Take that, TSA! Part One

“Travelling is a nightmare and you can either embrace it or let it destroy you.” Me. Every single time I go anywhere. It’s my mantra.

I had a travel break-through on my way home from Africa. I was standing in line at Heathrow after an extended flight up to London from Addis Ababa, on which we got a four hour detour to the Rome airport due to a crash on the Heathrow runway, causing us to get in late and thereby get ripped off by a cabby to get to our microscopic hotel room where I had a minor breakdown at the check in counter before getting a minimal amount of sleep. 

As I went through the metal detectors, I was pulled aside for extra screening, AKA an early morning groping. And then on the way to the gate, my friend and I were once again, pulled aside for bomb testing. It was as my bag was being pulled apart that I realized, there is nothing I can do about this situation but tell a great story once it’s over. It was a life-changing moment as I succumbed to the crazy laughter before calmly asked if I could keep eating my fruit or if they needed to check it for drugs. 

And ever since, that has been my theory, and therefore, I continue to push the TSA guidelines to the extreme every chance I get. Because TSA, you can try to make my day a nightmare, but I will at least try to get as close to breaking the rules as I can before you actually tell me, “Ma’am, you can’t take that on the plane.”

I get one official carry-on on my flights home to the States, just like I did on my way to Europe. I translate this into one rolly bag and a computer bag that I’m wearing under a scarf and winter jacket. So what if it’s August. It’s cold on the plane. 

As I was packing to go back to America, I set a record. For the first time in my entire life, I was packed early. The second I officially quit the nightmare position, I started purging. Don’t need that — GARBAGE! Don’t need that — RECYCLE! I was over half packed with three days still left in Germany. And as I couldn’t completely finish, I started making piles of things that I still wanted to get in somehow. Things like my Chinese Faux-Uggs that are basically dead but that I can’t bear to part with yet. Or the bug netting that a friend sent me to survive the lack of Europe’s understanding what a screen is. 

At first I figure that I can wear the bug netting in some sort of skirt/chitenji situation and have it be a valid fashion choice paired with jeans and my uggs rolled down because after all, it is August. Oh, and the two coats that I need: the one lighter coat for my 13C morning in Copenhagen and the winter coat that I can’t pack. The two coats with pockets filled with decks of cards because I apparently have a problem. 

Now, why am I wearing bug netting as an accessory? For starters, I have a pair of vintage 1950’s green heels that I only travel with in my carry-on. And a pair of Toms and a pair of Treadz that also have to go into my carry-on. In addition to all my camera, computer, and hard drive equipment that turns me into a bomb threat, every time I travel. This leaves very little room for anything else once my two checked bags reach their 23kg limit.

As I near the end of my packing, I take all the tiny bits of “really want to get this in,” and drop them randomly into the rolly bag, hoping to keep the weight there and not in my checked baggage that is quickly filling up. This leads to one massively disorganized rolly bag that I am already dreading having to take apart for bomb screenings. I get in all the shoes, electronics, even manage to get in the bug netting so it’s not on my person. I have the computer bag packed for easy hiding under my layers. And my two checked bags are at 22.9kg and 22.8kg. Success!

And then Kristian comes home and gives me a Uni-Potsdam t-shirt and a Brandenburg book. 

What a lovely thought. Why did you give this to me on my way TO THE AIRPORT?

I manage to twist the t-shirt into a bit of a “neck pillow” that I surround my liquids with in the exterior pocket of my rolly bag. I add the second book of German culture to my overstuffed computer bag that also has a pair of shoes in. I tie an additional scarf around the strap to stick a headband into because I have no where else to put it. 

And off we go to the train station in Potsdam. 

The Illusive White German Asparagus

So, Kristian got it in his head that I had to go buy asparagus one morning. Why? No idea. So fine. He tells me where the stand is, and to just go try to buy some. Maybe get a kilo.

So I walk to the stand and tell the guy I want a kilo of asparagus. And the guy’s like, what kind?

There are six tubs across the table. Um….NO IDEA.

Well, this is the best today, this is wrong with this one, this is wrong with that one, blah, blah, adjectives I don’t know/understand. 

Um….well, let’s face it. No matter what decision I make here, there is a 1% chance that it’s the right one. So would I rather make yet another incorrect decision by buying the best today or make an incorrect decision and buy the worst today? There was no discussion of which grade of asparagus I should be getting. I have never cooked white asparagus in my life. I have no idea of the criteria for it. So, best it is. They’re rich.

How many people are eating? Six. Oh, well then you need this much. No, I need a kilo. Four are kids. Oh, well do the kids eat two or three stalks? I have no bloody idea! They eat butter. That’s all that I know they eat. One didn’t even want the asparagus in the first place. Just give me the kilo. 

Well, this is for the two adults. Spectacular. 

And this is for one child. And two children. And three children. And four children. And it rings up at over €10 which is all I have on me. Oh, sir, I only have a €10. No problem! He takes one stalk out and let’s the €.16 slide. 

And I head back to the house. 

Oh, you managed to get asparagus! Yes. It’s all the stand has. It’s not like I could come back with eggs or carrots. 

You didn’t tell me there were choices.

Oh yes. I usually get the cheapest. And I knew it. Wrong again. 

Ah, well I got what he said the best today was. There were things wrong with all the others. 

Oh…how much?

Ten euros.

Oh…..ok. Well, let me see. I guess this is ok. I usually get the middle size because it’s easy to peel and not too tough. Sometimes these big ones are too tough.

Ah, well, HAD YOU TOLD ME THERE WOULD BE OPTIONS AND WHAT OPTION TO GET, maybe I, no, who we kidding. It still would have been wrong. 

Later, I’m going about making lunch and Kristian again pops up about this ridiculous asparagus. I already have the fish going and the noodles, and he comments that usually we start with the asparagus because it takes so long. Uh-huh. Well, I didn’t want to make asparagus in the first place, so if it’s such an inconvenience to show me how to cook them, DON’T! 

You have to peel the stupid white German asparagus before you can boil them to mush. I can’t peel with my right hand, or really grip. So I have to twist my fingers around the tip of the asparagus and attempt to peel left handed. I’m not fast. I’m not good. It’s not my fault. Please stop checking the time. 

And 40 min later we have nasty mushy asparagus. This is the amazing white German asparagus I’ve been hearing about? It’s stringy baby food. Do not understand. 

But glad to still have my 100% rate of incorrectness in tack. Wouldn’t want to actually do something correctly. Germany is the most frustrating country I have ever lived in. I would rather go back to China where I have “FOREIGNER” stamped on my head.

Potsdam: Prussian DisneyVegas

I blame China. Like usual. It all seems to go back to China. 

After living in a country that goes about tearing down its original history to build a new version rather than making renovations to the original history, I guess you could say I got onto a real kick. The search for any sort of history that was real rather than remanufactured. Additionally, I really love architecture and am endlessly fascinated by the convergence of two very different types of architecture. 

Like Harbin and their Russian influence.

Or Qingdao and their German influence.

And Macau and their Portugeuse influence.

I completely understand influence and inspiration. Especially when there is a legitimate reason for it happening: like the city being a foreign controlled port. This does not bother me. But I am pretty sure the Prussians went a little too far in Potsdam, turning it into their own private 18th century Disneyland/Las Vegas combo. 

As you explore parts of Potsdam, a few foreign influences make sense as the 1685 Edict of Potsdam gave religious freedoms and therefore, the city attracted a lot of immigrants from around Europe.

Those from Russia, creating the Alexandrowka Russian Colony. 

The Dutch Establishment in Neuer Garten in addition to the Dutch Quarter of the city.

The Bohemian settlement around Weberplatz in Babelsberg.

Even the French styled Scholoß Sansoucci in addition to the French Church for the Huguenots. 

But after the various European influences that stem from immigration, I get a little bit lost. Then it becomes a ridiculous, over the top, let’s build it because I’m a rich Prussian whackadoo situation. And then I am out. Because why, why Prussians do you need a pyramid as an ice house? WHY?

And who’s idea was it to design a pump house as a mosque? There is a way to do Islamic influenced architecture. Go look at Moorish Spain. It’s gorgeous. This is not the right way.

And a why on earth do we need to have a Chinese tea house? In Germany? Just to be trendy? I’ll expand that: why 18th century world was it trendy to build random Chinese architecture? I understand an Oriental influence being that Asia was more accessible than ever before. But I get transporting a Chinese tea house to a new location slightly less. 

The city is its own DisneyVegas: you don’t need to travel the world to see pyramids, tea houses or the Eiffel tower. Oh, no. Here’s a scaled down, ritzy version of the real thing — and you don’t need to leave your comfort zone of ‘Merica. Or in Potsdam’s case, Deutschland. I just don’t understand.

The End

Today is my second to last day in Germany — my last full day as I fly out at 9pm tomorrow night thanks to the lack of the Germans getting their stuff together and managing to open the new Berlin airport what, LAST MARCH? But anyway, last full day in the country. I’m hoping that finally, today, now that I’m leaving tomorrow, I’ll truly start to embrace the country. Isn’t that how it typically works?

….the predicted sunny and “balmy” 20C day I was supposed to be enjoying is instead a grey, blustery 17C. Glad I have my 13C morning in Copenhagen layers unpacked.

….apparently, my bus stop is not being serviced. For all of August. Therefore, I had to walk to the farther bus stop and missed my bus. And as it’s not a sunny and “balmy” 20C, I had to freeze in the grey, blustery 17C wishing I had my 13C morning in Copenhagen layers on.

….after freezing for 10 minutes, I climbed onto my bus and discovered that bus fair had gone up. A lot. Digging for more change….

….upon arriving at the stop that I needed to get off at in order to go the store, I didn’t wait until the cross walk to cut across the street and got yelled at. Glare in that German sensibility’s direction. I then got to the “busy road” and waited five minutes in the grey, blustery and now frigid 16C wishing again that I had my 13C morning in Copenhagen layers on for the stupid Ampelmann to change so I could cross the street that WASN’T BUSY this morning.

….the first store didn’t have what I needed and being that I can’t figure out how to exit the stores around here without purchasing something, I got “vegetable patties” that in fact have bird meat in them. German fail in the understanding of “vegetarian.”

….I opened my fake coffee that I purchased at store four of the morning, realized the lid didn’t have a hole for me to drink through and then proceeded to spill it on everything I own: iPod, jeans that I just washed and will be wearing every day until Saturday, shirt, sweater, bag, shoes. Outstanding.

….my precious little iPod is really starting to have a rough life. She just stops playing randomly and I have to restart her to make her go again (this was before the coffee spillage which was only on the external case and didn’t actually touch her). This could be a really, really long flight home. 

….on the bus home (which was going on whackadoodle detours every five seconds), I discovered I have played all 100 sudoku games my phone has to offer. This is pretty much the worst day ever. 

….the kids came home at noon. Again. How is it possible to only have four hours of school a day? I remember being very opposed to having to stay longer than noon in FIRST GRADE. 

….my London gag is refusing to leave (this could be a very big reason I shouldn’t live in London. Visit London, hack out the belly of the tube for the next week.) As are my wonky ears. This could be a really, really horrendous flight home.

On the positive side: after visiting three stores and digging through multiple boxes of chocolate, I found six bars of my favorite chocolate to take home and share amongst friends. And, the heavens didn’t open to a torrential downpour when I was out searching for them — I have plans tonight though. There’s still the overwhelming possibility that it’ll still happen. It wouldn’t be a proper goodbye to Potsdam if I’m not completely soaked.

I have hope that tomorrow, my final day in Germany, I’ll finally embrace the country to its upmost potential. 

Because I finally stopped procrastinating

I’ve been meaning to get my X-rays and medical history for oh, months now. But there’s that whole most likely going to have to attempt to spout out medical German thing that’s been holding me back. Being that I only have four days left in Germany, I kinda had to suck it up. 

Thank God for minimal English speakers because my medical German consists of “Chefarzt,” “Krankengeschichte,” and “Röntgen.” And to be fair, I just learned Röntgen before going to the hospital this morning.  

But, without any further adieu, because I know you all have been dying to see these, my thumb X-rays. I didn’t get the ones taken before the surgery…sorry. But I do have the ones directly after the surgery: 

And the ones about four weeks later, one week before the wire was oh so forcibly removed.

Supposedly there’s a difference. I don’t really see it. All I know is that after seven months of being tormented by the tiny champagne bottle that Lucy left in my room, I was finally able to open it a couple days ago: Go, thumb, go! 

And after much confusion trying to measure the angles of mobility in both thumbs using a German protractor (ohmygoodness, SO CONFUSING. Nothing like an American one. I do NOT understand how they use these things) I believe I have 72° in my left thumb and 42° in my right thumb — ish. I bent my thumbs as much as possible and then drew the angle on paper, attempting to measure it with the crazy backwards German protractor. Either way….I have a stunted right thumb still. But I’m able to once again wrap my thumb around my massive German bike that keeps trying to kill me’s handlebars and ride with almost no pain.

And after showing everyone I meet the difference between lefty and righty, I’ve come to discover that I just started out with two crazy bendy thumbs which most people don’t have to begin with so I guess I shouldn’t really be complaining. Too much. Even if I’m still a bit lopsided in my flexibility area. 

The Crazy Returns!

In all honesty, most of my travels around Germany haven’t been too ridiculous. I’m uncertain if that’s good or bad… 

Then I started my trek down to Czech for my Summer English VBS Camp. And that all changed.

5:30am. Alarm. Pain, agony. Then I realize that the house is already bouncing. Not only am I attempting to get out of the house, EVERYONE is attempting to get out of the house. And there are four wailing children downstairs ((Seriously, the noises that come of the kids at times…..rivals the zombie apocalypse that is sweeping America)). 

I get ready in my allotted 45 minutes and start my walk down to the bus stop — the one that with my luggage is going to be like ten minutes away. I get seriously, FIVE HOUSES AWAY, and the heavens open and a torrential downpour is unleashed upon my head. 

Are. You. Freaking. Kidding. Me. GERMANY!?! Why must you rain EVERY DAY?! Can’t I even escape you BEFORE you release the torrents!?

I duck under the bakery awning, opening up my horrendously packed suitcase, digging for my umbrella. I then commence my eight minute puddle jump down to the bus stop. 

I have my laptop and my camera in my backpack in addition to my passport and the PAPER ticket for my trip. I tilt the umbrella as far back as I can attempting to cover as much of my bag as possible. 

By the time I make it to the stop, I am soaked up to my knees and my right arm that has been wheeling my rolly bag is completely drenched. 

I wait at the stop, switching my backpack to the front in hopes that I can keep my stuff more dry this way. The bus finally pulls up and I haul all my sopping belongings inside. 

I glare out the window as the copious amounts of rain subside. By the time we get to the train station, there’s not a sprinkle to be found. 

Now, I’m wearing my Toms. My most favoritest shoes ever. The shoes that I wore my heels out of last year in Czech by walking 15 miles up and down Prague, and that got wet in London and have never been the same. With my heels now consisting of rubber air mattress patches and funky water smell removing inserts, they’re almost as good as new — especially once I gave them a good scrubbing with some laundry detergent a bit ago. 

Of course, as I try to NOT wear them in the rain, this is the first time they’ve been completely soaked since that scrubbing. Therefore, as I walk into the station, with every step, out seep soap bubbles from my very squishy shoes. By the time i purchase breakfast and get onto the train, I’m leaving a trail of bubbles behind me. 

I again dig through my not only horrendously packed suitcase, but now my horrendously packed and dug through suitcase to find my flips. I take off my Toms, switch to the flips, and roll my dripping pant legs. I pull out the funky wet smell removing inserts and toss them in the trash. I knew I packed a new pair for a reason. We’ll just have to do some minor Toms repair once we get to Czech….

I then sit and freeze into Berlin with my wet jeans and my wet sweater and my wet feet and my damp rest of me. 

By the time I make it to the bus station, it’s sunny. 

Of course it is.

Ganz Ganz Wichtig

Do you ever have phrases get stuck in your head? 

I had a job once where I worked on the phone. There were these two other girls who throughout their conversations would continually say a hyper “Awesome!” followed by a low “cool.” It was their standard response pattern to every question they asked. And the weird cadence tended to get stuck in my head.

That was annoying enough, but then I started living in non-English speaking countries and I started getting their common phrases stuck in my head. 

It’s like a song being stuck in your head — but worse. 

When I lived in China, I would hear my students saying “Bu zhi dao!” over and over and over. When I tried to fall asleep — whiney students giving me the “Bu zhi dao!” When I would be working on putting lesson plans together — “Bu zhi dao!!!” It never left my head.

When I lived in Czech, hmm….I don’t actually know if there’s a Czech phrase that got stuck in my head….The whole time I was in Czech the second week in July, I kept trying to get a phrase stuck in my head, but nothing really annoyed me. Czech words popped out — if I keep up this rate of learning Czech, I should really move there and you know, actually study the language. 

But on to life in Germany: what phrase do I want to tie up in knots and throw into the river? “Ganz ganz wichtig.” Everything is apparently “ganz ganz wichtig.” It’s not just important. It’s not just really important. It’s really, really important. Everything. And it makes me want to scream. 

Sure, it might just be the way it’s said around the house, but it has really started to grate on my nerves — almost to the extent of the recorder at 6:30 in the morning before I’m properly caffeinated. I’m sure there is in fact a time and place for things to be “ganz ganz wichtig,” I just don’t think that everything really needs to come with that label. Because the more you say that it’s “ganz ganz wichtig,” the less I am to actually view it of any importance what so ever. 

It’s kinda like the boy that cried wolf. You keep saying that it’s important/there’s a wolf, guess what, not gonna believe you when it actually is important. Leaving the retainer on the table? Not the end of the world, ganz ganz wichtig you think it is. Sorry. It’s just not. 

Photo Talk

I found this blog on tumblr a bit ago: Five Hours Of. These two photographers shoot complimentary photos back and forth. One shoots first, the other responds. I found it to be a really cool idea, so I started doing it with a fellow photographer that lives in Vegas. 

We’d been shooting back and forth for a bit when he sent me this photo to respond to. 

Are we kidding me? How am I supposed to respond to that? In Potsdam?!

Then I find this photo on flickr (or one very similar to this.) And the wheels start turning.

Which is why I learned how to make a boat out of newspaper. 

I wanted to float the paper boats in the fountain, but upon getting to the fountain, I realized just how very fast the water was moving and that I would never be able to reclaim the boats if I set them loose. And breaking a fountain was not on my to do list for the day. 

So instead, I placed them in front of the fountain, thinking I would photoshop them into the water since the lighting would be the same. But after seeing the final image, I kinda liked the result with them sitting on the dirt.

That’ll do. (Click on the photo for more photo pairings.)