Not Better or Worse, Just Different

I was fortunate enough to spend a month in Southern Brazil as a Rotary Group Study Exchange member in 2009. Our pre-trip preparation included meeting with a Canadian student who had spent a year in Brazil as a Rotary Youth Exchange student. He had many things to say about Brazil and it was from him I learned that there are sounds in Portuguese that are too difficult for Native English speakers to produce and they can be offensive when made incorrectly so better be safe than sorry (in short, don't try), never to touch your food with your hands, several key greetings, and that North Americans and South Americans approach time very differently so just leave your watch at home. All this was helpful, sure, but his comment that stood out to me the most was during his explanation of the cultural differences he recognized. After he listed them with bullet points he said, "But hey, these things aren't better or worse, they're just different." He had nailed it. Though simple, I held that key phrase in my pocket as I found myself in ten different Brazilian host homes in almost just as many cities, never quite sure if this new toilet would work like the last one, wondering what part of the animal did THIS come from? and now that we've just had a tour in Portuguese of this place, where ARE we?, none of it really sunk below surface level because I remembered that statement. Who is to say the way we do it is any better than the way they do it? No one is, because it's not better or worse, it's just different.

I have given credence to this mantra in Deutschland, too. With all the new-ness around me upon arrival I was really, REALLY thankful for this belief as it helped me to avoid the deer in headlights look when it could have potentially caused a problem. Certainly, cultural differences exist between us midwesterners and Germans and though none of them cause major setbacks, they are noticeable and well, funny.


First and foremost: The Drinking Situation. Ah, water. That tall, wet glass of health clinking with cubes on a day that qualifies as a scorcher. Seems a simple enough request, water does. Give me tap water, give me bottled water, just give me anything cold and cheap to drink at all besides beer. Alas, the cold water that we are used to in the states is a semi-foreign concept when dining in Deutschland. Room temperature sparkling water is what's on the menu, and at the same price as a pop or beer. Classic water has gas, naturalisches/stilles water does not (though you can sometimes still taste it), and those who are undecided can order medium. If you want water that does not have gas you must specify your request and then you will be brought bottled water that will cost a baffling €2,00+ per small glass. If you want a liter of water be prepared to shell out (brace yourself) €5,00+. Gasp. None of these will come to you even remotely cold unless you order ice (side note: it took visits to four different stores before I could locate one ice cube tray. Now, I guard it with my life.) and when buying bottled non-alcoholic bevies from a store cooler they may or may not be cold. Maybe the cooler is just for show? I really don't know.

Now that I know my way around a German menu I realize that I am allowed to order tap water. Now it may or may not be delivered to me because frankly, tap water just can't be that important, but it is nice to have options. Pop will also be at room temperature and will come to you with a whopping cost of €2,50+ per small glass and no refills. Pop machines open to the customers are rare. We saw one in a McD's and Reggie ran to it like it was a long lost friend.


And then there's beer. Beer comes cold, beer comes large, beer comes cheap. Beer is a vital part of the German culture. The right to drink beer is written into labor contracts, it is available anywhere at anytime, it can be chugged straight out of the bottle on the street, and is available in the spa part of our health club.  The number of German beer varieties is enough to make your head spin without drinking a drop. Astra is the local brew. I've seen as many postcards decorated with the Astra logo as I have of the cathedrals and Town Hall.There are laws about beer in Germany: it cannot cost less than water or pop, it must be filled to the line that is marked on every glass I've ever seen in a restaurant, and, according to the Bavarian Beer Purity Decree that was proclaimed in 1516 but was upated once yeast was discovered, German beer cannot contain more than four ingredients: water, barley, hops, and yeast (wheat beers and other dark beers are technically in violation of the decree.) Beer is a part of the German way of life and they sure do have fun with it.  

German Dog-bots
It didn't take long for Reggie and I to recognize the control Germans have over their dogs. This is not to say Germans are hard on their animals, or yell at them, or that the dogs are scared of them. Oh, no. Dog owners and their dogs have a very special relationship in Hamburg. It's quite simple: when the dog was young the owner trained it properly and now the dog does exactly what it should do exactly when it should do it and nothing else. This of course includes play time as dog parks are plentiful. The first time I witnessed the intriquing German man--German dog relationship was the first night Reggie and I walked to dinner from our first apartment. A man walked past us, alone. Several minutes went by and a dog came trotting along, collared and looking clean and fed. I have been in countries where stray animals is a common sight and didn't think much of it, except that this one wore a collar. I watched as the dog caught up to the man, who had never once looked back, and then the two went into a building together. Wait. That was HIS dog?


And so it goes. Owner walks, dog faithfully trots far, far behind. Owner never looks back. Smelling what he wishes but never stopping too long, der hund always arrives safely at the owner's feet. In this city there is a world of distraction for any animal. Willed as can be, when coming to a person that is not his owner the dog does not flinch, he continues his beeline to the owner. When coming to another dog running in the other direction behind a different owner, this persistent pooch continues to make his way to his man or woman. The dog may stop, smell, look around--but will never stop long enough to lose sight of his guy or gal.

Some people use leashes, but it is common to remove the leash once they are off the bus or train. Some don't use leashes on the public transit at all and miraculously the tiny dog will trail behind it's owner amidst an ocean of rushing leather boots and shoes. Like anywhere there are big dogs, designer dogs, and darling mutts and often times an assortment all strolling with one person. One may be on a leash while the others make their own way, but I have yet to see one person with more than one leash when there are multiple dogs.


Recently I saw a dog a block or two ahead of his man and the man was carrying a leash with no dog attached. The dog stopped at the corner when the light was red, crossed when it was green (with no instruction from his owner), and stopped again when it was red. Hence, the German dog-bot.

That sweet little pup in the corner is being led only by that invisible leash that is his owner's magical control. Once the light turned green puppy trotted along without a word from his owner, and owner followed behind. Just like magic.

My friends are scheming to buy a dog in Germany and take it back to the US to show friends how well-behaved their prized pooch is. Not a bad idea, really. Perhaps the next Rosetta stone will be Dog Training the German way.

Perfect Pedestrians and Diligent Drivers

Jaywalking is a foreign concept to Hamburgers. Self-proclaimed rule-followers to the core, Germans do not and would not ever dare cross the street before the cheerful green light waves them on. Time and time again I've watched in amazement as a herd of folks crowd the curb of a one-way street waiting patiently for the light to turn green. Whether or not there are cars coming these patient pedestrians will continue to wait until they are allowed to pass. I once witnessed such a spectacle in the wee hours of the morning when there were no cars within ten kilometers and I still haven't gotten over it. Less than a handful of times I have seen a person daringly leave the pack of unwavering waiters and cross. Without fail at least two people look at each other in response to this charade with a face full of obvious disappointment. One can see the pity they feel for this lost soul.  

To ensure that peds and bikers don't accidentally cross at an inappropriate time, Hamburg crossing lights have not one but two lit red men all but screaming "STOP!" When asked why two red men were needed, our German friend told us "In case one of the lights goes out."
(One of my earliest learnings was that Germans always have a Plan B. Always.)

 Here you see the two lit red men on the traffic signal and the two patient folks waiting. Einbahnstraβe means one way street. I took the picture from the curb on the other side of the street--so you can guestimate the width of the street (hint: it is as almost narrow as they come). Regardless of the fact that it is raining and there are no cars coming, all crossers will wait until it's legal to cross--that is the rule, afterall.

While I'm not a huge fan of the anti-jaywalking mantra, I do fully appreciate the attention drivers pay to peds and bikers. When coming to a street corner that is without a traffic light a walker or biker can expect that 100% of the time the first car to arrive at the corner will pause to let you pass. There has never been a time that I have arrived at a lightless-corner that I have had to wait to cross. Without fail and no matter the size of the vehicle, drivers always stop for pedestrians. I never fully appreciated this until I had to furnish our apartment on foot, in the rain, uphill bothways.



Bagging 101
Things to know before checking out at the grocery store:
1. Bring your own bags or be ready to buy some.

2. Have your bagging hands warmed up and ready to bag at the speed of light. Or faster, if possible. The cashier will not appreciate having to pause to wait for your cash--have it ready--but don't slow down on the bagging. The customer behind you won't appreciate having to wait, either.  His groceries are coming quickly so don't get them confused with your own.

3. If you're lucky there will be a place for you to set your bag down to pack it and for your groceries to temporarily collect on. It may happen that you have to hold your grocery bag and collect your goods as the cashier hands them to you. This is much more difficult than it sounds, unless, of course you put the heaviest things on the belt first, but who actually remembers to do that?

4. Don't slow down until you're out the door. Then, start breathing again.

*Had I stopped to take a pic of my goods prior to bagging them I may have been asked to leave. Alas, I resolved to posting without a pic for this section.



I carry a notebook with me at all times for jotting notes. Currently my first page says: "Open mind or sink" as bold as bold gets. Sometimes we need reminders that our way is not always the best way, nor is it ever the only way. 

Lauren the Lehrerin

(Lauren the Teacher)

I thank my junior year high school trip to Northern Italy for catching the attention of the relentless travel bug I now host. This determined bug bit me then like a starving mosquito and I predict it will continue biting until I've covered at least half the globe. I was 17 when I first stepped foot off North America. My classmates and I toured seven cities from top to bottom as we ate our way through that spectacular country. I was a new woman when I returned. I knew more than I did before that trip and I had the confidence to do things I wouldn't dare have tried prior to my travels. I was hooked and I was ready for more.

I started reading travel guides and collecting travel photography books obsessively. My dad, remembering how much my mom had loved traveling, didn't hesitate to supply me with these treats. I diligently recorded every detail of what I'd need to know when the day came that I could travel again. Traveling became my Prince Charming and I was ready and waiting for him to come knocking on my door. Alas, Prince Charming connecting with Cinderella isn't a common occurrence; a poor college student working my way through my undergrad, splurging on travel was only a dream. So, my friends and I road-tripped our way through our spring breaks and summers and although I longed for more, I did what I could to fight off the itch this exasperating bug was causing me.

Prior to declaring my undergrad major I was asked by a frequent customer at my place of employment if I would be interested in tutoring English to International Teaching Assistants to help them prepare for the English speaking exam they were responsible for passing prior to leading classes. This customer was a professor involved in the study abroad program and was responsible for ensuring these new TA's adjusted well to their new lives in Michigan. She went on to explain the program and I listened respectfully. At the end of her spiel I said, "You had me at international." When can I start? I felt the bug bite through my clothes that time.

Working with these brave folks with faces from all over the world was the most multicultural experience I had had. Perhaps it was the most humbling as well. You mean, Michigan isn't the only place where things are happening? I asked them as many questions as they asked me. From them I got travel ideas, from me they learned how Michiganders live. They were excited to be in the US, they were excited to teach. Working for The Boys and Girls Club had fueled my interest in teaching. Chatting with the International TA's cemented it.

Like so many universities, MSU's study abroad program is one of their pride and joys. Lucky for me, so is their teacher prep program. Because of this, MSU offered several appetizing--no, drool-worthy--teacher trips. Though I was in no position to finance a study abroad program, I visited the university's Study Abroad office regularly just to look at the pictures and read the descriptions, all the time wondering when. There was never an if , just a when.

 My year-long student teaching experience in East Lansing had provided me the opportunity to work with students from six different countries. (I was covered with travel bug bites after that year.) I found myself envious of my first graders' "Places Visited" list. It's time to do something about this. But, first things first. Because a college diploma can't be traded in for a paycheck, I resolved to getting a job before boarding the plane for the trip around the world I had been planning since high school.

My fours years teaching in the wonderful city of Fenton gave me the confidence to finally fight this travel bug head on. It was the Fenton school district that introduced me to the idea of applying for the Rotary Group Study Exchange to Brazil and they supported me every step of the way. I have scars from the travel bug bites I incurred during our work towards our schools' IB authorization and our awe-inspiring IB World Fairs. Ironically enough, when my real-life Prince Charming came knocking on my door, in human form, and asked me to live this dream I had been dreaming across the ocean with him--I only hesitated long enough to say, "But how can I leave Fenton?"

Seedlings

So, here we are. On the other side of the pond, living, working, and loving every second of it. I recently accepted a teaching position at Seedlings, a brand-new, never-been-opened English early childhood center in Hamburg. The founders are warm, positive, child-loving women wanting to support the education of young kiddos from the very beginning. Last week I found myself at a table with women from Zimbabwe, London, Melbourne, and Hamburg sharing ideas about education. I am terribly thankful for this ultimate humbling multicultural experience. I've finally done it.

It's hard to pinpoint the moment when I stopped feeling like a tourist and Hamburg starting feeling like a home. It started when I stopped carrying my camera with me at all times. (My SIM card has since thanked me.) I really became aware of this transformation, though, once I found myself in a school again, talking about the best way to support the students and to ensure their growth. Working within a school, I am the most comfortable. I am at home there. Nothing will replace my love for Tomek in Fenton, but having the chance to work with these new students will certainly help with the homesickness.

Café Fix and Käsespätzle in Frankfurt

Frankfurt's nickname, Bankfurt, all but kept me from visiting the city. I had a day to kill before a flight and although I had been told I probably wouldn't enjoy my Frankfurt visit unless I was really into banks and other office buildings, I decided to think positive and ventured out solo to check out this cosmopolitan center.


Though low in Old World Charm, Frankfurt proved to be entertaining; at the beginning of the day I was concerned about potential boredom but found myself having to run to my gate at the end of the day. That there is a good sign that Frankfurt was worth the trip.


In my pre-trip reading I discovered two things that caught my ear. First, 1/3 of Frankfurt's residents carry foreign passports. Second, and probably the most intriguing tidbit of current info I've learned about any European city, is in regards to the support the Frankfurt government provides to hard drug addicts. In 1992 Frankfurt began offering pump rooms to users. The facilities offer clean needles and a safe place for users to go to get counseling and medical attention (while maintaining their habit). Café Fix, which is a mere eight-minute walk from Central Station, was swarming with a gang of un-sober folks congregating around the door anxiously awaiting the 10:00am opening. This compassionate approach is used in many places in Europe and is considered a success. There are approximately 18K heroin-related deaths in the US annually, while all of Europe (which has a much larger population) has around 8K fatalities each year. Now that's thinking outside the box. 


Much less controversial but much more appeasing to the eye is Frankfurt's Old Town. It offers all you would expect in an area deemed "Old Town"--half-timbers, cheery eateries, lovely churches, and a fountain in the center.

I know! Too darling for words.

No place left un-cafe'd.

As enjoyable as Old Town was, my meal took the cake. Perhaps you've heard of spätzle. (If no, have food on hand for use after reading.) Spätzle is a common noodle in Germany. I have been told that the further south you go the better the spätzle. I plan to try that out. Käsespätzle cheese  spätzle) is a hot, baked, gooey delish dish of spätzle, multiple cheeses, butter, flour, milk, and sometimes onions. It’s good in Hamburg, and it is to die for in Frankfurt.

Lucky for me, outdoor biergarten ambience came with the meal. 

   

¡Feliz cumpleaños, Reg!

Needless to say, it was a must that we rang in the last year of Reggie's twenties in a big way. His request was simple: the beach. Stat. It's gotten C-O-L-D in Hamburg this month so a beach vaca seemed obvious. Each trip we plan requires a lot of consideration because we recognize the fact that our time here will surely fly and have quickly learned that there are a bajillion gorgeous sights to see in Europe. So, after lots of travel deal searching we found Mallorca. Water + sun + sand = perfecto.

Mallorca, the largest of the Balearic Islands and off the western coast of mainland Spain, is scattered with beaches and tikis and is surrounded with aquamarine water. Though often bustling, the beach we visited in Playa de Palma, a resort town adjacent to the capital city, offered the opportunity to achieve supreme relaxation, necessary rejuvenation, and the ultimate birthday celebration festivities.

We divided our time evenly: 80% near or in The Sea, 15% eating, 5% sightseeing.

 How can you go wrong?

Because we have a sense of humor, we decided to have a go at the sketched portrait scene. It turned out to be entertaining, and though we're not quite sure who the woman is in the portrait with Reg, (my cousin, perhaps?) we decided the final product is a framer.

*No charge for adding the long hair.

An hour and a half well spent. I guess from the side it KIND OF looks like me...

On our last day in Mallorca we dragged ourselves away from the beach to do some touristy activities. Though no day at beach, the capital city, Palma de Mallorca, is a beautifully manicured haven colored with boutiques, art, and tapas.

Not every house can pull off banana yellow. This one does it with ease.

The nightlife in Mallorca comes highly recommended. According to Tripadvisor.com Bar Abaco has to be seen to be believed. After witnessing this intriguingly unique establishment, I cannot think of a better way to describe it. Expecting a booming bar, Reg and I were stumped when we found the unusually massive and admittedly confusing door to Bar Abaco.

Soon enough Reggie and I built up the courage to enter. We couldn't have been more shocked when we walked in and realized that Bar Abaco is not the standard bar we were expecting. Oh no, it is so much more. Yes, that is a large pile of fresh fruit decorating the floor and yes you counted correctly, there ARE a bajillion fresh flowers in this empire of attractive gaud. Around the corner is the outside section of Abaco, adorned from head to toe with bubbling fountains, birds in gorgeous cages, and loads of happy customers. No travel guide will ever do justice to Bar Abaco's appealing grandeur. Seeing was believing.

 With bevies at €16 a piece we opted for some tapas and Sangria at a place around the corner. And for the tapas and Sangria--tasting was believing.

Mushrooms and red peppers never looked or tasted so good.

¡Feliz cumpleaños, Reg!

Bathing-Bathing in Baden-Baden

Living in Germany has broadened my horizons in such a way that I now found myself trying things that would have never interested me before. I'm more of a risk-taker now than I have ever been. I guess that when everything around you is brand new you either face life with an open mind or sink. So, when I read about Baden-Baden (literally, bathing-bathing), a spa town built on top of thermal springs in  southern Germany, I only hesitated briefly before booking. This is not the type of trip that would have appealed to me before I became a pseudo-European. However, now that I've discovered the lavishness involved in spas here, I had my bags packed early.

Baden-Baden resembles a Somerset Mall minus the roof. Perfectly manicured and brimming with uber-expensive shopping, it is the former playground for the German and Russian elite. It is small, yet elegant and although many steps outside our norm, Baden-Baden was a fantastic experience.

We reached the city by train in the evening. Reg's suggestion to take a detour from dropping our bags at the hotel to go straight to the spa was well received by me. We had a thirty-minute window to reach the spa from the train before they admitted their last guests for the night. We made it with three minutes to spare.

Welcome to Caracalla Therme: a big, refreshing glass of relaxation--with a splash of spring break. Caracalla is a palace of warm and hot pools, saunas, damp baths, and relaxed folks. It's laid back and comfortable and our three-hour limit expired far too soon.



Caracalla's big brother, Freidrichsbad, stands handsomely 100 meters from Caracalla. It is the more mature, no nonsense brother. There is no spring break mixed in this stately glass of relaxation. Just the water, you, and your past.

Friedrichsbad proves its mature nature with its superior organization. Where Caracalla is essentially a free-for-all, your time at Friedrichsbad is segmented into stations.

These are the first of 17 stations. They include multiple showers, both warm and cold, saunas, pools, whirlpools, and soap-brush massages. I've never felt so clean. The final two stations allow you to lather yourself up with lotion and be wrapped into a warm-blanket coccoon by an attendant and relax as long as you choose, just you and your happy thoughts. I choose forever. Bliss.

Although the baths alone warrant a trip to Baden-Baden, it is equally as famous for its casino.

A coat and tie are mandatory in this prestigious 150-year old playing hall. I watched the subdued high roller scene for a bit and then wandered around to find the real action--dime slots.

Elegant and stately Baden-Baden served to be a perfect relaxation spot...until the 7:15am train back to Frankfurt. Auf wiedersehen, baths...Guten morgen, real world.

 

Ooooh! I la la love Strasbourg!

The European rail system consistently amazes me. It's always on time and can be accessed everywhere--even in the smallest towns (only there you better know what you're doing because there's no one to help you). Feel like going to another city? Country, even? Find the nearest train station and you can be there shortly. No passport required. Not having a car has been easy because of the public transportation in Hamburg and beyond.

We took a day out of our weekend in Baden-Baden, in the Black Forest region of southern German, to visit Strasbourg, France by train. The trip took one hour and I wasn't even sure when we exited Germany and entered France. No matter. Bonjour, Strasbourg!

Our first stop: Le Petit France. Reg studied French so he was able to get us there. (Phew.) When you've got limited time there's nothing more frustrated than getting lost. Take it from me.

Le Petit France was a darling area of the city paved with cobblestones, decorated with an unreal amount of planted flowers, and trimmed with traditional half-timbers.

Le Petit France was enough for me. I would have been perfectly fine meandering along those cobblestones all day. Then I saw this in the distance...

Sigh. I'm speechless when it comes to describing the way one feels standing in front of such a remarkable piece of art. So many structures in Europe have left me feeling humbled and in awe, and this one is no exception. The Strasbourg Cathedral is 142-meters tall and was constructed from 1015-1439 (that's right, four hundred years were spent building this gem).

In the Cathedral Square you can find a bajillion treasures that you can't live without, including biscuits from this cozy little shop.

I spent a long time picking out the perfect biscuit for my lunch/dessert. I finally settled on an almond praline biscuit. I was tickled when the cashier said, "Bonjour, Madame!" I looked around. She couldn't really be calling ME madame?! Cross my heart, I was the Madame. With a smile of pride, I handed over my euros.Transaction completed, I admired my prize. For a second I thought it was too pretty to eat. But just for a second.

Several excusez-moi's later we found our way to the train and back to Baden-Baden. Spending the day in Strasbourg was perfectly charming. Now for some spa time in Baden-Baden.

Just Me and the Rhine

At the risk of sounding cheesy, I have to say that my solo trip to the Rhine Region was one of the most liberating experiences I have had to date. I jumped at the chance to visit several sleepy quaint Rhine River villages nestled at the feet of castles on my way to meet Reggie in Wiesbaden, his place of work this month, before we headed south for the weekend. With lots of advice from Rick Steves, my travel-writer hero, I took a 7am flight to Frankfurt out of Hamburg. Excited? Yes. Nervous as heck about how I’d manage to get myself from here to there and multiple places in between? Oh yeah.

The flight was the easy part. I spent those brief fifty minutes gearing myself up for a day of the unknown--in German. When the pilot announced our descent I had myself so worked up I was sweating. But, I pulled myself together enough to stand up and exit. Eventually and miraculously my busting-at-the-seams backpack and I found our way to our first train. Success.

After several stops, multiple long waiting periods, and lots of ipod listening, I reached destination number one--St. Goar. Just as I had hoped, St. Goar is a charming, teensy town of half-timbered homes sitting along the barge-covered rainy Rhine. Then you look up. There she is: Rheinfels Castle. Rheinfels, my first castle ever, sits beautifully and dominantly in ruins above the town. Too good for a touristy train, I opted to walk up to the castle. I emphasize up. It must have been the size that made Rheinfels  appear to be close to where I was standing when I made the executive decision to use my feet to reach it. Many stairs, gorgeous view shots, and what was I thinking?’s later, my heavy backpack and I reached the hulk of a castle (along with many others in cars—none of them sweating as badly as I was).

There are more where these came from.

500 years old and attacked by multiple French armies in the 1600s and 1700s, Rheinfels Castle is now only 1/5 of its original size. Using Rick’s book (I’ve read so much of his writing we’re on a first-name basis now) I took a self-guided tour. At one time the castle was self-sufficient and you can still find the remains of the slaughterhouse, prison, church, and cellar.

 

Walking through a place whose history began so long ago is incredibly humbling. As dominating as this sitting bull is, my time here was peaceful and satisfying. When I was finally ready to leave I was happy to realize that going down a cliff isn’t nearly as challenging as going up.

Next: Bachrach by boat. This tiny village is just two towns down The Rhine from St. Goar. Bachrach makes up for not having its own Rheinfels Castle with its cuteness. Bright half-timbered buildings decorated with pretty flowers are a big part of what make this place so adorable. Also on that list is the homemade riesling gelato from Eis Café Italia. Everyone should have the chance to taste this perfect food. 

That's right, people--riesling gelato.

Back on the train, this time in Reggie's direction, I had a huge sense of satisfaction. Maybe it was the gelato, but if I were a betting gal I'd say it was a feeling of accomplishment for not being afraid to take a risk.

Now if only my nephews weren't all the way across the pond...