Oktoberfest

From September 18th till October 3rd, the Theresienwiese is transformed into the biggest Volksfest in the world. A huge sign welcomes you to rows of booths, tents, and rides. The tents are beautifully decorated and serve beers from the local breweries that are too good to ever drink responsibly. The food is traditional of the region and delicious. Everywhere people are wearing Dirndls and Lederhosen singing along to Blasmusik.

It takes visiting the fest to really grasp how amazing and crazy it is. Therefore, I will share a small story of my experience. As we sang Ein Prosit once again accompanied by the brass band, a friend, with an overzealous prost, breaks my three pound, seemingly indestructible krug. A chunk of glass slightly bigger than my palm slices open my right thumb and skims upper arm. I watch as my beer spills over the table into my lap and blood starts running down my wrist. All the napkins are passed over to wipe up the spill and cover my wound. The guy who did it rushes me off to find the first-aid and get me a real bandage. We find the German Red Cross and he waits outside while I see the doctor. I tell them that I only need a band-aid, but they insist I get a stitch or two. No more than one stitch for my small deep cut from a beer mug.

I felt so silly explaining to the doctor how I cut open my thumb. Then I read the form and realized there was no need. On the side were check boxes for three typical reasons for coming to this Red Cross; injured by a beer mug was the first, followed by alcohol involvement and a work accident. It is nice to see that none of the possibilities put anyone at fault, and interesting that these are among the expected. The Oktoberfest is excessive in the best way possible, and I can understand how people get so carried away. Maybe it was not necessary to drink so much or bother with a single stitch, but in such a wild atmosphere like Oktoberfest who is to say what is appropriate?

Frisbee

Today was the first Ultimate Dienstag on the Neckar Wiese. I spent the last couple days advertising it to the international students and friends in town. I got a very positive response, although many did not know the game. Everyone is encouraged to play and bring others and, like when we play at home, the more the merrier. Come four o’clock, if at least six people show up I would be happy.

We started with five, grew to ten, and ended with six. Those who came were mostly individuals and a couple pairs. This tells me that they are capable of making an informed decision and genuinely want to be there. In contrast, many of the people I spoke with gave me the impression that they would come, but that may have just been their way of telling me what I wanted to hear in attempt to be polite.

Frisbee is meant to be good clean fun with the potential to meet new people, yet I cannot will someone to come. In my mind, rejecting the invitation is better than leaving me with an expectation of seeing them on the field. What I do want to hear is honesty, and I can respect that. At least once a week we will play ultimate on the Neckar. All who are interested are more than welcome to participate.

Ohlstadt

I joined my mother and aunts in Bavaria this weekend. They are going to see the Passion Play in Oberammergau, performed every ten years for the past four centuries. Only villagers of Oberammergau can participate in the reenactment of Christ's life, death and resurrection. Of the 5,000 people that attend the play, there are only enough accommodations in Oberammergau for around 1,200. Therefore, it was arranged for us to stay in a small nearby village called Ohlstadt. It was so small there was no need for public transportation or taxis, so we walked 15 minutes from the train station to the hotel, all the while admiring the vast green landscape.

At the hotel we were greeted by a “kein English, no English” manager who refused to work with us until it was in German. It was a very good thing I came because I my mom and aunts were not getting anywhere. Plus, my mom was expecting check in and pick up her vouchers and tickets there, but he could not find her reservation. As we sorted it all out, the man asked me, "how will they watch the play if they do not speak German?" They are given the text in English and must follow along, which he claims would make them unable to watch if they must constantly be reading. After discussing it, I decided that he stubbornly believes that speaking is the same as understanding.

I agree that speaking the language increases one’s understanding, but through gestures, body language, tone and context two people can communicate. My mother and her sisters are very familiar with the story of Christ and therefore may not even need to follow the text to grasp the meaning. My father always talked so fondly of playing card games on trains with Europeans or sharing a meal, even though they did not share a common language. If there is a desire to understand each other, it will work. We are paying customers coming from halfway around the world with hopes of learning of a new culture despite language barriers. The least this man could do is try to communicate.

Hausaufgabe

A little over a week into the preparatory language course and I can honestly say that I do not like one of my teachers. Let's just say I do not like his teaching style because when I try to explain more, it just sounds like I am whining. This morning I went to class without doing the work he assigned, and to my delight he did not collect it. Instead, we corrected the worksheet out loud together. I hoped to be able to form an answer on the spot, at least a good enough answer to let my unpreparedness go unnoticed. He saw right through me though and called me out for it.

I was humiliated and lectured in front of the whole class. Although harsh, it was no more than I deserved. Being passive aggressive towards the teacher is more detrimental to me than him. It is his job to help students learn and I was a prime example of what not to do. If we are to gain anything from the class, it is up to us to put in the effort and earn it. As much as I would like to blame him, I am the one at fault and will suffer for it. Despite my aversion for him, I must continue to take the course seriously because I genuinely do want to do well.

Prepratory Language Program

I feel like I am in kindergarten again. Every day I catch the bus to school. It takes twenty minutes on the bus, and another ten walking rain or shine. A large group of us are all headed the same way. We meet on the bus, talk on our way to class, and meet up again during our recess. Breakfast is served in the cellar, and depending on when you are let out, you might have to wait in line on the staircase and eat in the aisles till space at a table opens up. I find myself staring out the window towards the old city across the river as the end of class draws closer.

This first week has been all about meeting each other within our small community of international students and getting to know the city. Initially, people were split by regions, then countries, and finally language. The purpose though is for us to learn German, and now that our classes have started and introduced us to people from everywhere, we are becoming to come together as one big group of international students. English is the next most spoken language since most give up on German and revert back to what they know. No matter which language one is speaking though, accents poke through and people keep their identity.

This is the first step of the process to get us integrated into life at a German university. They hold our hand during the beginning and take us through the registration procedures for the winter semester. After that, we should be prepared to join the German students with all the responsibilities included. Over ten months left and I already know that time will go by much faster than I want it to. The Preparatory Language Program will feel like a short, yet memorable, part of my academic career here in Heidelberg. We will look back and reminisce about how easy life was with a home room in the Max Weber Haus where breakfast was served and we were taken care of like kindergarteners.

den Haag

I took a train after class yesterday to den Haag in the Netherlands. I came to visit a Dutch friend I made in Florence during my Euro-trip in 2008. This is my only chance to see him before he moves to Australia for the next year and a half or so. It was great to get away from the errands and allow him to show me around his city. Den Haag's first Museum night was going which, like the Museumsuferfest in Frankfurt, was our ticket into the museums and a few other places participating in the event. There were long lines outside of most of the museums and some had bars and DJs inside. We went around looking at the art, while others enjoyed the party.

I did not recognize the artist of our first museum, Escher in the Lange Voorhout Palace, until we reached his more renowned works. The next museum had a painted panorama of the nearby beach in Scheveningen. It is 1680 square meters, 14 meters high, 120 meters around and puts viewers on a sand dune between the beach and the town as it was in 1880. We spent a lot of time wandering through the Gemeente Museum. There was not enough time to see all the exhibits, which included: Dutch interior design, glass objects, a dollhouse from 1743, and works of Vincent van Gogh, Claude Monet, Pablo Picasso, Wassily Kandinsky, Egon Schiele, Ina van Zyl and so many others.

It is interesting how some pieces catch your eye while others are simply there. As we picked out our favorites and criticized others, his art and my blog were brought up. I expressed my anxieties of making this blog public, seeing as I do not know how people will interpret it or if they would appreciate it like I hoped they would. In the end, we share it for those interested but we do it for ourselves. Much like meeting new people, we must be confident and not worry about how we will be received. Had we not done that two years ago I would never have met him, nor had such a great weekend visiting him.

to do list

Upon arriving in Heidelberg, first thing I did was figure out my housing arrangement. My apartment is lovely – right on the river bank – with my own room, a full kitchen and three roommates. I unpacked a little before making my way into the old city to meet the other international students. During dinner we were all saying the same thing: we need sheets, to set up internet, get phones, find a grocery store, meet our roommates, etc. Running errands like these is tedious and time consuming.

Thank goodness we have Anita, our program coordinator. All the necessary forms she has organized into envelopes and made a schedule of everything to be done with directions, maps, suggestions and useful contacts. She even provided our first three meals here, which I would have otherwise skipped or settled for junk food. There is an order to so many things, and she lets us know how it all works. If there are any problems, we can contact her. With her help, we are off to a good start and must figure out the rest on our own.

Shopping for sheets and groceries was not as successful as I hoped. I came home with half my bedding and could not find peanut butter. I would have left very upset had I not seen the chocolate covered marzipan. As I ran through what I needed to do, I thought of an experiment my friend in California told me about. It determined that people stop thinking logically and follow their emotions if they have seven or more things on their mind. With half my chocolate gone, I realize it is time to use reason again. Although I still feel like my to do list is getting longer rather than shorter, I remember the need to be patient and let things fall into place. The sense of gratification I’ve been craving for all day will come later tonight when I pull pajamas off a shelf and lay my head on an actual, rather oversized, German pillow.