...time.
...only skin deep.
...a lot of work, space, and money!
Can you guess whose side is whose? I'll give you a hint. I can count all of my bathroom items on one hand.
Meet Rebecca
- Rebecca
- Amateur blogger (yes, there are professionals) who started with a travel blog that quickly degenerated into blabbering. Along with a life goal of surfing with Eddie Vedder, attending BlogHer is now on my list.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Beauty is...
...time.
...only skin deep.
...a lot of work, space, and money!
Can you guess whose side is whose? I'll give you a hint. I can count all of my bathroom items on one hand.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Essen, Beten, Lieben
I made it! I am moved in, in my new dorm in Tuebingen! Hence the new look to the site. I figured a fresh start for both things.
But basically the day I got here, all the other Americans left. For the last couple of days it has been a little bit like that Julia Roberts movie that no one really liked "Eat, Pray, Love" only with more eating. (Just a heads up, I didn't voluntarily watch that movie; it was playing on my flight over here. And since I am cursed to never sleep on planes...)
I have meandered around so many streets and gotten lost in the language around me. Quick, somebody stop me before I break into prose! I can't describe things here without sounding extremely dorky, so I'll let some pictures do the talking.
I do not live in the city, unfortunately. Since there was such a large group of exchange students out of the U of M we got scattered. I live along in an apartment on the outskirts with two native Germans. Fabian and Daniella. They're....okay. I will refrain from judgment at this point and go completely quantitative: They are both much older than I am. Nearly ten years. I am not allowed to touch anything of Danielle's in the bathroom, which is nearly impossible considering the amount of things she has in there (Pictures coming soon! (As soon as I can buy some batteries for my camera.)) However, I have my own space and I have hardly been in the apartment lately anyway. Too many things to explore!
I can't explain it, I suppose it was just a bit of spring fever but yesterday I donned shorts, and set out to do nothing. Absolutely nothing. I had no goal, no plan, no agenda beyond seeing things. I have promised myself that outside of this blog I will try to only ONLY speak, think, hear, see, taste, touch, smell (any more senses??) German because it's difficult here. I want to integrate.
I am foreign, but no longer interesting. There are plenty of foreign kids here doing the same thing I am, thinking the same thoughts. And I feel foreign. I am afraid that people will look at me and sigh and think, "Ugh. Another one. Can't she just go back to her own country and ask for directions there?" So in order to accommodate to the German-y lifestyles here I have noted a few key things to look out for. (These are things Julia Roberts left out of her memoirs.) :
1. Don't wear white socks. It's a no-no. You will stick out like an American-whitesockwearing-sore thumb. I don't get it. It's this weird unwritten rule of Europe. Wear dress socks. Always.
2. Or, if you're of the female gender..., don a pair of high heels. Pumps, stilettos, or wedges? Doesn't matter. Just going grocery shopping? Doesn't matter! Every woman here was born wearing kitten heels and has gradually progressed through diligent training to be able to wear sky-high heels. On cobblestone. Respect.
3. Eat as much asparagus as possible. Germans love their Spargel as much as we love Happy Meals. Fact of life.
4. To balance out your healthy diet of asparagus, start a smoking habit. Wikipedia says that nearly forty percent of Germans smoke. I think that's a lie. It must be higher. Piles of cigarette butts lying in the train stations agree.
5. Finally, and this one is important so pay attention...Wear scarfs. Preferably as many as you can, as often as you can. Even in the summer. Especially in the summer! This will cement your European-y-ness in the history books. The Germans, they tell me there are twenty-eight different ways to tie a scarf. Believe it. Honestly, what other ways "beyond wrap-it-around-your-neck-enough-before-you-stick-it-into-your-parka-because-it-is-COLD-outside" does one need? Apparently twenty-seven. This isn't just for girls either. Guys, you have no excuse for your nekkid-neckness.
PS Sorry for the schizophrenic post. I am just so relieved to be settled in that I had a bah-gillion things bouncing around in my head.
But basically the day I got here, all the other Americans left. For the last couple of days it has been a little bit like that Julia Roberts movie that no one really liked "Eat, Pray, Love" only with more eating. (Just a heads up, I didn't voluntarily watch that movie; it was playing on my flight over here. And since I am cursed to never sleep on planes...)
I have meandered around so many streets and gotten lost in the language around me. Quick, somebody stop me before I break into prose! I can't describe things here without sounding extremely dorky, so I'll let some pictures do the talking.
 | |
| Be jealous of my weather! |
 |
| Isn't it adorable?!? |
I can't explain it, I suppose it was just a bit of spring fever but yesterday I donned shorts, and set out to do nothing. Absolutely nothing. I had no goal, no plan, no agenda beyond seeing things. I have promised myself that outside of this blog I will try to only ONLY speak, think, hear, see, taste, touch, smell (any more senses??) German because it's difficult here. I want to integrate.
I am foreign, but no longer interesting. There are plenty of foreign kids here doing the same thing I am, thinking the same thoughts. And I feel foreign. I am afraid that people will look at me and sigh and think, "Ugh. Another one. Can't she just go back to her own country and ask for directions there?" So in order to accommodate to the German-y lifestyles here I have noted a few key things to look out for. (These are things Julia Roberts left out of her memoirs.) :
1. Don't wear white socks. It's a no-no. You will stick out like an American-whitesockwearing-sore thumb. I don't get it. It's this weird unwritten rule of Europe. Wear dress socks. Always.
2. Or, if you're of the female gender..., don a pair of high heels. Pumps, stilettos, or wedges? Doesn't matter. Just going grocery shopping? Doesn't matter! Every woman here was born wearing kitten heels and has gradually progressed through diligent training to be able to wear sky-high heels. On cobblestone. Respect.
3. Eat as much asparagus as possible. Germans love their Spargel as much as we love Happy Meals. Fact of life.
4. To balance out your healthy diet of asparagus, start a smoking habit. Wikipedia says that nearly forty percent of Germans smoke. I think that's a lie. It must be higher. Piles of cigarette butts lying in the train stations agree.
5. Finally, and this one is important so pay attention...Wear scarfs. Preferably as many as you can, as often as you can. Even in the summer. Especially in the summer! This will cement your European-y-ness in the history books. The Germans, they tell me there are twenty-eight different ways to tie a scarf. Believe it. Honestly, what other ways "beyond wrap-it-around-your-neck-enough-before-you-stick-it-into-your-parka-because-it-is-COLD-outside" does one need? Apparently twenty-seven. This isn't just for girls either. Guys, you have no excuse for your nekkid-neckness.
 |
| Except dignity. |
PS Sorry for the schizophrenic post. I am just so relieved to be settled in that I had a bah-gillion things bouncing around in my head.
Monday, April 4, 2011
When Life Hands You Lemons
The world has apologized, and I have forgiven it. Within hours of posting the last post, I...
...tried to pay my fine (didn't happen yet, technicalities in the way...) and since I now have to pay every single little time I want to use the train, it was decided that since I was already in a quaint little town on the outskirts of Stuttgart I would enjoy the seventy degree Saturday. See, right there was already a course to put me in a better mood.
While meandering around with no particular place to go I saw in a shop window a Michigan State University t-shirt. How random is that?!? I got so excited and kept pointing at it like an idiot exclaiming to Nick, ''Did you see it? Can you see it? Why would they have that? Crazy!'' To put this in perspective, NO ONE here knows of any colleges beyond Standford and Yale. And possibly the college Mark Zuckerberg attended, but only because they exist in movies. I think Michigan State is referenced in one of the American Pie movies, but c'mon. Obscure college t-shirt in another country in which it's citizens do not even know where Michigan is? Awesome.
(I usually tell people where I'm from by saying ''near Detroit'' It works. But let's be honest, who can name all sixteen of Germany's states? Point.)
...Then after a very slow Sunday day in which Nick abandoned me for model UN practice, (Who knew that there was model UN practice. Phff...Nerds.) I was invited to play Ultimate Frisbee with a bunch of German friends. Here's where it gets great. We were going to bike to the park, and as we went to the shed to fetch Sonja's bike (the one I always use) Nick wheeled out one I didn't recognize. Probably because they just bought it. For me. My very own bike! As you can imagine I reacted like the adult I am by saying thank you and not by jumping up and down and squealing about how 'it has a bell!!'.
I named her Lemon. (Long story.) She is beautiful.
Back to the Frisbee...
As a college student, I should have been a Frisbee pro, because that's what college kids do, right? Too much time shut in my room pouring over textbooks, I guess. (Phff...Nerd.) So instead of dressing like all the other smart kids, I was wearing a pair of new jeans and my favorite Pearl Jam shirt. Who knew that Ultimate Frisbee can get physical? And that you can continue to play in the rain? And that I would have so much fun?
Once we got back, Ray took one look at me and asked if I had played too, because from my grass-stained t-shirt and mud-drenched jeans and shoes it was not clear whether I had been playing Frisbee or wrestling an unruly wombat.
I went straight into the bathroom to change and soak my clothes. Really though I would not be too upset if the stains didn't come off, because they're good stains. Stains that would remind me to chill out and still be a kid every once in a while.
...tried to pay my fine (didn't happen yet, technicalities in the way...) and since I now have to pay every single little time I want to use the train, it was decided that since I was already in a quaint little town on the outskirts of Stuttgart I would enjoy the seventy degree Saturday. See, right there was already a course to put me in a better mood.
While meandering around with no particular place to go I saw in a shop window a Michigan State University t-shirt. How random is that?!? I got so excited and kept pointing at it like an idiot exclaiming to Nick, ''Did you see it? Can you see it? Why would they have that? Crazy!'' To put this in perspective, NO ONE here knows of any colleges beyond Standford and Yale. And possibly the college Mark Zuckerberg attended, but only because they exist in movies. I think Michigan State is referenced in one of the American Pie movies, but c'mon. Obscure college t-shirt in another country in which it's citizens do not even know where Michigan is? Awesome.
(I usually tell people where I'm from by saying ''near Detroit'' It works. But let's be honest, who can name all sixteen of Germany's states? Point.)
...Then after a very slow Sunday day in which Nick abandoned me for model UN practice, (Who knew that there was model UN practice. Phff...Nerds.) I was invited to play Ultimate Frisbee with a bunch of German friends. Here's where it gets great. We were going to bike to the park, and as we went to the shed to fetch Sonja's bike (the one I always use) Nick wheeled out one I didn't recognize. Probably because they just bought it. For me. My very own bike! As you can imagine I reacted like the adult I am by saying thank you and not by jumping up and down and squealing about how 'it has a bell!!'.
I named her Lemon. (Long story.) She is beautiful.
Back to the Frisbee...
As a college student, I should have been a Frisbee pro, because that's what college kids do, right? Too much time shut in my room pouring over textbooks, I guess. (Phff...Nerd.) So instead of dressing like all the other smart kids, I was wearing a pair of new jeans and my favorite Pearl Jam shirt. Who knew that Ultimate Frisbee can get physical? And that you can continue to play in the rain? And that I would have so much fun?
Once we got back, Ray took one look at me and asked if I had played too, because from my grass-stained t-shirt and mud-drenched jeans and shoes it was not clear whether I had been playing Frisbee or wrestling an unruly wombat.
I went straight into the bathroom to change and soak my clothes. Really though I would not be too upset if the stains didn't come off, because they're good stains. Stains that would remind me to chill out and still be a kid every once in a while.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Broken Shoelaces
I feel as though I have been dealing splendidly here in Germany so far. Granted nothing has been going according to plan, but oh well, right? Don't let it bog down the fact that you have this fantastic opportunity here. Because the Gentner motto has always seemed to be: ''You wanna hear God laugh? Then tell him your 'plans'.''
Dealing with problems matriculating into a foreign school system? Confirmatory.
Not being able to access your German bank account to pay rent due in two days? Yep.
Needing eight hundred dollars in that German bank account in order to NOT be deported at the end of the month? Roger that.
Registering for classes that don't seem to exist? Check.
Not having internet in apartment? Affirmative.
Receiving none of the important government documentation in order to become a German citizen? Gotcha.
But man, oh man, when I got on that train and the ticket-control woman looked at my two-hundred-dollar-month-long pass and told me it had expired just four hours ago... therefore leaving me with a fifty dollar fine to be paid within the next two weeks. I cracked. I sat on the train and just turned my head to the window so no one would see me cry.
I do not cry easily, nor do I like to admit it, and really this is not that big of a deal. Everyone will be caught 'riding black' as it is called at one point of another when you ride long enough, but I was just at the end of my rope after finding out the fine should really only be about fifteen dollars since I am not a repeat offender.
Really, Germany? Deutsche Bahn? Nearly thirty extra dollars because I am having a bad day?
According to a very smart woman I know, this, in rehabilitation terms, is called Broken Shoelaces Syndrome.
The rest of these really cruddy things can be going on, and people can deal. We can, we're resilient, but when something minor taps us on the shoulder just to say, ''Hi. I am a common everyday circumstance just letting you know that life is still happening while you're dealing...''
For example, looking down to see your shoelace is broken, or in my case getting caught unknowingly riding the train without paying, sends you packing your bags to Breakdown Town.
We all have our problems. I know. Am I being a little mellow dramatic? Very likely.
But I am a girl. I am in a bad mood. I am allowed to for a bit.
Trust me, in a couple days after this is all smoothed over the less whiny posts will once again dominate my blogosphere.
Bis bald.
Dealing with problems matriculating into a foreign school system? Confirmatory.
Not being able to access your German bank account to pay rent due in two days? Yep.
Needing eight hundred dollars in that German bank account in order to NOT be deported at the end of the month? Roger that.
Registering for classes that don't seem to exist? Check.
Not having internet in apartment? Affirmative.
Receiving none of the important government documentation in order to become a German citizen? Gotcha.
But man, oh man, when I got on that train and the ticket-control woman looked at my two-hundred-dollar-month-long pass and told me it had expired just four hours ago... therefore leaving me with a fifty dollar fine to be paid within the next two weeks. I cracked. I sat on the train and just turned my head to the window so no one would see me cry.
I do not cry easily, nor do I like to admit it, and really this is not that big of a deal. Everyone will be caught 'riding black' as it is called at one point of another when you ride long enough, but I was just at the end of my rope after finding out the fine should really only be about fifteen dollars since I am not a repeat offender.
Really, Germany? Deutsche Bahn? Nearly thirty extra dollars because I am having a bad day?
According to a very smart woman I know, this, in rehabilitation terms, is called Broken Shoelaces Syndrome.
The rest of these really cruddy things can be going on, and people can deal. We can, we're resilient, but when something minor taps us on the shoulder just to say, ''Hi. I am a common everyday circumstance just letting you know that life is still happening while you're dealing...''
For example, looking down to see your shoelace is broken, or in my case getting caught unknowingly riding the train without paying, sends you packing your bags to Breakdown Town.
We all have our problems. I know. Am I being a little mellow dramatic? Very likely.
But I am a girl. I am in a bad mood. I am allowed to for a bit.
Trust me, in a couple days after this is all smoothed over the less whiny posts will once again dominate my blogosphere.
Bis bald.
Friday, April 1, 2011
Tschüss with Cheese!
For my mom, who is already confused: Tschüss (pronounced like shoes with a ch-sound before it) is German for see ya! And as for the cheese, that is just how I celebrated both the completion of my Sprachkurs (language course) and therefore my leaving of Altheim.
 |
| Cheese-y goodness. |
Don't quote me on this, but I think raclette is French for "melting cheese all over different things in a mini-shovel, eating waaay too much, and stopping just before you explode." But, like I said, not quite sure.
Irregardless of how delicious it was, I think I need more practice to work up my tolerance. I could only eat three of the shovel things full. Volker continued to eat for a half hour after I put my fork down.
 | |||||||
| Volker: Master Racletter |
 | |
| Not so masterful. They always fell apart. |
So now I say goodbye to you Altheim, and I move forward to buying my own groceries again *sob* and attending real university in Germany. Wish me luck!
 |
| Tschüss to you too, you crazy bird. |
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