Bagels and Bad Writing

I got to thinking about nostalgia this evening, as I was shaping my second batch of soon-to-be successful bagels. (All you need is this recipe - it's magic, I promise you.) The wonderful world of social media seems to have irrevocably altered the way we hold on to things, how and what we remember. Occasionally the impulse to facebook search an elementary school acquaintance, a boy I kissed in high school, overtakes me, and I find myself privy to intimate images and descriptions of that person's life. Of course these people have inevitably changed in the years, sometimes decades (decades!) that have passed since our last contact. They're not really there anymore, on that page. They wouldn't know your long hair or your step on the street. But just a passing scent in town, or a tiny window of dialogue at a biergarten, can transport you back to that moment: a moment you cherished, laughed at, despised, despaired over. Walking past your childhood home, biking by a former workplace, retracing the steps you travelled between the library and home: they recall all of those windows in time that had been previously forgotten, somehow. And there seems to be some sort of connection between this small, bright Bavarian kitchen, with its big white cupboards and ordered tea on the shelves and mason jars filled with seeds and roasted nuts and dried apples, and those moments. That wave of emotion. This keen sense of loss and recognition that tears at me, that makes me feel aged and impossibly young.

Paris and Hausfrauen

I've started to feel like a real deutsche Hausfrau, with all my baking, cleaning, and general "puttering." I suppose grocery shopping for two also enhances this feeling of homemaking, and I've even dubbed myself upon occasion a Putzteufel (directly translated: cleaning devil). Part of it is also my erratic hours: I spend up to twelve hours a day at inlingua or companies during the week, and combined with working Saturday mornings, all this time away from home makes me want to hunker down and nest all weekend when I finally have free time.

It hasn't all been hunkering, though. Two weeks ago we drove to Paris (I can DRIVE to PARIS! I know!) to see my sister Sarah perform with Montréal-based Compagnie FLAK onstage. Aside from the sheer novelty of rendezvousing with one of my siblings on the streets of France's capital city, seeing her perform was also an incredible experience. The piece was beautifully executed, and the small theatre allowed us to feel much closer to the stage and more intimately connected to the movement there. Afterwards, the director of the theatre gave a rather long-winded speech concerning the strong ties between Québec and France, wrapping up with an energetic attempt to regain the crowd's wandering attention, "Vive le Québec!", about the only part of the whole spiel that I actually understood. Shockingly, all my French has completely deserted me. German seems to have occupied the foreign language part of my brain and shoved out all other structures and words there. It was great fun attempting to order and pay for food in French, only to find myself babbling on in an incoherent mixture of the two languages. I'm surprised I wasn't implored to speak English, although perhaps I shouldn't be considering France's reputation for its treatment of foreigners.

We also had a lovely couchsurfing host who was incredibly accommodating. She hails from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, and we commiserated about our constant need to define our birthplaces in relation to Toronto or Vancouver. When I mention I'm from Canada, people invariably cheerfully ask: "Oh! What part?" When I answer "near Toronto," they nod wisely and say "mm, Toronto." But not REALLY Toronto, although I was certainly born closer to it than our CS host. I can't imagine how she navigates that one; perhaps "somewhere in the middle" should be her standard response. It turns out, in a bizarre twist, that we actually attended the same Explore program in Trois-Pistolès two summers ago and participated in the same afternoon activity group. We didn't discover this until the last day, and I thought it was a bit more than coincidence that made me wind up on her lovely pull-out couch for three nights.

My birthday is on Sunday, so we'll be celebrating with various people over the weekend. And today happens to be Bastian's father's birthday, so we're heading to the Allgäu tonight for dinner and beer: Lots and lots of beer. The weekend has arrived, and in true Hausfrau style I've already got a pound cake in the oven and a coffee date at 4p.m. Life is sweet, particularly on days like these.

update: just withdrew my slightly blackened pound cake from the oven. definitely haven't achieved hausfrau status yet.

Nicole Brossard

I finished a book tonight and wanted to put this somewhere.

"I remain vigilant in the sole hope that nothing that was has been useless."

From Nicole Brossard's Hier, translated by Susanne de Lotbinière-Harwood - Yesterday, at the Hotel Clarendon.

Advent

Christmas is serious business in Germany. The Weihnachtsmarkt opened two weeks ago in Augsburg, and I've been frequenting it almost daily. (I've adjusted to a semi-permanent state of afternoon/evening glühwein tipsiness.) For those of you who have yet to discover the joys of Christmas markets in Germany, allow me to elaborate: basically the market consists of many stands, perhaps 100 total, selling all manner of christmas gifts, alcohol, and FOOD. The aromas emanating from Rathausplatz every day at lunchtime inevitably conquer my weak interior arguments against buying yet another bratwurst, such as: but what about all my money? and, but isn't sausage bad for you? My final argument, but I'm in Germany!, overcomes all my financial- and health-motivated concerns, and I go for the bratwurst. Except it's not just sausage they have for sale. There are sweet and savoury crêpe stands, waffle stands, entire homemade donut stands, roasted almonds and several other variety of nut stands, and glühwein EVERYWHERE. Are your defenses sufficiently weakened yet? They will be once you visit. Add to that the beautiful christmas lights and decorations throughout downtown, and you know you're in the land where Christmas is the real deal.

Furthermore, the Germans reject many of our North American Christmas traditions. My German teacher calmly informed us several weeks ago that the jolly, red-suited Santa Claus of my youth was actually fabricated by Coca-Cola for commercial purposes sometime in the early 20th century. Wonderful. Luckily my illusions weren't entirely shattered by this revelation - I have clear memories of calmly discussing the fact that Santa Claus isn't real with my mom in the downstairs bathroom when I was four years old. Although Santa is slowly worming his way into dominant culture here, my teacher asserted that Nikolaus remains the German Christmas figurehead. He arrives on December 6th (tomorrow!) with his nasty partner, whose name I cannot recall, pronounce, or google, because it simply contains too many consonants. They distribute chocolate and spankings, based on the behaviour of the children, of course. And in days of yore, i.e., up until a few years ago, German children wrote Wunschzettel, or wish lists, for their top gift requests. They would place these lists under a stone on the outside window sill, and the Christkind, i.e., Jesus, would fetch the lists and prepare the gifts. Jesus has long, curly blonde hair and fuzzy little wings here.

In anticipation of the rapidly-approaching Christmas season, I decided to embark on a baking frenzy! I've stocked up on butter, milk, flour, and sugar - what more could a girl want? Since my German class has been put on hold until January 10th due to lack of students, I anticipate having far too much time alone with my kitchen and joy of cooking. Yesterday I headed out to Tengelmann to purchase the necessary ingredients, particularly for gingersnaps. I've been craving them all week. I googled the German word for "molasses" - Melasse, seemed straight-forward enough - and headed out into the cold gray world. I acquired all my ingredients and spent several minutes in each aisle hunting down the molasses. Perhaps they're refrigerated here, or maybe they're with the syrups. Or they could be stored with the baking supplies! Finally, frustrated and ready for some baking, I waylaid an employee and made my request. I was met with a blank stare. "Dicker, brauner Sirup zum Backen?" I tried again tentatively, and she impatiently hustled me over to a syrup section I'd overlooked, containing Glucose syrup and fruit syrup. Lovely. No molasses to be found.

I headed home somewhat disheartened, clutching my dried ginger and pounds of butter. By that time we were almost ready to leave for Tollwood, a big winter festival in Munich, so I didn't have much baking time anyway. This morning I rallied the troops and made some delicious Cheese-chipotle scones. However, I can't help but miss my molasses, North American brown sugar (in Germany it's very granular and chunky), vanilla extract, and my Imperial measuring cups. I even need to translate my joy of cooking! Oh my. But I know I'd feel quite bored without these daily challenges. What did I do at home? What consumed all of this energy? Probably more regular exercise, something I've completely done away with here. Maybe school. Maybe skype. Quite possibly stress.

Tandem

I've started a Tandem in German. What is a tandem, other than a bicycle for two, you may ask. It's the equivalent of a conversation partner here in Deutschland - a charming name if you ask me. Conversation partner is so long and awkward. I met my delightful companion today for the first time, S. She's funny, smart, interesting, and patient, all one could hope for in a person who has to listen to my mistakes for an hour once a week. I posted an ad on Couchsurfing in the Augsburg group and immediately received five requests from different Augsburgers for a language exchange! I was surprised - once again, everyone's desire to learn English is startling to me. Equally unexpected is the number of people who are interested in learning about Canada. I've always known that our country has a fairly warm and fuzzy reputation abroad (attested to by the flag stitched onto my North Face backpack), but the warm reception I've encountered here is amazing. When I mention my nationality, people's faces light up and they invariably say something of the variety, "that's really cool." Who knew it was so "cool" to be from Canada? I personally believe it's largely our proximity to the United States that generates this positive international image, by virtue of the fact that Canadians are not, well, Americans. Although our politics and foreign policies are much less socialist and left-leaning than those in Germany, all of Scandinavia, and many other European countries, everything is seen in a rosier light when it's starkly contrasted with the U.S. And, of course, we aren't quite as loud and fractious when we're abroad.

However, I digress. S. and I exchanged a couple messages (in German) and set up a tentative date that I wasn't able to make. I called her, to save the hassle of the virtual equivalent of phone tag, and the phone call was short, awkward, and abrupt. My German on the phone is still shaky at best, and my uncertainty and usage of the occasional English phrase startled her. Following my perfect German messages (which Bastian may have edited for me), she confessed today that she was surprised at my spoken level of proficiency. Of course this is one of the reasons that I sought out a tandem: to practice listening and speaking. Armed with my online dictionary, my notes, and my German boyfriend only a phone call away, my written German comes off much more polished than my speaking. Last night, I went to a party that was full of internationals. It was hosted by a French couple, and I met a woman from the Czech Republic, one from Estonia, another from Kenya, and a handful of Germans. The language of the evening fluctuated between French, English and German (mostly English on my part). The Czech and Estonian women that I met also learned German when they moved here, from scratch, so to speak. Although I knew that they had been in the identical situation as I language-wise, I still couldn't help but feel embarrassed at my mistakes, my accent, and my vocabulary. Compounded with my embarrassment was of course the nervousness associated with speaking in another language, resulting in me forgetting many words that I've known for months and floundering around until someone supplied the long-lost syllables for me.

I suppose my point is a rather transparent and easily-recognized one. You lose much of yourself in another language. Leaving the Weiss Lamm after our meeting today, I couldn't help but look forward to next week when we will speak in English and I can express myself - my opinions, humour, personality - more eloquently. As I told S., as an explanation for my perfect written messages, sometimes I tire of feeling like a child here. When one's main goal is communication, not perfect grammar or pronunciation, much is lost along the way between English and German. Although I'm sure speaking perfect German will be incredibly dull and I'll long for another challenge if that day ever comes, right now I can't help but feel envious of all the people who have worked toward such a higher level of proficiency than I. Exposing yourself to laughter, confusion, and frustration, and being conscious of the way you sound when you speak, is the hardest part of learning this language for me. I'm blessed with the ability to memorize oodles of grammatical rules and structures, but not always with the capacity for humility.

Welcome to our World

I had a great class this evening. I was initially a bit intimidated by the group - four businessmen and a businesswoman, all hell-bent on speaking better English - but this evening's class went swimmingly and I was very pleased with the results. They understood and implemented the differences between the first and second conditional - hurrah! Small victories.

At the end of the class, B. asked me for some affirmative phrases he could use on the phone in English. I suggested "good, I understand, I see," (although I usually just say "ok" in every possible pause until they hang up), and his question prompted me to confide in them that I'd made my first telephone call in German this very day! That's right. Mission accomplished. There was only one word I didn't understand, and she was able to decipher my German! Wunderbar! I was very proud and told them so. B. smiled and said "welcome to our world." I momentarily mistook his comment for a grand gesture of acceptance to German life and culture; touched as I was by his kind words, I giggled awkwardly and said thanks. However, it soon dawned on me that he in fact meant "welcome to the world of being forced to communicated on the telephone in a foreign language." Not quite the welcome that I'd thought.

I often, shamefully (I feel guilty even writing it on this blog that very few people will ever read), am jealous of my students. "Why?" I rage to the sky, fist aloft, "must you be so consumed with the need to learn English when you live in Germany and SPEAK GERMAN! It's the one thing I aspire to right now - it's so EASY for you!" Another thought that frequently crosses my troubled, German-language-consumed mind, is: English is so easy. We have no genders, no cases (Nominativ, Akkusativ, Dativ, Genetiv), no ridiculously complicated adjective declination, no umlauts and many fewer dialects. Augsburgerisch (the dialect of Augsburg - that's right, many cities have their own vocabulary and mannerisms) is near indecipherable for me. The one thing that is transparently simpler in German is the pronunciation - no silent letters. Things are spelled the way they sound. And of course the English tenses are endlessly frustrating for a German student, but we won't get into that...

B's innocent comment brought me back to reality. Although I live in a foreign country, I do not require competency in a foreign language to work. I'm employed, paid well, and am able to speak English throughout the day with everyone except the secretaries at my school. Although I attend German class for 15 hours a week, it's a luxury: German is not strictly necessary for me. My small accomplishments, such as making telephone calls in German and reading German novels, feel huge to me, but are hurdles that most of my students have passed years ago. Although many of them don't speak English very well, they're forced to use it at work by their employers. As companies expand, go international, and switch their official language of communication to English, business people in their 50s and 60s are required to "go back to school" and learn a language, one of the most difficult exercises for our brains. While some things here are unquestionably harder for me than they would be in my home country, I wasn't forced to come here. It was my choice. And that's more than I can say for my students, whose company-mandated English courses keep them working overtime, functioning in a language that isn't their own.

Allerheiligen

The Germans celebrate All Hallows Day on November 1st, marking my first statutory holiday as a teacher here. Because I'm a freelancer I don't get paid for vacation or holidays, but we're supposed to make up for it in the tax department, i.e. through evading taxes. I haven't decided yet whether or not that's wise. BUT, on the subject of today's holiday, I find the difference between North American and German celebrations worthy of note. On October 31st, Canadians traditionally dress up, wander the streets at night and eat too much candy. (Side note: I once contracted an unexplainable illness as a child with persistent vomiting as the only symptom. My mom took me to a pediatrician and he extracted the information that I'd been hording my Hallowe'en candy under my bed and binging on it at night, resulting in my inexplicable sickness. Such a sweet tooth from such an early age...) Although this American tradition is gradually making its way into store fronts in downtown Augsburg, it remains largely an excuse for teenagers here to get drunk (similar to Canada) and is something that people Bastian's age have never celebrated.

Instead, on November 1st, more traditional Bavarian families head to church early in the morning en masse and later visit the graves of deceased relatives. According to my German colleagues, it is a somber, depressing, and torturous affair for almost all German children. We live in the city centre close by to two churches, which are continually competing for the loudest bell tolls on the hour, quarter hour, half past, and quarter to. They usually both go crazy on Sundays, abandoning all semblance of time-recording and simply reminding the citizens of downtown Augsburg that the church still has a presence in their city, reserving the right to waken and irritate all said citizens within a five kilometre radius and call them to prayer. There was a similar gong-show of church bells this morning, and as I lay on my couch reading Harry Potter und der Stein der Weisen I considered the sharp contrast between this Catholic holiday and our own celebration into the wee hours of Nov. 1st at home. Ok, perhaps I'm really only giving it serious thought now, but I did want to brag about the fact that I'm almost finished my first GERMAN NOVEL! Even though I think I've read the English version three times, it still counts in translation, right...?

SO, in a nutshell ("no, this is me in a nutshell" - I hope Ben is reading this), we get drunk and/or make ourselves sick from too much candy or other substances, and they (traditionally) pray by gravesides. Although there is plenty of debauchery to be found in Bavaria (need I mention Oktoberfest?), this stark contrast between my previous 22 Hallowe'ens and my government-sanctioned remembrance of the deceased day this year didn't escape my attention. The Canadian tradition may initially strike one as gauche and hopelessly young - our country's youth is something that never escapes me here - but the general consensus that Germans require a paid holiday as a reminder to visit their loved ones seems much less civilized upon closer inspection. As I'm sure most Germans would tell you, the holiday is somewhat old-fashioned and no longer adhered to by many families; it remains in place as an anachronistic homage to former times. And yet, it remains.