadt ca. 20 Meilen (30 km) Richtung Nirgendwo fährt, und von dieser Straße fahren Landstraßen jeweils mit 5 bis 40 Häusern. Eine halbe Stunde zu fahren gilt als immer noch im Dorf, wobei man die Vororte von der Stadt in der Zeit auch erreichen kann. Die Stadt an such, ohne Vororte, hat 550,000 Einwohner, und mit Vororten über 2 Millionen. Unser ,,Dorf" hat fast 25,000, jedoch sind sie auf einer großen Fläche verteilt. Die Häuser befinden sich im Wald und sind nicht immer von der Straße aus zu sehen. Hier und dort an der Hauptstraße entlang sind einige Einkaufszentren, mit jeweils ein Supermarkt (wie Migros, Famila, Real), einige Restaurante und kleine Läden, und eine Tanke. Ein lokales Verkehrsnetz gibt es nicht; man kann mit dem Bus in die Stadt und zurück fahren, aber nicht innerhalb des Dorfes.

Das Haus, in dem meine Familie seit 1999 gewoht hat (und auf dem Grundstück seit 1984) ist immer noch wie vorher. Es ist eindeutig zu groß für zwei Leute; früher wohnte bis zu vier oder fünf, je mit eigenem Zimmer. Für Stadtverhältnisse ist es sehr groß, wobei das Haus im Vergleich zu anderen hier (und vor allem im Vergleich zu der Nachbarschaft von Villen, die neben uns gebaut wurde) ist sie sogar kleiner. Mein Vater ist Hobbygeigebauer und -gitarrenbauer und das heißt, dass Instrumente aller Art überall sind und es gibt fast kein Zimmer wo nicht mindestens eine Gitarre steht. In dem Zimmer, wo ich mich jetzt befinde, sind es vier. Meine Mutter hat auch Pferde, und wir sind unverkennbar als ,,Pferdefamilie" zu bezeichnen, denn es liegen Trenzen, Sattel-Teile und Lederstücke überall. Ich freue mich, wieder eine große Küche zu haben, und der Kühlschrank ist größer als ich und man kann direkt von ihm Wasser oder Eiswürfel bekommen. Die Fenster haben Netze drin, damit die Insekten fernbleiben--allerdings gibt es hier keine Insekten, nur gelegentlich Ameisen oder Motten. Grundsätzlich sind alle Fenster auf, die Türen sind nie abgeschlossen und die Autos auch nicht. Nachtsüber wird es ca 5 oder 8 Grad, tagsüber manchmal 28 Grad. Jeden Nachmittag kommt Gewitter, mit viel Blitz, viel Donner, und manchmal sogar starken Regen. Vor zwei Tagen ist ein Läufer gestorben, weil er vom Blitz getroffen wurde. Aufpassen.

Wenn man einkaufen geht, fragen alle Mitarbeiter des Supermarkts, wie es mir geht. Mindest vier oder fünf Leute, was ich etwas unheimlich finde aber, im Vergleich zu den Aldikassierinnen, eigentlich bevor ziehe. Einkaufen ist wie in der Schweiz, gute Qualität aber teuer. Sie haben, in dem Jahr wo ich weg war, einen neuen Supermarkt gebaut als eine misslungene Kombination vom Supermarkt, Mensa, und Starbucks. Alles auf einmal, heißt das....

Well, I made it, I guess

Well, I made it, after fourteen hours of travel, a minor dispute with the ticket counter, two wonderful weeks interspersed with traumatic farewells from family, friends, friends who have become family, and loved ones: after one year of travel, I am back in the burnished gold land I have called home for 19 of my (almost) 21 years.

The only part that disturbs me about flying overseas is the sheer duration; the concept of nine hours sitting a chair is not an appealing prospect. I like airports; despite the level of average weariness being collectively double that of the normal population, an airport provides an interesting cross-section of people from all over the world, speaking all manner of languages, and going to or returning from all manner of destinations. I read flights for Prague and Rio, for Hong Kong and Dubai, and I wish for a moment I were going there.

Being back is not necessarily the same as being home; home is where I feel most comfortable, and to some extent, the version of the house in which I grew up will always be home, but I don't live here anymore. The apartments and rooms I have inhabited and will inhabit have been and are also home, and that reason I found the gradual dissolution of my shared flat to be rather traumatic. Here, pieces of my childhood are jumbled and strewn about, and each unconscious rearrangement seems starkly portrayed against the static picture in my head. Larger changes (newer and wider roads, a new shopping center) mark the inevitable development of my formerly secluded little area. The city is coming.

The last couple of weeks have been rather traumatic. Wonderful at the same time, they have been filled with all the things I love to do in Freiburg: dinners with friends; running in the woods; bike tours and hiking; picknicking on the grass next to the river; dancing and partying; eating gelato; meeting friends for coffee, ice cream, or lunch; enjoying live music and sports, festivals and events.... but in these last few weeks I have had to say goodbye to a lot of people, and that's hard. I know your true friends never leave you, and even a lot of your very good acquaintances can hang around if you give it effort. Yet I am aware that my life cannot continue as it has, and that makes me sad.

The last weekend went by in a blur. My sister came down from Berlin and helped me out by driving my possessions and former possessions around FR to their new homes, by keeping me company and helping me with the party. I'm not the world's biggest party person, and considering the level of stress I had about getting out of town, the last thing I really wanted to do was plan a party, but thankfully my roommate and my guests stepped up and allowed us to have a wicked evening without too extensive a cleanup. I am glad so many people came to say goodbye, and I missed several of my good friends who were out of town or couldn't make it. I didn't know I knew so many people; I guess I qualify as pretty well integrated.

After an 8-hour drive on too little sleep, three people, lots of luggage, and a small car we arrived in Berlin. This small hiatus from life, this little purgatory allowed to regain some of my sanity and spend some quality time with Sister and Boyfriend and my other family. We spent one day in town on foot, one on bikes, saw the new Harry Potter film and the family's new place, went rowing, ate breakfast in the garden and running in the woods. It was exactly what I needed.

We intended to drop Boyfriend off at the station for the earlier of the two possible trains, but our hug goodbye was a bit too lingering and he missed the train.

It looks like spring and
It feels like sunny weather
But it's a cold day in July

Your bags are packed, not a word is spoken
I guess we said everything with good-bye
Time moves so slow and promises get broken
On this cold day in July

Sun's comin' up comin' up down on Main Street
Children shout as they're running out to play
Head in my hands
Here I am
Standing in my bare feet
Watching you drive away
Watching you drive away
- Cold Day in July - Dixie Chicks

So, here I am in a minor deja vu. I'll have some challenges and some hard times to get through but I will make it by, and if I am lucky I will be just as sad about leaving Boulder next spring as I am about leaving Freiburg. The new chapter begins, I suppose..... But despite the fact that it's 11:39 AM in Germany, the local time is 3:19, so I suppose I should get some sleep....

What *is* that thing??

I went shopping yesterday. More precisely, I fought my way through the hordes of retiree tourists, Japanese, and old women to buy fruit and vegetables at the market, trying to keep the inevitable sausage-eaters from staining my white blouse (these people buy a sausage and then remain standing in the middle of the path, and then act surprised and drip katchup on you if you try to get through). Yes, it is twice as expensive as our local discounter, but if I have the choice between an unsprayed, fresh salad from someone's garden and some vacuum-packed thing from Aldi, I'll take the former. And it's cherry season, so you can buy a pound of cherries for about two dollars, which I did, along with a kilo of tomatoes and two apricots, packing my purchases into my backpack.

I ate the apricots (mmmmmm) and met a friend for lunch, and we looked for jeans for her, got ice cream, and went grocery shopping. In Germany, you pay for your plastic bag, which is doubly irritating as you probably have fifteen bags at home (for which you have paid) if you have to buy a new one. I, however, have a backpack, and I manage to just fit everything but the salad and the four pounds of apples I bought. One would be astounded how much is possible to transport by bicycle--I've seen everything from carpets to computers--and it is usual for me to ride home from the store with bags dangling from my handlebars.

As I am mostly home and am locking up my bike, I notice that my back is moist, the lower part where my jeans meet my blouse. Moist, moist....ok, something must have leaked. I bought a yoghurt, that could be it. That would really be a mess. I, hunched over to hopefully avoid dripping whatever it is everythere, stumble up the stairs to my apartment and unload my groceries.

The part where I had gone to the market and bought cherries is the part I had forgotten while packing my kilos of carrots and nectarines in my backpack, and my produce managed to press my formerly gorgeous little cherries, and it was cherry juice that was leaking. Scheiße.

I can handle this, I think, and take off my (formerly) white blouse to soak (it now has red streaks on the back), clean up the backpack, change my shirt.... and notice the huge purple blotch on my lower back, ending in a tidy line where my jeans were. It looks like I'd been beaten severely...by cherries!

On continue...

So, so, so, the good times don't end here...

18. During the course of a Tchoukball match, the players dive to try and catch the ball and thus prevent the other team scoring. We're sitting and watching, and a player from the British team unluckily named Tubby (now imagine this spoken with a French accent by our fantastic announcer) leaps to catch the ball--and disappears over the retaining wall. He'd jumped clear out of the stadium (itself consisting of advertsing panels about waist-high holding in the sand), got caught in the netting and landed on the sidewalk amid some very surprised passerby. It took awhile to get him out and he was miraculously unhurt, just walking a bit slowly at first. He continued to play as well. Later on in the game, leaping to catch another ball, he ended up falling out of the stadium (again) into the dugout, using one of the players' girlfriends seated there to break his fall. Now if only the team could match his 2-0 score.

19. I had to leave my lovely room to move to the dorm, which was dark and a bit stuffy, so I opened all the windows and sat at the table to read a bit. A couple of small sparrows worked their way up to the sill...and flew into the room! This happened on several occasions, that they wandered around on the floor, pecking at crumbs, heading for the table. Brave little bastards. I actually saw one letting itself be petted in exchange for bread crumbs in a sandwich joint. Do NOT feed the wildlife :)

20. The train ride from Basel, Switzerland, to where I live takes about an hour and requires passing the border (duh). So I had my passport. Upon boarding the train in Basel, I was followed by two armed guards. A minute and a half later, three armed policemen in different uniforms boarded, followed by two train conductors and three other official people, in 2 or 3 minute intervals. Nevertheless, for my entire stay and travel in 3 countries, no one ever asked for my passport.

21. I went to France. To visit a friend. In the rain. We went for a hike, though, which was fabulous, going up to an old cloister back in the woods. What do nuns eat in the middle of nowhere? We bought cheese and carrots and fruit and bread for our picnic lunch, sitting under a tree. The weather started out fabulous, and by the time I had made it through my bread the clouds had opened up. I almost kept looking around to see if I had mistaken Noah's Ark for a sailboat.

22. My room in Annecy in the hostel had a loft. It was pretty sweet, even if I couldn't stand up in most of it. Reached by a narrow staircase and lighted by a skylight, I managed to have the upstairs to myself while my lovely snoring roommates occupied the lower portion.

Mes vacances à Genève

Let me preface my story, as fractured as it is, by saying that I packed incorrectly. Usually, I travel light. Somehow, however, I managed to fill up my huge backpack with 2 Kg of apples (approximately 4 and a half pounds), books, running gear, one pair of pants, one sweater, one pair of shorts, and one skirt. Somehow this quantity of stuff filled the whole thing, was huge and cumbersome and strangely heavy. And incorrect; instead of the pair of comfortable loafers I should have brought hipwaders; instead of the sweater and raincoat I should have brought foul-weather sailing gear à la America's Cup (which Switzerland just won, by the way). Not to impunge the honor of my trusty raincoat; it actually held up perfectly well under several utter downpours. The stuff in the pockets did not, I repeat, did not get wet. My shoes and my single and reduntantly solitary pair of jeans, however, were not encased in raincoat and were only cursorialy protected by the waste of plastic which is my pathetic excuse for an umbrella, whose flimsy supporting rods make it look somwhat of an injured yellow bird with the water resistant qualities of a leaky bucket.

You may extrapolate from this that it rained on my trip. It did. Quite a bit, but only three days, and not the entirety of three days. There was quite a bit of sunshine and it was quite enjoyable, I just haven't been properly dry since saturday.

With no further ado, I present to you the mixed-up snippets of tripness, in no particular order and with no promise of relevance whatsoever:

1. Bookstores are good places to hide when it rains, particularly ones with CDs to listen to.

2. Breakfast on the train is fantastic; there is nothing better than enjoying fresh rolls, strawberry cream cheese and a newspaper when you're on the road.


Tchoukball at Geneva Beach 2007

3. There is such a thing as Tchoukball. It is sort of a cross between volleyball, lacrosse, basketball, and....other stuff. It has five players on a team, and involves bouncing a ball off of a net, and depending on whether the other team catches the rebound, you score a point. I spent two entire evenings watching this, watching the Taiwanese cream the Swiss and the canadians. I had to move once, though, because I was sitting in the Taiwanese cheering section, and the cheerleaders (players from the women's team cheering on the men) left me deaf on the left side. The ref, standing directly in front of them, wasn't too thrilled either.

4. Do not try to be smarter than the train company, especially if you're me and try to be clever. Me trying to be clever left me sitting in Basel for two hours until I could take the correct train. Es lebe die Deutsche Bahn.


Le Festival du Jazz

5. The jazz festival au Parc de Croppettes was really cool, even if it took forever to find. A row of bands played, including one with two fantastic duelling tap dancers á la Fred Astaire (even did a number with a cane!



6. My (very white) room shared with a Japonese ballet dancer had an incredible view of the harbor. I think my french may have been better than hers, and she's lived there a year and a half. I had to move later, though, to something more approximating a dungeon to compensate for the fortituousness I received here...

7. I am spoiled by German bike routes, where everything is signed and marked and there are lots of paths through fields and woods. Geneva has bike paths, I think four different routes, which are mostly nonexistent, or pointing in the wrong direction. I stopped to look at the map, for the fiftieth time. Except I didn't really have a map, just a general sketch of where the towns were. The route was supposed to be marked, but...wasn't. Sporadically. I wanted a bike tour, not a scavenger hunt...



8. The contemporary art museum is housed in an old factory, and has very strange installation exhibitions. No, we don't want your jackson pollock, just give us a ping pong table out of concrete that's built crooked...

9. Next to the University there is a park where you can play chess and checkers. The pieces go up to your knee.

10. I managed to mistake the WTO for a library. I kept not understanding why the words WTO were stencilled on the doors.

11. The HEI administrative building is housed in a former villa. The institute is located in a park on the shore, up near the UN buildigns. THe Leage of Nations tried to buy up all of the parks (there are four or five private estates with villas which are now parks) but one widow refused to sell. So, the City of Geneva offered to swap the LoN property for the Ariana park, where the UN is now located, and the former grounds are now parks. The villas house museums or Institute administrative buildings.

12. I visited the United Naitons. I tried to go in the delegate's entrance. They didn't let me. "Oú est-ce que vous voulez? C'est l'entrée pour les delegués" Ups... Across from the UN is....a giant chair...which is missing a leg. The symbolism is beyond me.

13. Walking at night, alone and female, didn't bother me. Except everywhere I went, the guys sitting on benches: "Bonsoir madame, ca va? Ca va bien?" followed by some stupid comment when I wouldn't answer.

14. But sitting on a park bench seems to be an invitation.... twice in one day I had someone sit down and start talking to me, eventually inviting me out for the evening. The first guy was Turkish, with quite good French (much better than mine, but I got by). His opening line: "Il fait beau aujourd'hui", and my stunningly clever response: "ah, oui, ca va. Euh, c'est meilleur que la semaine dernière...." Cool, weather talk. Fun. The second guy was from the Gambia (they speak English. He speaks English, Spanish, French, and whatever language he spoke to someone on the phone in) who asked me for a cigarette, than later says he doesn't smoke and just used that as a tactic to talk to me. Do I exude some sort of "please talk to me! I am desperately lonels!" scent? And I lied to any personal questions; in the span of several minutes I managed to create a separate false identity for myself. Usually I say I'm German, my name is Kati, and I'm meeting friends later.



15. While checking my email at the university, a guy in his forties comes up to me and starts talking to me, which turns out to be an entire speech on love, bread, and happiness based on the pretext of asking me a question (which he never did). He spoke decent German, so I got to have a Brot oder Liebe tirade until my ears turned blue and my smile fixed to my face as if glued by a four year old (sloppily, and only a matter of time till it falls off). Why me??

16. I spent a rather restless train ride from Basel to Freiburg. I passed on the first compartment cause it smelled funny, moved into the second where I was stuck with a really irritating older couple, one who states the obvious and ends every sentence with "gel?", a regional accent which just gets on my nerves. So I go back to the first compartment, sit down, and realize that the reason it smelled funny was because it was the smoking section, so I move into the second compartment, having forgotten why I left. The old woman spent the entirety of the ride plaguing her husband with inane comments in a desperate attempt at communication, leaving her fending off her fifteenth inquiry as to their arrival with the resignation of a tired traveller on a well-worn road. "Do you have the tickets" Yes, I have them. Pause. "Well, when do we get there?" At 9 55, like I told you. "oh." Silence. "You know what I find interesting?" No. "The clouds there, how they are light and dark" Mmmhh. "But you know, not really dark. What do you think?" They're clouds. "But they're dark! They're different!" (AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!)



17. Le pain, le pain, le pain non plus : My meals consisted almost invariably out of bread, yoghurt, raw carrotes, a zucchini, and perhaps a bit of cheese or an apple. Yummy, yes, but after four days I was desperate for anything cooked, anything hot, and anything that wasn't any of the above. The bread was good, yes, and better in France, but after your eighth meal of white bread and some kind of cheese (or even dry) you start dreaming of alternatives.