Sorry to Bother

I've heard telemarketing is no longer allowed here, but the Chinese telemarketers either never even got close to getting wind of this, or they casually ignore the rule and pull the No-Speaky-Good-English card. So my Chinese family gets telemarketer calls somewhat frequently from time to time. Despite the No-Speaky-Good-English card, you usually can't fend them off with English either, because they speak it well enough to keep badgering you about great international phone plans starting at just blah blah blah blah....

But since I've been back, I've found that the fastest way to ward off ordinarily relentless Chinese telemarketers is to fight back with none other than a (seemingly) ruthless slew of German.

*phone rings*
Me: "Hello?"

Chinese Telemarketer: [Chinese] "Hello!!!!!! If you please, is Mr. Li there??????"
(你好！！！ 请问，李先生在吗？？？？？？)

Me: "Es tut mir leid, aber ich glaub', er ist momentan nicht zu Hause."
Translation: "Sorry, but I don't think he's home at the moment."

Telemarketer: ..... (timid) "Hello?"

Me: "Kann ich noch was helfen?"
Translation: "Is there anything else I could help with?"

Telemarketer: [English] "Is... somebody can speak Chinese?"

Me: "Leider kann ich Sie nicht verstehen. Gibt's vielleicht eine andere Sprache, die Sie sprechen könnten?"
Translation: "Unfortunately, I cannot understand you. Is there perhaps another language that you could try speaking?"

Telemarketer: ......

Me: "Hallo?"

Telemarketer: [English, horribly awkward] "Oh, sorry, um... sorry. *click* "

I don't care how evil you think I am. These people have been calling us every day for a week.

Somewhere Beyond The Sea

Sanni is a friend of mine in Germany. We have a sort of joke of making bad jokes between each other. As I was sitting next to her with a few other acquaintances during my last week in Regensburg, I turned to Sanni and melodramatically sighed,

"Oh, Sanni, of all things to accidentally forget in Regensburg.... I've left my heart!"

Of course, a few days later as a farewell gift, she got me this sweet red jacket with REGENSBURG across the front, and on the left side where my heart is, there is a small, iron-on patch of the crossed double keys, symbol and seal of Regensburg.

I miss living within walking distance of you, Sanni. I'm not even within swimming distance any more.

Cut-ography

I really wish I had taken more pictures specifically regarding this topic while I was in Regensburg (*brief sobbing moment regarding past tense of the sentence*), but we'll just make do.

In Europe, aside from flavor, there are two other distinguished differences between the pizza there and the pizza in America - 1) It is much thinner, and 2) It is typically served uncut.

When going out with friends to one of the 203502395 Italian restaurants in Regensburg, I would always notice how differently everyone cuts his or her pizza.

• There's me, hacking in long, broad slices and then into bite-sized pieces, maintaining a fairly evenly distributed offensive front from my side of the pizza.
  
• There's the Hack Straight Into The Middle And Work Your Way Out.
  
• There's Radial Triangle Slicing, more frequently seen in some of my American friends, for obvious reasons (or for those of you who don't live in America, American pizza is always served sliced radially in typically 6-10 slices, depending on pizza size).
  
• There's the Alien Parasite Breaking Into The Barrier At One Point And Eating Out The Innards From There, Leaving The Crust.
  
• There's Chaotic Random Hack-At-Will, Which Bothers The Author Of This Blog A Lot.
  
• And I've even seen, Holy Heavens, This Pizza Is Huge, I Must Fold In Half And Hack From The Back If I Am To Conquer.
  
• etc. etc. etc.

Ah, so many different varieties. How I only wish I had taken pictures!

I just have this feeling that the way you eat your pizza reflects your personality, which is why I am so personally fascinated by this. If you don't believe me, just humor me.

Tag! You're It!

Just now, I learned all the German terminology used in the game of Tag from watching some kids playing it in the street below my window.

Meerrettich

Because of the following story, I will now never forget the meaning of this word.

I've known J. since we were both 5 years old in the same Kindergarten class, and only until college did we go to different schools. Two weeks ago, she and her boyfriend came by Regensburg on part of their vacation through Europe. We walked around the city during the day, and in the evening, I took them to Alte Linde ("Old Linden Tree"), a well-known beer garden in Regensburg situated on a small island on the Danube with a great view across the river. As with most beer gardens, it serves lots of beer and lots of very traditional German food.


The two of them don't speak any German, so we went down the menu and I translated for them. J. pointed to an item under the Brotzeit menu (traditional German meal where cold cuts, cheeses, bread and other spreads are served on a wooden cutting board) that had a long list of sundry items that came with it. One of the few words I simply couldn't remember was "Meerrettich", because I just hadn't encountered it much. But the other items sounded alright, so J. went ahead and ordered it for dinner.

After a while, our food finally came, and in front of her was a big variety of the items mentioned above. We sat there trying to guess what everything was, because I haven't actually ordered Brotzeit much and wasn't entirely sure. Then she scooped a bit from a small white mound, spread it generously across a piece of bread and took a big bite. We were eating when she suddenly sat up in a panic, flailed her hands and desperately started guzzling some beer (there weren't any other options on our table).

The white stuff, Meerrettich, is horseradish.

And German horseradish is strong.

Oops! Sorry!

It won't happen again!

The Beginning of the End

Sorry to sound so Doomsday-sy (that word has got to be too cute for its intention) in the title, but today I have inadvertently taken down a mental landmark of, well... truly the beginning of my last days here.

Why today specifically?

As with second semester, I've simply become good friends with my tutors from first semester, now that they are no longer tutoring me*. Today, one of my tutors from last semester had sent me a text saying she had something to give me. I met up with her briefly at a café where she was with some friends, we greeted, and she handed me a delightful and heart-felt mixed CD. (Yes! Expanding my music horizons!) On it is mostly German music, but also some songs in French, English, (technically some Austrian, because there's a Mozart piece), and Spanish slotted in between the rest.

*FYI: Vanderbilt requires that I have a tutor for every class that I take. But I'm not really complaining. Without them, especially first semester, I would have drowned.

She lives a little ways outside of Regensburg and is going home tomorrow morning, so we hugged 57 different times and said a bittersweet goodbye. We didn't get to hang out as much as I realize we should have, but I'll really miss her. We had a good time, and I'm glad to have met her.


I popped it in and started listening as soon as I got back home. Track #1 is "Adieu" by 17 Hippies, and as I listened, I felt it draw a deep sigh from within me somewhere.

I've come here now to say "Adieu,"
The others have already gone and are waiting...

Click the link and give it a listen. Musically speaking, in certain categories, this is just my cup of tea. I love it.

The music she's given me is excellent, and I'm quite happy to find how much I like most of the tracks. Some are somber and mellow, like "Adieu," while others are purposefully humorous and make me laugh, like "Denglisch" (Deutsch/Englisch, a very well-known term between those who speak both languages) and "Mein kleiner grüner Kaktus" ("My Little Green Cactus"). And still there are a few that I already knew.

Track #14 is "Wonderful World" by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole. I already knew this song because it was used in Juggleville III at Vanderbilt, which I was in last year. I always liked it a lot, but had never actually heard the entire song (just the segment during rehearsals and shows).

Thinking about leaving the people I've come to adore and love here, and then, listening to this track on this farewell CD, I suddenly burst into tears. Uncontrollable tears. I upgraded from Kleenex to hand towel in record time. I had to follow me with a mop.

But believe it or not, that was already the second time. When I was still on "Adieu," I read the small message in red that she also wrote for me at the bottom of the inside cover. It reads in German: "Dear Elayn, your year here has flown by far too quickly. It made me really happy that I got to know you. Best wishes for the future. Maybe one day, we will see each other again."


And when I reached the last sentence, I lost it. I'm sorry. I lost it.

This is truly the beginning of the end.

Coffee... from Togo?

As you all likely well know, countless English terms have been integrated into languages in both Europe and all over the world, and German is no exception.

Although Europe is filled with the traditional cafés where one always goes purposefully to sit and enjoy a cup with company, the characteristically American concept of grabbing coffee on the run in the mornings or around lunch has likewise infiltrated the modern food industry here, and nowadays, it's not uncommon to come across the distinctly English term "Coffee - or "Kaffee" - To Go" in coffee shops and restaurants everywhere.


It's hip! It's modern! And sometimes, it just feels cooler to advertise than "Kaffe zum Mitnehmen"!

Unfortunately for many of the older generations of Germans, it can be often be quite difficult to keep up with the dynamic changes that almost seem to flood in with every passing week.

But it's to my personal great amusement when you overhear an elderly German going up to a counter and ordering "ein Kaffee Togo, bitte". Togo, pronounced with German vowels. Togo, which rhymes with "pogo" of pogo-stick. Togo, like the small west African country. Togo, like only a cute old German would say.

Weigh In

It just occurred to me that because I have no scale here, I have gone for a whole year without a clue as to how much I weigh. This is not so remarkable, but I also suddenly realize that this hasn't happened to me since I was... three years of age? Hehe. Just one of those little things, I guess. Nothing special.

Oh! As it was the last day of class for one of my seminars, the professor had suggested last week that we all meet at a beer garden this evening at around 7:00pm for a final nice chat all together. Not too many were able to show up because it's basically exam week right now, but I took a break from my Hausarbeiten (final essays) and went right at 19:00 . I think the professor was really glad that I did. Everyone else had to get there late and the poor professor would have had to, so to speak, hold the fort and keep our table for 15 or so by himself for a good while.

At any rate, I love, LOVE meeting up with professors outside of class. Every professor is his or her own person too, and I feel that as students, we frequently either forget that or ignore it and don't try to mingle with professors on a casual and personal level outside the class. That's a shame, I find. It's simply developed this way, or perhaps stayed this way from olden traditions. Even professors themselves are often hesitant, of course, though I do know a few who are also of the above mentality and would love for students to talk to them more on a personal basis. But I could go on on that tangent for ages. It's this final essay's topic that I need to go on about for a few ages longer... *sigh* .

Not Amused

*chokes, wheezes, retches and gags at the smell of weed/pot/whatever overwhelming her from the girl sitting at the next computer three feet over*

Uuuaaaghhh.... why, WHY do so many of you here do this??? I think it just rotted through my lungs and diaphragm and into my stomach. I had to think about how to spell "diaphragm" just now. I'm at a German computer at the University, so the auto-spellcheck is useless because it identifies every English word as wrong in German. Page of red underlines. I could spell it die-uhframm and I wouldn't know the difference. "Die! A framm!" Speaking of die, OH THANK HEAVENS, she and her friend just left. Let me just sweep out the pile of brain cells that shriveled up and died in the last few minutes and get back to work on my essays.

Train Tracks

Yesterday, a friend who I have not seen for a very long time came by train, arriving in Regensburg.

Ironically at the same time, a friend who I will not see again for a very long time boarded that exact same train at the exact same moment, departing from Regensburg.

The Misconception

When foreigners, or at least Americans from my personal experience, think of Germany, the first images that pop up in their minds are NAZIS, war, the military and a harsh, guttural and supposedly very unpleasant language.

In one of my classes where we recently discussed cultural symbols or stereotypes, one classmate said:

When I was young, my family lived in England for a few years and I went to primary school there. Even at that young age, one of the first questions all of the other kids asked me when they knew I was from Germany was, "Are you a Nazi?" We never were and never will be Nazis, and we have absolutely nothing to do with the Nazis. But I will never forget that memory.

One of the problems that is the root of stereotypes likes this is that the large majority of media, primarily films, released or made in other parts of the world outside of Germany portray and only portray scenes and events from World War II. Consequently, the majority of the public only gets to see the strict military codes, the cold, barked commands from officers (but what military doesn't bark and yell its commands?) and the cruel, merciless reality of war. And so, Germany gets less and less opportunities to elbow past the onslaught of black-and-white war films and show its true beauty to those who misconceive its image.

The taboo subject misconception. To clear this for many of you, once and for all, it is not taboo or forbidden to talk about Nazis, Hitler, the events surrounding World War II, etc. in Germany. To put this in a different perspective, it isn't taboo for Americans to talk about historical slavery or the extreme segregation in earlier centuries of the US. Nor do we want to be singly labeled as a country for those great, terrible years in which another major group of people was also treated poorly, to the point of deep shame. Talking and teaching about it helps those today understand the past mistakes and learn from them, and Germany does not censor the subject from its populations. You wouldn't want to be labeled for the mistakes of your parents, and you wouldn't want to be labeled for the mistakes of your precursors.

Germany is not all a hard, industrialized country of concrete jungles, but also miles and miles of beautiful natural land, and still and silent woods, and perfect balances of mountain and water, and breezy fields as far as the eye can see under endless blue skies. The German people may be naturally more guarded and distant on the outside, but are usually genuinely friendly and warm-spirited souls on the inside. The German language is not an ugly, churned out mash of discordant syllables, but a language with its own music, flow and timbre, as any other language, and beautiful and incredible in itself, as any other language.

You only need an open mind and open heart to see these things, and not only in the German culture, but in each and every culture in the world.

Another Rainy Day Stranger

This will be a long post, but I try to limit the number of those, so I'm not too bothered.


Ha Tien is a tiny, Asian restaurant - and restaurant is a generously large term - merely down the street and 'round the corner from my dorm. I go there all the time when I'm in a hurry, low on refrigerator ingredients, or feel the need to get extra protein in my diet without spending the time or money on supermarket meat. Ha Tien is also a cheap but good eat, which means that my name is probably written somewhere on the outside of the restaurant. In bold.

As I am often wont to do, I planned to order a big bowl of noodles (big = dinner tonight + lunch tomorrow) and take the spoils of the kill back to my room to feast in the darkness of my cave. When I ordered, there was one other guy eating in near the opposite wall from the door. I glanced over as he munched a spring roll and I wondered about this other person who was eating alone on Friday night. I paid for my order and left, but as I got to my dorm, I had this sudden desire to reach out to someone else tonight. Someone I don't already know, I guess.

I went back in and tugged out a stool from the table he was sitting at. I set down my box of noodles and said hi. There's absolutely nothing to lose in these situations. He was likewise very nonchalant about it, and said hello back to me. I smiled back and bluntly said, Company, you know. He nodded and took another spoonful of his noodle soup. We asked each others names and began talking, talking about whatever.

Seba(stian) is fairly tall, probably near 6'4". He has a head of light brown, curly hair. Almost like a Jew-fro. But it looks nice, because it's not a careless, tousled mess of curly. He has some facial hair of the same color, scraggly but also neatly trimmed. I don't really know what color his eyes are. Seba is handsome in face, though lanky, and walks with a strange gait, like his legs are trying to reach a little further than his body can get to in one stride. Seba is not a big smiler, but he doesn't make you uncomfortable, and when he does laugh, it's a pleasure to see.

Seba works and lives about an hour outside of Regensburg, but at the end of the work week, he likes to spend the weekends here because it's more fun and there's more to do. Seba's from way south, near the German-Austrian border, in Oberbayern.

Seba and I agree to walk to the Jahninsel/island on the river and see if the music fest has started up in spite of the rain. We talk about accents while we are on the bridge. He asks if I've picked up any of the local accent (Baierisch!), and if I often do the accent from my home area for fun (American southern! No!) . Seba and I joke about the final essays that I have to write, that he wrote years ago. Seba looks around 28-34, but it's hard to say because people also stay in school much longer here (some of my friends at the Uni are that age). Seba and I walk around on the bridge and scope the festival going on below. A few scattered crowds huddle just in front of the stages or under the bridge's archways. The entry fee is €4 . We shrug and don't bother going in today.

We head back into the main city and eventually go our separate ways again. Seba says he'll follow the gradual stream of people in gaudy, plaid, baggy shin pants to what he predicts is a Bad Taste party. I laugh and wish him luck. We shake hands in parting, he asks my name once more, and wish each other a good evening. I turn down a side alley to go back home. Seba turns and continues down the street with his strange gait, presumably to arrive eventually at a party with many badly dressed people.

I Spy

Sometimes while I'm walking on the street, I don't feel as if I'm being watched, but rather, recognized. Regensburg is certainly big enough that you only may or may not run into people you actually know on the street, but it's also small enough that there are certain strangers in the population who I definitely recognize by face now. I predict that we simply have frequently crossing routes in our daily lives. In my mind, I say hello to the people who sometimes get on the same buses as me on some days of the week.

(On a side note, there are even several people I recognize now because I recognize their dogs. One of them, for example, is a lean, tan-orange dog whose front right paw sticks out at a funny angle and he limps a bit. Another is a mixed white dog with brown patches who has funny and almost bunny-like ears that I can recognize instantly. Very noticeable dogs. In my mind, they are named Lean Tan-Orange Funky Leg Dog and Mostly White Bunny Ears Dog, respectively. In my mind, I wave hello to them.)

I imagine, If I can recognize them, then what would keep anyone from recognizing me, too?

In addition, we will consider the fact that I am Asian, which already brings me out in the general crowd here. Unless you would like to use the stereotype that all people of one general race all look the same as your argument. (Yeah, thanks. I must admit that I don't feel so bad about it because to me, all white people with vaguely brown-ish hair look precisely the same to me. Damn, but how I hope for the day when I can finally tell them all apart.)

In addition to that, we will also consider that I frequently practice juggling and poi in certain locations around the main city when the weather is nice outside.

A non-tourist, juggling, striped-sock-spinning Asian.

... If I can recognize random people here, they have got to be recognizing me. Case rested.

Flash-Mob on Haidplatz

WHAT?!

This flash-mob took place RIGHT on the street of my dorm, while I was HERE, in Regensburg, and I missed it?!?


*FAINTS*

I would have just loved to participate! Flash-mobs are so fascinating! I'm just a little bummed that I missed it. But it's kind of cool that one took place right here in Regensburg, and so close by. I wonder where exactly I was at that time...

EDIT: Argh, I just checked my Google Calendar. I was out walking on the other side of the Danube with a few people I don't even really like. Pity :D .

Protest

Earlier this week, there was a demonstration at the University. It was more or less a protest of the increased Studiengebühren, or tuition fees. The topic has also come up by chance in several of my classes over the last year.

The sum of the tuition fee against which many students are protesting is around €600-750 per semester, by what I know, which equates to about $800-1000.

Okay. I still know that's a lot per semester, and especially so if it used to be essentially free to go to university here. But in every discussion about it that I come across, I can never bring myself to join in the debate. Even on some scholarship, my family pays exponentially more than that for me every year. The amount that the German students pay per semester covers... maybe my meal plan at Vanderbilt... per semester.

Most students in America have to hurl themselves into decades of debt just to go to school. I do sympathize with the situation in Germany, simply because of how drastic a change it has now become for them over the years of gradual tuition increase. But sometimes, it's hard not to say something against their argument from our side's perspective.

Curiosity

"Also, hallo, ich heiße Lena, und ich bin eine Austauschstudentin aus den USA. In Regensburg studiere ich Germanistik, und ich bin hier seit... letzten September oder so."

I was sitting on the second row in one of my seminars today. Since it was the first day, we went around the room and introduced ourselves. As it comes around to me and I introduce myself, I almost couldn't help myself from laughing.

The instant that the words, "-and I'm a foreign exchange student," come out of my mouth, I watch all five heads on the first row individually whip around and look at me with sudden surprise and curiosity. I'm betting there were several other heads behind me that simultaneously looked up from their desks at that moment, too. There's nothing wrong, I don't feel offended or discriminated or anything. It's also not an uncommon response. Instead, I find it hilarious.

Mother and Daughter

As you've likely figured out by now, if you're a smart cookie, I've been away for the last couple of weeks because my dear mother has been here to visit me.


In a total of about 17 days, we traipsed: Regensburg, Salzburg, Chiemsee, Munich, Halle (Westfalen), Amsterdam and the Keukenhof Gardens. Pictures will likely not include any more of my mother, not because she looks half her age and has no reason to be ashamed, but because she might disown me if I try to. So you'll get a lot of photos of me, which is what you like anyway.

As much as he wanted to, my father didn't come as well because, quote, "Mrhrmm, it's too much money for the both of us to go, and I'm just an old grump and your mother will get more out of it anyway. Here's some extra money so the both of you don't starve, and you better damn well take her on all the trips and boats and horse carriages and tourist stegosaurus ridings that you can or she'll nag and guilt trip you about it later when you're both old. Okay, stay safe and talk to me later, I've got to go grow some cells in a petri dish."

Brownie Points

Two and a half weeks ago, my mother arrived here to visit me. I booked a direct shuttle for her directly from the Munich airport to my street in Regensburg.

She was the only passenger pick up for that morning, so when she realized with shock that she had lost her camera on the plane, her incredibly nice driver drove her back after 15 minutes down the highway to go try and locate it. He translated German for her, explaining her situation to the airport staff, and waited with her until they came back with some answer. When they finally got here to Regensburg, he happily offered to carry her heavy luggage up to my room -- which is on the 5th floor of a building with no elevator. This was also not even part of the shuttle service. He was panting by the time he reached the top with us, and still left with a big, friendly smile. (Just think... he didn't ever even give us the German Stare! *swoon* ).

Today, I am still wracked with guilt that I forgot to give him the extra tip which he so deserved. All I paid him was the basic shuttle service fee. I guess it just nags me a little more because I will likely never see him again to tell him thanks for taking good care of my mother all the way here.

The Draaaawwwwl

Over the course of the year so far, I've introduced myself to other American students, of course. Typically, both parties always ask where the other is from at some point.

I must admit that I groan inwardly to myself every time I tell an American the state that I'm from in the southern US, and they immediately react with shock that I don't have any trace of a southern accent. Really, now. And I always thought I was the one who lived under a rock. I suppose I never realized before that it was a phenomenon to be born and raised in "redneck country" and come out speaking newscaster English despite the fact.

To the rest of America's population: YES, it happens. NO, I'm not the only one.

Vienna, Street Artists

Kristen and I mapped out the trip shortly before departure, and we agreed to meet in Vienna on Saturday. We would then gradually work our way eastward and hopefully closer to Aix by the end of the trip. I would get to Vienna in the early afternoon and Kristen in the evening.

Unfortunately, the poor girl missed one of the trains on her first major experience with the European train systems. But she made it there early the next morning.

So I took Saturday to explore Vienna on my own. Along with all the areas I visited, I came across many a street artist, mostly all located throughout points in the Altstadt ("Old City"). This included several musicians, a diabolo (what's a diabolo?) artist, stunning break dancers, and ethereal spray paint landscape artists.

Oh, but pictures say 1000 words. And a video is like a really, really big sequence of pictures!