Frozen Delight

This week's thaw triggered a really unusual reaction in me: wait, winter could be over soon? I am not ready for hunting Easter eggs and donning rain gear. This winter felt like sliding down one long ice track, with a running start. (Like poor 1 1/2 year-old Lotte, above, on the frozen-over Alster River in Hamburg.) Isn't winter usually the time to be a sloth, to hibernate? I never got that rest; too many awe-inspiring distractions.

So, here, before it is gone, is a small photo tribute to the fairytale-like wintery whiteness that captivated me the last few months.

First, around the New Year, there was a sledding adventure - my first time sledding in ten years. And my first time ever on a real, classic wooden sled. (Our landlords wanted to throw them away, but luckily we were there as they were cleaning out their basement and could protest.) Since there are exactly three suitably inclined landscapes in all of Bonn, the crowds here were not small, but neither was the enthusiasm - regardless of age.

In late January I spent a weekend in the best possible place to enjoy snow: a small farm with a couple of puppies and a lot of antiquated equipment, made more mysterious by its heavy, white attire.

Then, back home, on a walk over the Rhine, even the ship traffic was somehow elegant covered in snow.

But, on shore, the thaw was beginning...

Auf Wiedersehen, Winter.

Carnival

I survived my first real bout of Carnival.

For five days in the middle of February (leading up to Ash Wednesday), the streets of the Rhineland are filled with drunk clowns, sailors, and bumble bees. In the past two years I resisted the madness, either by fleeing town, or just drowning out the music on the streets with my own living room beats. This year, I got swept into the heart of the chaos.


On Friday night I participated in a Cologne cultural ritual known as "Loss mer singe," (in proper German "Lass' uns singen," in English "Let us sing"). The setting: a cavernous brewery in the shadow of the massive Cologne Cathedral, in the heart of the old city. The protagonists: hundreds, or perhaps thousands, of sweaty bodies with preposterous headgear, crammed together belting out well-worn Carnival songs with insipid lyrics ("Give me your heart; I'll show you the world, na na na"). The purpose: local patriotism. Most of the songs are in the native dialect (Kölsch, or Colognish) and praise the "people with sun in their hearts" in that "friendly little city on the Rhine."

You have to be drunk to really enjoy it. (At least that is what I concluded from the corollary.)

Kölsch is about as similar to real German as Dutch or Yiddish, so, amusing to hear and try to parse out. But I couldn't actually understand much of anything amidst the whooping of the crowds and the thumping of the base. Even the waiters (carrying tiered trays of beer) had trouble getting anyone's attention despite the whistles they blew to part the crowds.

Carnival festivities here actually culminate on "Rose" Monday (Rosenmontag) in a parade featuring everyone and his brother. But after Friday night's adventure, I can't say I was too upset that Monday was a regular work day for me. (Hardly anyone here works on Carnival; however, it is officially up to employers, and mine used the caveat to keep us at the office.) But there is no way to duck the Carnival spirit. I had to dodge trucks unloading beer in the streets as I biked to work at 9 am. Then, at some point after lunch, I got a phone call.

"Good afternoon. I***M head office."

"Bonn Alaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaf!"

"Hello? Who's there?"

"Alaaaaf! Are you still at your desk? Alaaf!"

(A., my former colleague, rang to see if he couldn't pry me away from work with the traditional "alaaf" used as a greeting and a rallying cry in the Rhineland on Carnival.)

In the evening, nearing home, the crowds were still massive in the old town. As I dismounted from the bike to navigate my way through the sea of people, a bear and a clown nearly toppled me down: "Hey, there you are! We just rang your doorbell and no one answered. Can we stop off at your place to pee?"

I chatted with these two friends for a while and let them use the toilet while I helped myself to their bag of parade plunder. (Yes, even in times of economic crisis, it seems the city of Bonn did not skimp on sweets, or local business Haribo made a generous donation.) But even sweeter than the gummy bears: when they closed the apartment door behind them, I knew I wouldn't see another clown face until next year.

Coming up on four years

On March 8th I will have lived 4 years in Germany. If that's not an opportunity to put my two Heimats on the scales, starting with...Things I miss about the US:
 
1) Cultural differences are flaunted, and it shows up best in the diversity of restaurants and ethnic grocery stores. I especially miss tacos and burritos. 

2) Americans are open toward strangers. In fact, Americans even like to confide in strangers. (Once a woman asked me at a craft fair: "Do you think this sweater is too baggy? Recently my daughter said I look like a hobo.") Germans, by contrast, need to down a few beers before they can make eye contact with strangers.

3) Small food co-ops, consumer-owned, where you can buy beans, grains, honey, olive oil, and peanut butter (ground from fresh peanuts) in bulk quantities. Here, a rare sighting of a want-to-be co-op in Germany:


4) The Unitarian Universalist faith. (UUism is a "religion" that draws its values and members from diverse religious traditions, and focuses on social justice here and now.) It has no equivalent in Germany that I know of. (For Germans, UUism is another example of America's love affair with à la carte: take what you like, ignore the rest.) 

5) The US is smoke-free almost everywhere but in private homes. Even there, smokers don't light up around non-smokers. In Germany, smoking in public is still a widespread phenomenon, and you (i.e., kids) can even purchase cigarettes from vending machines on the street. On the other hand, here is something else you can buy on the street: bike inner tubes. That also says something about differing cultural values, leading me to...



...what lures me to stay in Germany (aside from livable/bikable/railable cities):


1) Hearty, whole grain rye bread with pumpkin seeds. (Did you notice that food tops both of the lists? For all our philosophizing, what drives us humans is really quite simple.)

2) Ubiquity of shared flats (Wohngemeinschaften). A not insignificant number of Germans live with housemates/roommates into their forties and beyond, and not just for the sake of convenience.


3) Craftsmanship. In Germany you can still apprentice in bread baking, boat building, and shoe making. In Bonn, there is even a school for organ construction. The long-held tradition of systematically passing know-how from one generation to the next leads to an appreciation for things seasoned and of high quality.


4) Sperrmüll (large item garbage pick-up). Four times a year (to specified dates) people put their old furniture, etc. on the streets - so it is up for grabs until the next morning, when the small portion of it that remains is transported to the dump.


5) Finally, I don't mean to flaunt it, but it is true: five weeks of vacation and 80% of full-time with full benefits is hard to beat.