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.
Things base and vile, holding no quantity,
Love can transpose to form and dignity.
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.
--Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream: Act 1, Scene 2, lines 232-235
In the German popular magazine NEON, there is a special kind of singles ad (Ehrliche Kontaktanzeigen) in which people try as hard as they can to discourage readers from contacting them. Or so it seems at first glance. They feature individuals who share weaknesses with complete strangers that most people would hesitate to share with a shrink, all in the name of honesty. This encapsulates the German mentality described below in "Let's be clear": say it like it is, so that we all know where we stand and what to expect.What I really want a potential partner to know about me, says one young man, is, "I can be emotionally icy." In case someone might find that attractive, he adds, "Most women who find that an appealing challenge at first lose patience quickly." Nothing like covering all your bases. I didn't think singles ads were supposed to include disclaimers.A 30 year-old woman from Berlin says she goes weak at the knees over men with big, crooked noses. Can you imagine someone answering that on account of his big, crooked nose? "Dear Berlin, Your ad really grabbed my attention. Enclosed is a snapshot of me that captures how big my nose is." One lists for ISO (in search of) "Round-the-clock Feminine Care" (weibliche Vollzeitpflege). In other words, anyone ballsy enough to answer his ad should be prepared to wait on him 24/7. My favorite feature of these ads, however, is the space for "The ex says." People share how they have been labeled by former partners, e.g., needy, jealous, depressed, lacks self-confidence, etc.). In a nutshell, this highlights the qualities that likely contributed to the shipwreck of previous relationships. Does anybody else see the potential for a self-fulfilling prophecy?But love is blind, and so the number of faults and quirks that people have really is irrelevant to whether a relationship succeeds. The word relationship implies at least two people, which suggests that compatibility is the key to a strong relationship, not perfection, so why not present as honest a picture as you can?*
Also, I find these singles ads extremely refreshing. The ads don't just list off all purpose interests like "walking on the beach" and "an evening of Netflix," but they portray self-reflecting individuals with guts. The portraits remind you of folks you have experienced. They seem real.
*Of course, there are still varying degrees of honesty, as anyone who has ever applied for a job knows.
I am not the kind of American who compliments your haircut if your bangs really are too short or it reminds me of an oil slick. As a foodie I am also sparing with compliments on people's cooking. In general, you can count on me to tell you what I really think - even if I am quite sure that you don't want to hear it. However, I grew up around plenty of people who would say anything just to make someone else feel good. This puts pressure on others to do the same, because it creates a culture of compliments. That means that, in order to go against the grain, I had to learn tact: to be forthright, but not insulting, candid, but not heartless, and straightforward, but not out of line. In Germany, where everybody says it like it is, this does not apply. Tact is a little known quantity.
In fact I noticed recently that there is not really a proper translation for forthright, candid, or straightforward in German; all three of these words are best translated with ehrlich, the German equivalent of "honest." This takes away a lot of the room for possibilities in analyzing communication. Either you are honest or you are lying. There is no gray zone. Let's look at some examples:
1. Last fall I left Germany for vacation in the US directly after moving to a new city (Bonn). Before my vacation I found an apartment in Bonn and made a verbal agreement with the landlady to sign a contract and move in when I got back from my trip. Two days before my return to Germany (and to a new job), the landlady backed out on me, and I had no choice but to temporarily move in with my then boyfriend and his roommate while I looked for something new. When I explained exactly that to the roommate, who was a complete stranger to me at the time, she said, "What can you expect if you didn't get a signed contract before you left?" This - to my eyes - unsympathetic answer seemed inconsistent with the empathy and generosity she expressed by agreeing to let me move into what was already a cozy apartment for two. But to her eyes she was just giving me an honest answer, and being honest is showing respect.
2. A friend of mine also has a particularly forthright roommate. Recently this roommate invited a bunch of other folks to a party and my friend felt excluded, especially because the party was taking place right around the corner from her work and involved mutual friends. She gently breached the issue the next day by asking, "Why didn't you call me before you left for the party?" A reasonable thing to ask, for two friends who have many common activities. The answer: "Because I didn't feel compelled to extend you an invitation." If you are thinking, this is not for real, or what a bitch, or, what kind of a friendship is that anyway? - then you are starting to see the disparity in ranges of communication styles between the US and Germany.
3. One final example: my roommate's boyfriend said to me, a couple of weeks after we all got back from a hedonistic vacation in southern France: "Hey, can it be that you gained a couple of kilos on our trip?" He insisted that it wasn't meant to be insulting in any way, and I believe him, although I also think I convinced him - for me - it was.
Today the flamboyant owner of a fabric store asked me, "What is your accent?" The funny thing is: I am in the US. If things continue the way they are going, I will soon be more likely to be taken for a foreigner on my native turf.
Luckily, it turned out the guy has a German-born mother, so I guess he was highly attuned to the sound of a light German inflection. We got to talking about the things I miss when I am here or there and what I look forward to, and he told me his mother's take on switching back and forth between the cultures. He said she is always complaining. When she arrives in the US, she says, "It is impossible to get anywhere here using public transportation," and when she arrives in Germany, she says, "People here are so rude!"
People pose the question on what I miss about the US/Germany (depending on where I currently am) to me all the time. One of my stock answers, handy for surprising my audience and keeping the conversation from getting too heavy, is drinking fountains. In Germany you rarely see a drinking fountain, whereas in the US, you can expect to find them indoors and out in almost every public place.
I think when you live between two cultures and have seen the best and worst sides that both have to offer, you will always see room for improvement where ever you are. Furthermore you will always be missing something, pining after something, feeling incomplete. The German way of expressing this is to say, "I still have a suitcase in Bonn," (or, in German, Ich habe noch einen Koffer in Bonn). That means, "I still have one foot in Bonn" or "I left my heart in Bonn."
But the more I travel back and forth, the more I will be leaving suitcases in Virginia and forgetting mein Herz in Heidelberg, because the idioms (after prepositions) are the first to go - or at least get spliced and blended.
Applying for jobs in Germany has given me a chance to better understand Recht and Ordnung.
For example, the obligatory Bewerbungsfoto that accompanies every job application. The shot on the left was my first attempt to create such a thing, before I learned that job portraits are subject to hard and fast rules:
- If the photographer charges you less than 50 €, fuggetaboutit.
- The picture is under no circumstances to have been taken at home.
- The applicant must look into the camera.
- Not too much neck.
Most of this I learned from a website called "JOB oder FLOP?", which gives inexperienced applicants a chance to get feedback on their professional portraits from strangers. There are hoards of people who give candid, contemplative criticism, and not all of them are trying to promote their photography studios.
Here is a sampling of the comments on "JOB oder FLOP?": "Your lipstick doesn't match the color palette." "Looks artificial." "Did you just roll out of bed?" "Ever heard of body language?" "Can't you do something about that droopy eyelid?"
In the (embarrassingly) large sample that I evaluated, I never saw a rating higher than 7 out of 10. That could be because only novices or insecure (looking) people post their pictures on "JOB oder FLOP?". But I think it also says something about German mentality: there is no such thing as a perfect 10, because that wouldn't leave any room for doubt or the fabrication of new requirements.
My aunt has a neighbor who sneaks the contents of his cat's litter box into her trash. I used to think that this fetish for pristine rubbish was the epitome of strange behavior in the category garbage disposal. But then I experienced theft of compost bins.
This story begins with Carnival, when our compost bin disappeared on pick up day.* For the uninitiated, Carnival in Germany is the biggest party of the year.** We didn't spend much time wondering why something on the street disappeared in its aftermath. We just waited to see if the container would be found in a thicket around the corner, and, when it didn't, we called the city and asked for a replacement.
My flatmate E. spotted the shiny, newly delivered container at our doorstep while she was racing to work. When she looked for it a few hours later, it was gone. And this time there were no Carnival drunks to take the blame.
Feeling befuddled we called the city again. We had to present the very implausible truth that the street was a dangerous place for compost bins. They treated us like prank playing teenagers. But they agreed to send out another container.
The third compost bin came as promised, and we toted it immediately to the backyard and closed it in behind the heavy door of our shed. But the next morning it was missing. A suspicion that had been brewing seemed confirmed: there was someone who was determined to keep us from having a compost bin. And it was one of the nine people who has access to our garden.
The majority of the women who rent in our building had shown interest in having the bin replaced. But the only non-resident tenant, the owner of a tea shop on the ground floor, had been a bit aloof. Asked in passing whether she had an idea how or why the containers disappeared, she said, "Ladies, I have nothing to do with the compost bin. I know nothing about it." Everyone else had just expressed confusion; she jumped right into self-defense.
With this as our tip off we began to unravel the mystery of the Compost Bin Bandit. We knew the tea shop was planning to unveil an outdoor seating area in our garden. We knew that the owner of the shop had compulsive and unattainable standards of cleanliness. We figured the very idea of having compost anywhere near her guests, even inside a shed, repulsed her.
To most people this sounded like a preposterous theory. Why would a grown woman with a successful business take such a juvenile approach to problem solving? And what did she do with the three compost bins? Those two questions remain mysteries to us. But a statement made in confidence to one of her employees, also a resident of the house, assured us we weren't paranoid: "I will not tolerate a compost bin in my garden."
So we raised the white flag and decided not to keep on fighting the fight that we didn't know we had been fighting. The city won't deliver any more bins, anyway. But every time I toss a walnut shell, a banana peel, or carrot shavings into the regular garbage, I fantasize about that same little piece of the earth flying out the window and landing in a dainty tea cup.
*In Germany, compost is picked up on the curbside and has its own special bin.
**Carnival is when all the uptight, humorless, Recht und Ordnung Germans don garish costumes and face paint and exercise every long-suppressed impulse to conduct themselves like frat boys.
E. and I were in the supermarket the weekend that our kitchen was being renovated, because, after Chinese food we both had an irrational craving for ice cream - and where else can you find it in the middle of January? Next to the ice cream freezer in our PLUS market is, logically, the housewares aisle, and that's where we noticed the energy-efficient light bulbs being offered on the cheap.
Finding a compact fluorescent bulb for sale at the chaotic, convenience-oriented drop-out prices discounter around the corner is a little like finding a Williams and Sonoma sale catalogue in the waiting room of a free clinic. Imagine hearing this in a 7-11:
"I'll have a Big Gulp, a corn dog, and a HighPower 4-Watt soft glow light bulb."
"Your total is 12.77."
So of course we nestled them into our shopping basket. PLUS may be an unusual place to find elite consumer goods, but we needed lightbulbs, and we stood to save a handful of cash by buying them from an unusual supplier. We swam contently in the knowledge that discount doesn't have to mean abandoning your values, inwardly congratulating the higher-ups int he PLUS chain for their forward-thinking range of products.
But as we neared checkout, the responsible consumers in us awoke and we felt uneasy about not being able to test the bulbs on the spot, which you can do in any respectable store. E. presented this dilemma to the man at the end of the conveyor belt and asked what happened if the light bulbs didn't work.
"Yeah," he said, scratching the peach fuzz on his chin. "You can't bring 'em back, cuz we wouldn't know how they got broken, if you know what I mean."
But then a light bulb went off above his own head and he gave us this reassurance: "But all you have to do is just put it to your ear and shake a little and you don't hear anything, then it is gonna work all right."
Confirmed. Whatever forwardthinkingness the company exhibited by offering enery-efficient lightbulbs hadn't trickled down to the brain behind the counter. Still I saw the situation with an upbeat: if someone so lacking in general knowledge or experience can present such a positive, self-confident face and an air of expertise in his job, I really don't have to hold back my piece of mind.
There are many signs that my stay in Germany is more substantial than a post-college flirtation with Europe. For example, I know the word for that plastic thing that you hammer into a wall to anchor a screw - only in German. And in a weak moment I thought the word friend might actually be spelled more like its German cousin, as in freind (Freund auf Deutsch). But the most obvious sign that I am really making a nest here is that I went to see a German dentist.A dentist is something that everyone choses carefully. But in my family there is an almost religious (bordering fanatical) faithfulness to the honorable Dr. R. Only once did I venture into an unknown practice, though I haven't lived in my hometown for eight years. The price of that sole instance of infidelity is a sensitive tooth, its yowling response to hot, cold, and pressure as deep as my regret.Before I left for Germany the first time, my attentive mother made sure to help me squeeze in an appointment with Him. The second time around, however, I had started dumping a large sum of money into German health insurance each month, and somehow, with a sunken heart, I couldn't justify going without US insurance coverage to visit the family doctor.So I bit the bullet (don't tell Dr. R.) and asked around in Bonn for a reputable teeth caregiver. I came away from my first set of visits with contradictory feelings. On the one hand, I was relieved to find that treatment results were similar - no complaints. On the other hand, I was bemused to see German/American cultural differences reflected in dental care, and the lasting psychological impact of my visit couldn't be less familiar.The emphasis of my appointment with Dr. S. was a performance review: how I am doing in the guardianship of my teeth. She took my jaw under the microscope and gave me feedback: fear-inducing feedback. She told me that my gums were on a forward march to pulp-dom (as a result of haphazard flossing) and did a demonstration. A delicate, pin-shaped object sunk in beside a rear molar like a rake into a pile of tender leaves. She smeared my teeth with blue dye and used a small camera to project every patch of plaque thus revealed onto a computer screen. She pointed out where small pieces of tooth enamel were worn away, leaving cold, frightened nerve endings to fend for themselves.With Dr. R. the sober, clinical analysis must have taken place in his head. He certainly found faults - I've had my share of fillings. But with a sunny grin he preferred to talk about his trips to Haiti and Lithuania and ask if that heart-breaking brother of mine had settled down. During the standard professional cleaning of the teeth - itself rather a rarity this side of the pond - his assistant always asked which flavor toothpaste I preferred, offering bubble gum until I was well into my twenties. And I never left the office without a sparkling new tooth brush, a stash of floss - travel size and regular - and a foamy sticker or an eraser shaped like a tooth.
Dr. S.'s goal was to offer objective, relevant, practical advice. But because she bypassed all of the small talk avenues and failed to make any encouraging remark, I found her approach cold-hearted - and very German. But I also see that the chatty optimism of my family dentist, just as stereotypically American, can also leave something to be desired. Because, while one result of Doctor S.'s frank language is that I have had nightmares of smiling into the mirror, only to see gaping, black holes, I also can't remember a time in which I took better care of my teeth.
