Today Uli and I went hiking while Jasi looked after Max. As I realized on the way up it was my first longish hike since before Max was born that means in a really long time. About 2600 feet of altitude gain is nothing to sneeze about especially when the route actually is fairly short and therefore steep with a capital S. If I do say so myself: I did better than anticipated, even had a little sprint at the end – where the cabin plus restaurant awaited us and on the way down heard the magic words from Uli: “Would you please slow down.” Yippee! Now, I could bore you with a detailed descriptions of the mountains, trees, plants and animals we saw, with geological or geographical details and such like but instead I am going to tell you about the big complot I realized is happening worldwide, but especially in Europe. Let me preface the story by saying that it is a well-known fact that work-outs bring out aggressions and also tend to have unpleasant and long forgotten bad feelings, experiences and prejudices boil up. The good thing is that work-outs are a good way of dealing with all that unpleasantness in a non-self-destructive way and, normally, once one gets off the treadmill or mountain that episode from 15 years back with the a…. of a boss is no longer a mind-consuming incident.
So after hiking up steep inclines for the better part of 2.5 hours and a quick early lunch in the restaurant and a quick descend half ways downs the mountain I realized that the garlic mafia is trying to vilify non-garlic eaters like myself in a major fashion. I do not eat raw garlic, it makes me feel hung-over without being even close to a class of booze, it leaves this disgusting feeling in my mouth and generally makes me feel slightly sick. So, years ago, I forsake the doubtful pleasure of eating raw or half-raw or almost cooked or more-or-less cooked garlic. I have, in addition, a hard time dealing with people who smell of garlic. It just really doesn’t smell that good, right. Sounds like a big deal to you? Not to me, at least not initially, but I have learned that it is a big deal; “big” in the sense of major. If somebody tells you casually over dinner that he/she doesn’t like sage or basil or fried chicken feet is that a big deal? No, nobody would think less of you for not liking sage or chicken feet and nobody would assume that something is fundamentally wrong with you – physically and psychologically, or both – if you told them that cumin just doesn’t sit well with you. Try this with garlic, I dare you, especially in the “alternative/ecologically-minded” circles in Europe and the effect couldn’t be more devastating if you had just announced to everybody that you slept with the hostess’ husband, despise puppies and kittens, and regularly eat endangered animals. You get this “oh my God she is such a wuss”-look, this “spoiled city-brad who despises the way of the real people”, this “does she think she is something better than us” look. Nobody ever believes you that your stomach just wasn’t meant to deal with raw stinky stuff, that your mouth feels rotten after eating it and that – strangely enough – you enjoy neither feeling. However, everybody assumes that you are faking it, that in reality you just feel superior to the common man, that you can’t take the raw and untamed power of garlic and that somehow that it is all in your mind and if you just gave up your evil or stupid ways and embraced the more enlightened path of the common garlic eater everything would be just dandy. You think I am overdoing it? Just another of Tina’s hyperboles! Hell, no. Have you ever heard of people who smuggle peanuts into the food of their peanut-allergic friends? Well, there were cases described on CSI and such like but generally the word used for people displaying such behavior isn’t “friend”, but more like “enemy”. I can’t count the number of times where people – with a smirk in their face like they just accomplished something real clever - said something like “I heard you do not like (nobody ever says “that you have a bad reaction to”) garlic but I smuggled one in the salad dressing/pasta sauce/dip anyway. Do I always realize it on the first whiff? No - ask your peanut-allergic friend whether he/she always notices milligrams of peanuts in every food and I guarantee you the answer is “no”, else CSI wouldn’t have a storyline. But I sure do notice when I wake up at night, feel like I had about a dozen shots of cheap tequila and my mouth tastes like something big and furry died in there – a while ago.
I hope you are not looking at me for an explanation. I am puzzled, I don’t get when, why and how eating garlic ever became the hallmark of a good, decent, grounded person. Why garlic, why not coriander, curry, chilly? Does its stinkiness have something to do with it? Is it the ultimate test of love and commitment? Is it sort of like the wedding vows but instead of “in good and in bad days, in health and in sickness” ”it is “after champagne or five gloves of garlic, wearing Chanel or ‘Eau de Garlic’”? I, for one, am sick of it: sick for justifying that I do not eat that stuff (raw) when it is okay that everybody else doesn’t eat pork or fish or horse radish or butter or anything red or gummi bears, pears, soy sauce, snow peas, …. Henceforth I will just simple say: “I hate the stuff. It tastes like s… and it stinks. Now take that!” The effect will be the same but at least I will feel good about it.
So, that was going through my mind as I descended from the mountains amidst trees and flowers, gurgling creeks and waterfalls, surrounded by butterflies and alpine mammals the rugged grayness of the Austrian Alps rising another 3000 foot around me. I guess I should work out more often to reach such profound, life-changing decisions.
P.S. The farmer has Internet access but unfortunately does the router not work with it and also are they holding a close second position to Greislye when it comes to virus infection. Uli found on a first sweep almost 200 viruses and spyware – no wonder it takes about 10 minutes to open Explorer.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
Austria here we are
Last Sunday Jasi and I took the long drive to Fohnsdorf, Uli's hometown in Styria. It's isn't all that far as the crow flies but then there are the Alps - sort of in the middle of everything - and a large detour up to Munich then down to Salzburg and then down south and East along the Mur-Valley. It was a nice drive but - predictably - as we got closer to Fohnsdorf it started raining. That was predictable because I haven't spent a single day in that village over four or five years now when it didn't rain, literally. All everybody ever told me was: "we had such great weather last week, last month, sometime in the past" - didn't help me much as I was sitting there, freezing at like 12 degress Celsius in drizzle or worse pouring rain with a toddler who was taking the in-law's apartment apart out of sheer boredom. And, unfortunately, there are many things in this apartment a toddler can destroy by just looking at it crossly.
We were, though, sort of lucky this time. It hasn't really rained hard since we got here and yesterday it didn't rain at all, it didn't even look like it was going to rain - best day here ever.
So, what did we do? Honestly, there isn't all that much to do here. It's a village of 8,000 people who's claim to fame is that it it Europe's largest village (I guess, I have to read up on the technical definition of the term "village") - and that is it. Being a former coal-mining village, located in a broad valley, it lacks the typical Austrian-steep-valley-and-mountains charm in fact it is more like little Liverpool in Austria. The people are friendly but hard to understand. After many years of practice I can manage more or less okay but once they get started in their local dialect all bets are off. For one they don't want their vowles to be lonesome and so pretty much every vowel gets a companion. To me it often seems random but I am sure there is some method to the madness. Let me give you an example: nice or gentle or cute is "lieb" (pronounced like "leeb") but in Styria it is "liab". Can't have a lonesome "i" now, can you and the "e" doesn't count as it isn't pronounced therefore let's throw and "a" in. "o" seem to get a companion-a as well, the "u's" get "o's" and so forth, and then there are the exceptions. Conversely, diphthongs tend to get divorced - just for the heck of it. Just think of what they make of the name of a nearby town called Leoben! To my horror my little one has started to pick up certain idiosyncracies of the language. It is amazing with what ease he says the most difficult vowel minglings which I, honestly, just can't pronounce. Not sure, though, whether I like him running around screaming: "soa a woahnsiann" ("such craziness" a comon saying meaning everything for "this is starck raving mad" to "this is phantastic").
We got here just in time to see Austria loose to Germany during the European soccer championship. Everybody knew that this was the very likely outcome but hopes run high that there would be a miracle, that God himself would intervene on behalf of the underdog. Well, seems like he/she was busy doing something else and so Austria lost, albeit not spectacularly, to Germany. To be on the safe side I had parked our car with German license plates off the street but the Fohnsdorfer took it all in good humor and Dad's car survived untouched. The locals I talked to before the match were in fact accutely aware of the hopelessness of the situation. The busdriver whom I had a conversation with actually recommended that the Austrian team would do better "knitting than kicking" (makes little sense in English but is kind of a cute rhym in German "besser stricken als kicken"). That didn't deter the fans, in fact pretty much the whole nation from showing up in the publich viewing spaces called "fan miles" (large screen TV's, lots of beer) dressed in red and white, with red and white face paint and red and white wigs. Sort of cute how grown men tend to make complete idiots out of themselves when it comes to black-and-white balls.
We visited the local coal mining museum with Opa, who used to work in the pit before the whole operation was closed down some time in the late 70s or early 80s. As usual Max got to sit in places and operate machines and levers other kids don't ever get to touch. I have to admit that the actual pit was a very uncomfortable place: predicatbly tight and low and narrow but also cold when we all had expected it to be warmer down there. I guess we just weren't close enough to the center of the earth yet to feel the heat. Must have been a real sucker of a job, especially in the early days when they did everything by hand and kids - who from the pictures didn't look more than eight years old - where working alongside the men.
Jasi and I took a couple of trips to the local shopping mall but having such limited suitcase space really takes the fun out of shopping. Everytime I see something nice I have to wonder where the heck I am going to fit it and by and large the answer is "nowhere" and so the sale ain't happening.
Other than that there is a lot of sleeping going on, naps in the afternoon and such like. Last night we where outright debauched when between Jasi, Elisabeth (my sister in law) and myself we drank a bottle of Prosecco and two bottles of something that I am reluctant to admit I ever tasted for fear that everybody will think that I lost my mind but so be it: it was some very strange concoction of some type of bubbly alcohol with fruit juice, sugar and yoghurt (yeah, that ain't a typo), it was opaque and came in the beautiful colors of purple (blueberry), red (strawberry) and orange (peach) - the last one we refused to even taste. For somebody who likes her champaign super-dry with a slight yeasty note this would by no stretch of imagination count as a beverage of choice. But, when in Rome do as the Romans.
While we were drinking and chatting Germany scored a surprise victory over Portugal, the clear favorite in this match. We didn't watch the game but Elisabeth's son provided updates on the goals the German's scored and the Portuguese living across the street made sure we knew about the goals the Portuguese scored. Tonight Croatia, Jasi's home country, is playing Turkey for a spot in the semi-finals and so Opa and Jasi are watching while I am writing. I am getting a huge dose of soccer after all and I might want to add: it just started raining.
Tomorrow we will leave for the boonies, that is that remote valley with cabin that Uli selected for our second week in Austria. Allegedly the farmer who's cabin we are renting has high-speed internet access - how the times have changed! So there will be updates from nowhere, or rather Jonsbachtal, a place pretty unknown to humankind in the remote parts of upper Styria.
We were, though, sort of lucky this time. It hasn't really rained hard since we got here and yesterday it didn't rain at all, it didn't even look like it was going to rain - best day here ever.
So, what did we do? Honestly, there isn't all that much to do here. It's a village of 8,000 people who's claim to fame is that it it Europe's largest village (I guess, I have to read up on the technical definition of the term "village") - and that is it. Being a former coal-mining village, located in a broad valley, it lacks the typical Austrian-steep-valley-and-mountains charm in fact it is more like little Liverpool in Austria. The people are friendly but hard to understand. After many years of practice I can manage more or less okay but once they get started in their local dialect all bets are off. For one they don't want their vowles to be lonesome and so pretty much every vowel gets a companion. To me it often seems random but I am sure there is some method to the madness. Let me give you an example: nice or gentle or cute is "lieb" (pronounced like "leeb") but in Styria it is "liab". Can't have a lonesome "i" now, can you and the "e" doesn't count as it isn't pronounced therefore let's throw and "a" in. "o" seem to get a companion-a as well, the "u's" get "o's" and so forth, and then there are the exceptions. Conversely, diphthongs tend to get divorced - just for the heck of it. Just think of what they make of the name of a nearby town called Leoben! To my horror my little one has started to pick up certain idiosyncracies of the language. It is amazing with what ease he says the most difficult vowel minglings which I, honestly, just can't pronounce. Not sure, though, whether I like him running around screaming: "soa a woahnsiann" ("such craziness" a comon saying meaning everything for "this is starck raving mad" to "this is phantastic").
We got here just in time to see Austria loose to Germany during the European soccer championship. Everybody knew that this was the very likely outcome but hopes run high that there would be a miracle, that God himself would intervene on behalf of the underdog. Well, seems like he/she was busy doing something else and so Austria lost, albeit not spectacularly, to Germany. To be on the safe side I had parked our car with German license plates off the street but the Fohnsdorfer took it all in good humor and Dad's car survived untouched. The locals I talked to before the match were in fact accutely aware of the hopelessness of the situation. The busdriver whom I had a conversation with actually recommended that the Austrian team would do better "knitting than kicking" (makes little sense in English but is kind of a cute rhym in German "besser stricken als kicken"). That didn't deter the fans, in fact pretty much the whole nation from showing up in the publich viewing spaces called "fan miles" (large screen TV's, lots of beer) dressed in red and white, with red and white face paint and red and white wigs. Sort of cute how grown men tend to make complete idiots out of themselves when it comes to black-and-white balls.
We visited the local coal mining museum with Opa, who used to work in the pit before the whole operation was closed down some time in the late 70s or early 80s. As usual Max got to sit in places and operate machines and levers other kids don't ever get to touch. I have to admit that the actual pit was a very uncomfortable place: predicatbly tight and low and narrow but also cold when we all had expected it to be warmer down there. I guess we just weren't close enough to the center of the earth yet to feel the heat. Must have been a real sucker of a job, especially in the early days when they did everything by hand and kids - who from the pictures didn't look more than eight years old - where working alongside the men.
Jasi and I took a couple of trips to the local shopping mall but having such limited suitcase space really takes the fun out of shopping. Everytime I see something nice I have to wonder where the heck I am going to fit it and by and large the answer is "nowhere" and so the sale ain't happening.
Other than that there is a lot of sleeping going on, naps in the afternoon and such like. Last night we where outright debauched when between Jasi, Elisabeth (my sister in law) and myself we drank a bottle of Prosecco and two bottles of something that I am reluctant to admit I ever tasted for fear that everybody will think that I lost my mind but so be it: it was some very strange concoction of some type of bubbly alcohol with fruit juice, sugar and yoghurt (yeah, that ain't a typo), it was opaque and came in the beautiful colors of purple (blueberry), red (strawberry) and orange (peach) - the last one we refused to even taste. For somebody who likes her champaign super-dry with a slight yeasty note this would by no stretch of imagination count as a beverage of choice. But, when in Rome do as the Romans.
While we were drinking and chatting Germany scored a surprise victory over Portugal, the clear favorite in this match. We didn't watch the game but Elisabeth's son provided updates on the goals the German's scored and the Portuguese living across the street made sure we knew about the goals the Portuguese scored. Tonight Croatia, Jasi's home country, is playing Turkey for a spot in the semi-finals and so Opa and Jasi are watching while I am writing. I am getting a huge dose of soccer after all and I might want to add: it just started raining.
Tomorrow we will leave for the boonies, that is that remote valley with cabin that Uli selected for our second week in Austria. Allegedly the farmer who's cabin we are renting has high-speed internet access - how the times have changed! So there will be updates from nowhere, or rather Jonsbachtal, a place pretty unknown to humankind in the remote parts of upper Styria.
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Leaving Germany
Tomorrow it is time to leave Konstanz for Austria. The last leg of the sabbatical is finally upon me - I can't believe that next month this time we will be back in Sunnyvale, Max will be speaking Spanish again, we'll be hanging around the pool, shop at Safeway, and work. Strange. When we took of on January 19 I somehow thought that these six month will never come to an end, it seemed too remote a possiblity, too much was lying between us and July. But now its almost there. I am thinking about the next one ....
The last week was busy, lots of last minute stuff to take care of. Family business, last visits with friends, things to buy, places to go, people to meet. Some of the things I had planned on doing ever since I arrived but sort of deluded myself into believeing that I had all that time left and finally the last week was there and it was now or never.
I took a bunch of bike rides around Konstanz, visited places I spent a lot of time when I still lived here. I took my rides in the evenings, when the Europrean Championship soccer games where on and the streets where empty, park benches available where normally butts are piled three deep and an unusual quiet prevailed - unless somebody scored a goal. It was interesting to see how in some sense I was remote controlled: I took roads and paths without thinking about why and where they are taking me, then remembering that, yes, this is where we used to BBQ during highschool and this is where Jasi and I used to ride around on summer afternoons, and - man - this road was closed to bikes even back then I simply forgot and now I am stuck.
I also visited the university where I spent nine years of my life and got my Ph.D. That was the stragest trip down memory lane. The bike path is slightly different from back in the days, all the students have cell phones and wear different cloths and haircuts but once one is in front of the main entrance it is like a time wormhole - all of a sudden I am back 15 years . I entered and walked around gingerly almost dreamlike: the same floor, the same beat up signs, the same bookstore, the same posters (or at least they sort of looked the same), the same color scheme. I could have closed my eyes and walked right towards the biology building, up the stairs and to the elevator. But I didn't - I walked with my eyes wide open in amazement and disbelief down the stairs, right over by the coffee shop (used to be a bank - so big change), around the corner, through the door and up the stairs again towards the biology tower. The only thing that had really changed was that the downstairs woman's bathroom - the one I had be counting on using - was removed in favor of something useless that I do not remember. I visited my old lab, especially my Ph.D.adviser - now retired but still in his old office. It has been 15 years since I last worked in a lab and - honestly - I haven't missed that work a minute since I put that pipette down and run my last DNA sequencing gel in 1993. All the more weird it was to be back and feel like I had just been there recently and could just pick up that slab gel (nobody does slab gels anymore) and run down to the dark room to develop it. It was very nice, though, to catch up and get the story on my colleagues from back then and what they are doing now.
Today, my last day, my parents and I went back to the island of Reichenau to the local fleamarket. It is tiny tiny compared to the Konstanz fleamarket but nevertheless it was fun. And I have to admit that all the restraint I showed at the Konstanz fleamarket was absent today and so I bought a few things, some of which will have to remain here for the time being. we bought a little bike for Max's next visit, a coat for Dad, a coat for me, a pair of orange suede boots, bunches of books (it is raining in Austria and it is cold and so I thought that I better take some stuff to read for those long gray afternoon) and a few more odds and ends (let's not talk about it).
So now my bags are packed but I am not sure I am ready to leave. Sure I want to see Uli and Max again and am looking forward to meeting them tomorrow evening but I could stay a bit longer, do some of the things I somehow didn't manage to do in five weeks.
Apparently we will have Internet access in Austria so stay tuned for news from the Alps!
The last week was busy, lots of last minute stuff to take care of. Family business, last visits with friends, things to buy, places to go, people to meet. Some of the things I had planned on doing ever since I arrived but sort of deluded myself into believeing that I had all that time left and finally the last week was there and it was now or never.
I took a bunch of bike rides around Konstanz, visited places I spent a lot of time when I still lived here. I took my rides in the evenings, when the Europrean Championship soccer games where on and the streets where empty, park benches available where normally butts are piled three deep and an unusual quiet prevailed - unless somebody scored a goal. It was interesting to see how in some sense I was remote controlled: I took roads and paths without thinking about why and where they are taking me, then remembering that, yes, this is where we used to BBQ during highschool and this is where Jasi and I used to ride around on summer afternoons, and - man - this road was closed to bikes even back then I simply forgot and now I am stuck.
I also visited the university where I spent nine years of my life and got my Ph.D. That was the stragest trip down memory lane. The bike path is slightly different from back in the days, all the students have cell phones and wear different cloths and haircuts but once one is in front of the main entrance it is like a time wormhole - all of a sudden I am back 15 years . I entered and walked around gingerly almost dreamlike: the same floor, the same beat up signs, the same bookstore, the same posters (or at least they sort of looked the same), the same color scheme. I could have closed my eyes and walked right towards the biology building, up the stairs and to the elevator. But I didn't - I walked with my eyes wide open in amazement and disbelief down the stairs, right over by the coffee shop (used to be a bank - so big change), around the corner, through the door and up the stairs again towards the biology tower. The only thing that had really changed was that the downstairs woman's bathroom - the one I had be counting on using - was removed in favor of something useless that I do not remember. I visited my old lab, especially my Ph.D.adviser - now retired but still in his old office. It has been 15 years since I last worked in a lab and - honestly - I haven't missed that work a minute since I put that pipette down and run my last DNA sequencing gel in 1993. All the more weird it was to be back and feel like I had just been there recently and could just pick up that slab gel (nobody does slab gels anymore) and run down to the dark room to develop it. It was very nice, though, to catch up and get the story on my colleagues from back then and what they are doing now.
Today, my last day, my parents and I went back to the island of Reichenau to the local fleamarket. It is tiny tiny compared to the Konstanz fleamarket but nevertheless it was fun. And I have to admit that all the restraint I showed at the Konstanz fleamarket was absent today and so I bought a few things, some of which will have to remain here for the time being. we bought a little bike for Max's next visit, a coat for Dad, a coat for me, a pair of orange suede boots, bunches of books (it is raining in Austria and it is cold and so I thought that I better take some stuff to read for those long gray afternoon) and a few more odds and ends (let's not talk about it).
So now my bags are packed but I am not sure I am ready to leave. Sure I want to see Uli and Max again and am looking forward to meeting them tomorrow evening but I could stay a bit longer, do some of the things I somehow didn't manage to do in five weeks.
Apparently we will have Internet access in Austria so stay tuned for news from the Alps!
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
So idyllic
Sometimes I think I am in a "Heimatfilm" (Leo translation: sentimental film with regional background) - think "Sound of Music" the most famous Austrian movie that no Austrian has ever seen and most haven't even heard of - and yesterday was just such a day.
After spending the morning trying to get some decent prints of flower pictures done so my mom can make a greeting card set for a friend's birthday we took of around midday to visit a friend of theirs in a small Swiss lakeside town. What sounded like a boring outing to me turned out to be a melodramatic, "Heimatfilm" worthy story or even a multipart soap which enfolded right in front of my very eyes. Here is the setting (I changed the names, as all "real writers" seem to do that and found that it isn't at all easy to come up with fitting names for everybody):
Actors:
Patriach of the family: Fritz, 90 years old and still very much with it but somewhat handicapped due to a recent stroke. Former profession: fisherman.
His son Hans, also fisherman, rugged, early fifties, married with 4 (grown-up) kids
Hans' wife: generally considered being "not so nice", rough, tough, greedy, etc.
Older brother: very successful, rich doing "something important" living right next door in a huge house with his Asian wife (scandal!), also considered being "not so nice".
Emilia: Joseph's caretake, 25 year old blondie from Slovakia with very little interest in ever returning there and all the more interest in Hans.
Hildegard: Fritz's "girl-friend", a youthful 80 years old, from northern Germany who speaks immaculate German among all the Swiss and fits into the setting - as we say in Germany - like a "fist in your face".
Location: little village near Arbon, Switzerland, old large house with shed and boat landing right by the lake as in: if you set out the front door too energetically you'll fall into the lake.
The story:
Fritz, being as stuborn as only 90 year-olds can be, wants to remain in his house but can't manage by himself anymore. Emilia enters the scene like a fresh breath of air to take care of Fritz. With the recklesness of the youth and the nonchalance of diction of those who speak a language well enough to be dangerous but aren't fluent, she mixes things up for everybody. Soon she falls for Hans and he, well, quite apparently has a bit of a crush on her, too, despite the fact that she is probably younger than some of his kids. Hans's wife, quite obviously, isn't pleased with the development especially the part where Emilia - quite openly - suggests to Hans to leave his wife and marry her. Hans's wife starts to make life difficult for Emilia at every turn in a quiet, conniving kind of way. Mind you, if I was the wife I would have thrown her out of the house in three seconds flat, but that would evoke too much of a scandal. Eventually Emilia, who really doesn't want to return to her home country and seems to really want to stay close to Hans, suggests that Fritz, who is a bit too old to be her grandfather, marries her so she can stay - and take care of him and be close to Hans. Hildegard isn't please but is lady enough not to take such foolheartedness (is that a word?) serious. Hans's wife now goes about to kill two birds with one stone: Fritz has to go to the old-folks home, ideally a bit further away so he can't come visit all the time, Emilia - superfluous now - will have to leave the country never to return, and the old big house is finally available for Hans and his wife to move in and live according to their rank and status in a house, not an apartment. Fritz isn't fond of the plan, obviously, and I hope he will fight it a bit longer, but his chances are slim. Emilia will have to leave in August, unless she finds someone in a hurry who will marry her. I think she has already started proposing to Fritz's friends from the local old-folks home. Hans is keeping quiet and isn't taking sides overtly, his wife has been bickering for 20 years that she wants to have the big old house and has been making his life difficult over Emilia (with whom, I am pretty sure from the look of it, he didn't have anything serious going on, and I am good at spoting that kind of stuff, if I do say so myself). Being the quiet type he just wants to avoid confrontation, especially with his wife, and keep on fishing and enjoying the modest pleasures of life - whatever that may be in his case.
So this whole little melodrama enfolded and we were watching and sometimes drawn into it on the periphery. Hans's wife was trying to pump my mom for information about what Fritz was saying about being pushed off into the old-folks home. My father and I were chaperones when we went out with Hans - and Emilia-to bring out the fishing nets. Normally Emilia isn't allowed to go on the boat with Hans anymore - something untoward could happen there on the lake but with the two of us joining Hans's wife couldn't object without making a scene. Emilia used the opportunity to flirt with Hans who wasn't too annoyed by it. I took pictures, as I always do, some out on the lake with Emilia and Hans posing, Emilia with her arms thrown around Hans. After looking at them at home in the evening my mom decided that they could not be send "regulalry" but had to be send, in a sealed envelop to Fritz who would then, secretly give them to Emilia - and Hans, in order to avoid more upheaval and scenes.
I am eagerly awaiting the resolution of this story but am afraid their won't be a dramatic last minute turn of events like any good old shmaltzy movie would have. Dramatic turn of events aren't for the rational, reasonable and somewhat unimaginative country people of germanic stock.
All of this played out against the backdrop of blue Lake Konstanz with towering, billowing white clouds in the background, little pituresque inlets, villages with ancient houses and churches and a nearing thunderstorm.
It was immensly entertaining. The only thing I feel bad about is Fritz and the old-folks home. That won't be fun for him and we all know what happens to 90 year olds when they are pulled out of their comfortable environs and are put in a place where they don't want to be. The whole little love triangle I just can't take serious. I remember more than one (many more) super-serious, melodramatic, live-or-die scenarios when I was Emilia's age (and older) which all turned out to be, well, minor, in the big scheme of things and would have long been forgotten if it wasn't for my excellent memeory when it comes to unimportant things.
I am thinking about my professional future when I am back in the US. Maybe soap writer wouldn't be such a bad choice now that I have gotten all that real life inspiration.
The actors shall remain faceless but here is the setting:
Saturday, June 7, 2008
June weather, migraine, and soccer
Two days of migraine which still lingers kept me from the computer and for about a day from daylight, loud voices, smells and most food. I still feel dizzy and light-headed and sick to my stomach so this will be short to keep the "seasickness" from starting at the screen at bay. Also, this post will be another of those tidbit ones where I just write a few unrelated things - not too much brain-power involved.
Firstly, I increased font size after a bunch of friends told me the other day that they had a hard time reading my blog. I thought the letters where huge, which they of course are - on the writer's screen which I am using. On the reader interface they are indeed a little smallish - so let's try this.
As of today the European soccer championship is upon us. It's been total craziness leading up to it and now we have three dreaded weeks of non-stop talk about soccer, non-stop soccer games, analysis, pre - and after-game talks, interviews, expert opinions (there seem to be people considering being a "soccer expert" a decent profession), and folksy stories about this player or that. An amazing number of people consider this the highpoint of the year, or rather two - until the world championship happens in two years. God, I hate it but I spare you the numerous reasons why I think it disgraceful that whole nations go into collective stupor about a few overpaid guys kicking balls around or drunken idiots taking this as an excuse to kick the shit out of their neighbors across the border. Just a few details: the host nations are Switzerland and Austria - their only chance to ever participate in the championship as the host nations are automatically included in the rooster. Predictably, Swizerland lost their first game today. Next Thursday Germany plays Kroatia (Jasi's birth country) but fortunately neither one of us cares at all about soccer. A week from Monday Germany plays Austria and I am considering to postpone my arrival in Austria until after the game.
An interesting side effect that I have been observing the the sudden emergence of German flags just about everywhere. To put it in context: I grew up in a country where flags were absent. Nobody would have ever dreamt about having a flagpole in the garden, a decal on the car, hats, T-shirts, shorts or bedlinens in the colors black, red and gold. It just wasn't done. National pride didn't exist - the roots of that were certainly to be found in the not so distant future of Germany and the fact that there was nothing to be proud of - quite the opposite (which is, of course, also true for countries like Italy and Japan and a bunch of others which never seemed to have much of an issue with flying flags). So German and the Germans never sported flags and the whole notion of pride in the flag, which is so prevalent in the US, is not just strange but bizzare and absurd to me. Seems like a new generation of Germans has taken an event of such enormous, monumental importance as a European soccer championship as an excuse or at least cause to decide that not just Americans, Swiss, French, Brits and pretty much all the rest of them can fly flags and paint their faces in their national colors but so can they. Do I need to mention that I don't care very much for that newfound national sentiment. I am sure its 99.something % harmless but, pleazze, I really don't need cars driving around with German flags on them and grown men wearing idiotic hats in black, red, gold.
Okay, so now that I have bitched, I got to say something nice as well. So, here we go: since I left more years ago then I care to admit, things in the service industry have changed - notably although not radically (but we are on the way to radically). Let me give you an idea how life for the busy professional used to look like in the mid-90s. One, or rather, I would work, say 50 hour weeks, not much but New York Investment Banking standards but 10 hours more than the rest of them. The stores would open by the time I was in the office and close before the time I was leaving. If I didn't leave the office during lunch break or run out in between and then stay longer there would be no food, or only leaft-overs that day. Saturdays the stores would open from 9 am to 1, maybe 2 pm. So everybody, literally, everybody would stampede into the grocery stores by 10 am and you would spend agonizing hours to buy the supplies for the next week, always forgetting one thing or the other and leaving the frenzied stores tiered and crouchy and the rest of the weekend would be spent recuperating from shopping craziness. Sundays the stores were closed, by law. The saving grace where the gas stations which were open and developed into mini-supermarkets. They were only allowed to sell "travel supplies" a term that got interpreted rather loosly over time including first and foremost every type of alcohol, liquor, booze and beer known to mankind. Breadrolls, chips and gummibears, ice-cream, microwave meals (surely, we all have microwave ovens in our cars), pasta, diary products etc, followed. I made many a trip to the near-by gas station when I lived in Dusseldorf paying premium prices for bad food. Clothing, shoes, furniture and cars could only be bought during vacations, unless one was willing to get up really early on Saturday and try and sqeeze in a grocery run before heading to the furniture store. During those frenzied Saturday hours in particulalry but more generally pretty much always the service was bad with a capital B. Clerks would stand aournd and chat about their weekend plans clearly annoyed by the timid customers asking if they could have "maybe, just in case it doesn't bother you too much and you have nothing better to do" a little help with finding the right whatever they were trying to find. If it was something like a quarter before closing time the answer likely was something like "too late now", "got to come back on Monday", "colleague no longer there", "in the process of shutting down for the weekend and can't possibly be distracted from that most important task right now".
Times are definitely better now. Stores are open much longer, shopping after work is possible and the quality of service has vastly improved: the service personnel is downright friendly. I sometimes catch myself staring at the friendly woman at the butcher's store with an open mouth and utter disbelief unsure whether she is playing a particularily nasty joke on me which I don't get or whether she is just friendlier as she, or any of her peers, ever was. Fact is, though, they have gotten more friendly and shopping would now be real fun - if it wasn't for the exorbitant prices which kind of throw a big fat old money-wrench into everything and suck the fun right out of shopping - again.
Other than that: the weather sucks, typical June weather in Konstanz, it always sucks, May is nice, June sucks and the rest - who knows. I am freezing and the light drizzly rain turns my hair into a curly unruly mess (not of the cute kind).
Max and Uli are leaving tomorrow for Austria and although I am looking forward to sleeping in for the first time in more months than I can remember it will be strange to be away from both of them for a week or so after pretty much spending 24/7 with them for the past five months. Although I am very tempted I will not get into the next chapter of the "expat self-torture" over the advantages and disadvantage of here over there, US vs. old-Europe and such like. If somebody has the definite answer, I'd appreciate a note, though. Now I'll rest my weary head ...
Firstly, I increased font size after a bunch of friends told me the other day that they had a hard time reading my blog. I thought the letters where huge, which they of course are - on the writer's screen which I am using. On the reader interface they are indeed a little smallish - so let's try this.
As of today the European soccer championship is upon us. It's been total craziness leading up to it and now we have three dreaded weeks of non-stop talk about soccer, non-stop soccer games, analysis, pre - and after-game talks, interviews, expert opinions (there seem to be people considering being a "soccer expert" a decent profession), and folksy stories about this player or that. An amazing number of people consider this the highpoint of the year, or rather two - until the world championship happens in two years. God, I hate it but I spare you the numerous reasons why I think it disgraceful that whole nations go into collective stupor about a few overpaid guys kicking balls around or drunken idiots taking this as an excuse to kick the shit out of their neighbors across the border. Just a few details: the host nations are Switzerland and Austria - their only chance to ever participate in the championship as the host nations are automatically included in the rooster. Predictably, Swizerland lost their first game today. Next Thursday Germany plays Kroatia (Jasi's birth country) but fortunately neither one of us cares at all about soccer. A week from Monday Germany plays Austria and I am considering to postpone my arrival in Austria until after the game.
An interesting side effect that I have been observing the the sudden emergence of German flags just about everywhere. To put it in context: I grew up in a country where flags were absent. Nobody would have ever dreamt about having a flagpole in the garden, a decal on the car, hats, T-shirts, shorts or bedlinens in the colors black, red and gold. It just wasn't done. National pride didn't exist - the roots of that were certainly to be found in the not so distant future of Germany and the fact that there was nothing to be proud of - quite the opposite (which is, of course, also true for countries like Italy and Japan and a bunch of others which never seemed to have much of an issue with flying flags). So German and the Germans never sported flags and the whole notion of pride in the flag, which is so prevalent in the US, is not just strange but bizzare and absurd to me. Seems like a new generation of Germans has taken an event of such enormous, monumental importance as a European soccer championship as an excuse or at least cause to decide that not just Americans, Swiss, French, Brits and pretty much all the rest of them can fly flags and paint their faces in their national colors but so can they. Do I need to mention that I don't care very much for that newfound national sentiment. I am sure its 99.something % harmless but, pleazze, I really don't need cars driving around with German flags on them and grown men wearing idiotic hats in black, red, gold.
Okay, so now that I have bitched, I got to say something nice as well. So, here we go: since I left more years ago then I care to admit, things in the service industry have changed - notably although not radically (but we are on the way to radically). Let me give you an idea how life for the busy professional used to look like in the mid-90s. One, or rather, I would work, say 50 hour weeks, not much but New York Investment Banking standards but 10 hours more than the rest of them. The stores would open by the time I was in the office and close before the time I was leaving. If I didn't leave the office during lunch break or run out in between and then stay longer there would be no food, or only leaft-overs that day. Saturdays the stores would open from 9 am to 1, maybe 2 pm. So everybody, literally, everybody would stampede into the grocery stores by 10 am and you would spend agonizing hours to buy the supplies for the next week, always forgetting one thing or the other and leaving the frenzied stores tiered and crouchy and the rest of the weekend would be spent recuperating from shopping craziness. Sundays the stores were closed, by law. The saving grace where the gas stations which were open and developed into mini-supermarkets. They were only allowed to sell "travel supplies" a term that got interpreted rather loosly over time including first and foremost every type of alcohol, liquor, booze and beer known to mankind. Breadrolls, chips and gummibears, ice-cream, microwave meals (surely, we all have microwave ovens in our cars), pasta, diary products etc, followed. I made many a trip to the near-by gas station when I lived in Dusseldorf paying premium prices for bad food. Clothing, shoes, furniture and cars could only be bought during vacations, unless one was willing to get up really early on Saturday and try and sqeeze in a grocery run before heading to the furniture store. During those frenzied Saturday hours in particulalry but more generally pretty much always the service was bad with a capital B. Clerks would stand aournd and chat about their weekend plans clearly annoyed by the timid customers asking if they could have "maybe, just in case it doesn't bother you too much and you have nothing better to do" a little help with finding the right whatever they were trying to find. If it was something like a quarter before closing time the answer likely was something like "too late now", "got to come back on Monday", "colleague no longer there", "in the process of shutting down for the weekend and can't possibly be distracted from that most important task right now".
Times are definitely better now. Stores are open much longer, shopping after work is possible and the quality of service has vastly improved: the service personnel is downright friendly. I sometimes catch myself staring at the friendly woman at the butcher's store with an open mouth and utter disbelief unsure whether she is playing a particularily nasty joke on me which I don't get or whether she is just friendlier as she, or any of her peers, ever was. Fact is, though, they have gotten more friendly and shopping would now be real fun - if it wasn't for the exorbitant prices which kind of throw a big fat old money-wrench into everything and suck the fun right out of shopping - again.
Other than that: the weather sucks, typical June weather in Konstanz, it always sucks, May is nice, June sucks and the rest - who knows. I am freezing and the light drizzly rain turns my hair into a curly unruly mess (not of the cute kind).
Max and Uli are leaving tomorrow for Austria and although I am looking forward to sleeping in for the first time in more months than I can remember it will be strange to be away from both of them for a week or so after pretty much spending 24/7 with them for the past five months. Although I am very tempted I will not get into the next chapter of the "expat self-torture" over the advantages and disadvantage of here over there, US vs. old-Europe and such like. If somebody has the definite answer, I'd appreciate a note, though. Now I'll rest my weary head ...
Monday, June 2, 2008
Fleamarket
I think there are basically two types of people: those who love flea markets and those who don't - and I happen to LOVE flea markets. The best flea market ever is the annual flea market in Konstanz which happened Saturday night and Sunday. I started selling stuff there when I was still a kid, with mom and dad of course, later my sister and I sold our stuff and that of various aunts and other relatives and even later I subsidized my extravagant education with selling at this (and other) fleamarkets, mainly stuff that - I am not ashamed to admit - I collected from the trash. We used to have - several times a year - special trash pick-up days for bulky items and everything else that could not be stuffed into a normal garbage can. It was mainly trash but I found quite a few treasures among it over the years which supplemented the summer job income. Over the years the flea market has grown to one of the biggest and most well-known in southern Germany. It starts Saturday evening, continues all night and through Sunday late afternoon. It feels like a gigantic party, hundreds of people selling whatever they don't need any more on foldable tables and blankets plus a few professional antiques dealers who show up with professional looking outfits and sell old dolls, teddybears and all kind of expensive knickknacks. I like the fact that it is a real flea market, for everybody not just antiques dealers and sunglass sellers. The number of people selling new stuff, like sunglasses, T-shirts or jewelry is very limited and they are confined to a defined area the rest is for real flea market stuff. Of course there are bunches of food stands, mainly selling sausages, french fries and beer or cake and coffee, bands playing and room for the kids to sell their toys and books.
We first went Saturday night, well-equipped with headlamps and and covered maybe 1 km worth of stands, looking at this, touching that, asking for prices and negotiating. A couple of books for Max were just too appealing and cheap to pass up and so (unfortunately) the luggage got heavier yet. Antonia got a whole bunch of Barbie dolls with outfits from wedding gown to bicycle shirt and we were very careful to purchase them according to diversity considerations which was hard because the blonde ones dominated the scene by a big margin. The market was packed and sometimes it was hard to even get through and, unfortunately, all the things I really wanted to buy, like nice curtains in just the right size for Jasi's windows, or cheap golden wedding bands (yeah right) weren't available but tons and tons of other stuff. Uli gets tired really soon in such situtaions but they energize me - I could have walked around for many more hours but by 11 pm we called it quits and had a beer.
Next morning Jasi and I were at it again. After five hours and spending most our energy on not buying stuff we really wanted but shouldn't really buy (useless, too heavy, silly, ...) we finally declared victory having purchased one more barbie doll, a coat for Jasi, a few books for Max, as set of silver and gold pencils, an wooden foot of an old manequin (ok, that one is on me, I just couldn't pass it up, too many interior design options came to mind), an ashtray for Jasi's boss, socks and a nice dressy shirt for Max which he will never wear. I have to say I was extraordinarily proud of myself not to have subcumed to teddy bears, more books, knicknacks of all kinds, cheap shoes and other stuff which would have forced me to purchase yet another suitcase. My real booty were a bunch of picture, mainly of flea market still lifes and doll faces. Kind of corny but fun. After 5 hours, a grilled sausage and a "Radler" which is a mixture of beer and Seven-up (yummie, in case you wondered) not even I was ready to continue and so we called it quits. We didn't see more than half of the flea market and I am determined to come back next year at the right time for another invigorating visit of the biggest est flea market ever.
When we got home Max told us about his trip to the flea market with Papa and showed his new possessions: a plastic circular saw - very noisy - and a rosty real saw which somebody gave him and which I haven't yet had the pleasure to examine.
Monday afternoon and evening as well as this afternoon we finally painted Jasi's living room. I am getting to be quite the painter after all the painting I did at home before we left. Unfortunately, very few of my interior design ideas got accepted or even considered although I think of them as very well thought out and extremely useful - I haven't watched that many design shows for nothing. But at least a few pieces of furniture got moved around, a few tossed, although - apparently - Jasi's cat didn't appreciate our efforts one bit and spent Monday night complaining loudly about all the upheaval.
I am getting repetitive here but so does the theme: our time in Konstanz is almost over. Uli and Max will leave on Sunday and I will stay another week and sort out some paper work etc that mysteriously we didn't have time to deal with during the last four weeks (funny how that always happens) and then the last stop of our sabbatical is upon us. In some sense I am looking forward to getting back home to Sunnyvale, our own place, my big computer, the gym, the reliably sunny weather but in another I could keep going or maybe stay here for a while longer. Riding my bicycle back home today, in the light rain, in the grey light after sunset and before total darkness, racing down the few hills and paddling as hard as possible on the inclines - until the muscles burn - I felt exhilerated. Taking my bike around everywhere, all the time, rain or shine or snow is one of the defining memories of childhood and youth. This is how we got around and I had forgotten how fun it is to take your bike everywhere, not to depend on a car, and how free it makes me feel racing down a hill, bent low over the handlebars to minimize air resistance and yell something stupid. I'll miss that in Sunnyvale were bikes are not used for transportation but are precious, super-expensive racing machines only taken out on weekends, driven somewhere by car and then used for showing off and - maybe - serious exercise. Another of those expat agonies. I'll spare you the details,
We first went Saturday night, well-equipped with headlamps and and covered maybe 1 km worth of stands, looking at this, touching that, asking for prices and negotiating. A couple of books for Max were just too appealing and cheap to pass up and so (unfortunately) the luggage got heavier yet. Antonia got a whole bunch of Barbie dolls with outfits from wedding gown to bicycle shirt and we were very careful to purchase them according to diversity considerations which was hard because the blonde ones dominated the scene by a big margin. The market was packed and sometimes it was hard to even get through and, unfortunately, all the things I really wanted to buy, like nice curtains in just the right size for Jasi's windows, or cheap golden wedding bands (yeah right) weren't available but tons and tons of other stuff. Uli gets tired really soon in such situtaions but they energize me - I could have walked around for many more hours but by 11 pm we called it quits and had a beer.
Next morning Jasi and I were at it again. After five hours and spending most our energy on not buying stuff we really wanted but shouldn't really buy (useless, too heavy, silly, ...) we finally declared victory having purchased one more barbie doll, a coat for Jasi, a few books for Max, as set of silver and gold pencils, an wooden foot of an old manequin (ok, that one is on me, I just couldn't pass it up, too many interior design options came to mind), an ashtray for Jasi's boss, socks and a nice dressy shirt for Max which he will never wear. I have to say I was extraordinarily proud of myself not to have subcumed to teddy bears, more books, knicknacks of all kinds, cheap shoes and other stuff which would have forced me to purchase yet another suitcase. My real booty were a bunch of picture, mainly of flea market still lifes and doll faces. Kind of corny but fun. After 5 hours, a grilled sausage and a "Radler" which is a mixture of beer and Seven-up (yummie, in case you wondered) not even I was ready to continue and so we called it quits. We didn't see more than half of the flea market and I am determined to come back next year at the right time for another invigorating visit of the biggest est flea market ever.
When we got home Max told us about his trip to the flea market with Papa and showed his new possessions: a plastic circular saw - very noisy - and a rosty real saw which somebody gave him and which I haven't yet had the pleasure to examine.
Monday afternoon and evening as well as this afternoon we finally painted Jasi's living room. I am getting to be quite the painter after all the painting I did at home before we left. Unfortunately, very few of my interior design ideas got accepted or even considered although I think of them as very well thought out and extremely useful - I haven't watched that many design shows for nothing. But at least a few pieces of furniture got moved around, a few tossed, although - apparently - Jasi's cat didn't appreciate our efforts one bit and spent Monday night complaining loudly about all the upheaval.
I am getting repetitive here but so does the theme: our time in Konstanz is almost over. Uli and Max will leave on Sunday and I will stay another week and sort out some paper work etc that mysteriously we didn't have time to deal with during the last four weeks (funny how that always happens) and then the last stop of our sabbatical is upon us. In some sense I am looking forward to getting back home to Sunnyvale, our own place, my big computer, the gym, the reliably sunny weather but in another I could keep going or maybe stay here for a while longer. Riding my bicycle back home today, in the light rain, in the grey light after sunset and before total darkness, racing down the few hills and paddling as hard as possible on the inclines - until the muscles burn - I felt exhilerated. Taking my bike around everywhere, all the time, rain or shine or snow is one of the defining memories of childhood and youth. This is how we got around and I had forgotten how fun it is to take your bike everywhere, not to depend on a car, and how free it makes me feel racing down a hill, bent low over the handlebars to minimize air resistance and yell something stupid. I'll miss that in Sunnyvale were bikes are not used for transportation but are precious, super-expensive racing machines only taken out on weekends, driven somewhere by car and then used for showing off and - maybe - serious exercise. Another of those expat agonies. I'll spare you the details,
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