Santa packs are comin'...

No they're not! Germans do not do holiday coke products. But they do Weihnachtsmarkt or the Christmas Market, also known as the time of year I become a widow because I have a domestic partner who likes Gluehwein (mulled wine).

Christmas markets are set up in the pedestrian zones of all major German cities. The 'Furt's is pretty decent and winds itself around the Roemerberg and the Zeil. Little wooden huts selling gingerbread, spiced wine, potato pancakes, etc... beckon the passerby from 10 a.m. to 10 p.m. and each mini-house is adorned with lights to boot. It really is festive and sort of Grimm-like.

I however, do not think there is a sicker concoction than hot red wine mixed with sugar and random herbs. It gives me gut rot just thinking about it.

The 'Furt opened their market today (each city does it some days before Advent) with the lighting of a central Christmas tree. We are planning to go to Hamburg on Dec. 20 to see their markets, which are on the harbor and situated around a skating rink. It is all very idyllic and Nordic; it makes me reflect on my time spent with the American Girl doll Kirsten Larson. Though not a Swede nor a Lutheran, I dug her dour candle-lit Minnesota holiday celebrations. Like in Germany, the cold and the usual bummer temperament of the people made the holiday effort seem doubly festive.

Fighting the Bear

This time of year I am fighting the bear, our innate animal instinct to horde and hibernate come November. For me this looks like wanting to eat whole kilos of Milka chocolate and contemplating renting "Something's Gotta Give" from itunes. No other movie, except perhaps "You've Got Mail," makes me more immobile and/or grateful for TBS than "Something's Gotta Give." It's not even a guilty pleasure because Amanda Peet's bangs changed my life and I am in mad love with Erica Berry's (Diane Keaton) life Why?:
1. She always celebrates her birthday in Paris and smokes a cigarette.
2. She collects sea glass.
3. She can only get 4 hours of sleep per night.
4. She only shops at markets and uses an iBook.

That movie also makes me yearn for middle age, which is a feat in itself.

Berlin Baby Pt. II

I went to Berlin this past weekend with my parents and sister-in-law. They came to the 'Furt for an autumn break and although I've seen enough of ZARA kids to last me awhile, I absolutely had a blast with them. I think this was in large part due to my SIL, Janell. She not only taught me how to properly clean my bathroom (who knew that you had to clean toilet basin bowl?! I am not good at that!) but she also balanced the DNA overload of my parents. My father is prone to dramatics and histrionics (At the Checkpoint Charlie Museum: "You mean to tell me that when I was a 16 year-old banging on drums in White Bear, some 16 year-old East German was trying to build a helicopter to cross the Wall... (awed shaking of the head)." My mother, God bless her, has gotten a little too skillful at text messaging and internet browsing via cell phone. She whipped out her phone in front of every monument to "check on my guy." She meant Barack Obama.

But that's why I love my parents, I think.

Besides seeing all of the major Berlin sites, taking a bus/boat tour, and doing damage control at the Pergamon Museum (my dad tried to touch the Ishtar Gate: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ishtar_Gate) we ate at some amazing restaurants. When a guidebook tells me that there's an Italian restaurant serving "the best Italian food outside of Italy" and frequented by the likes of a Mr. Tom Hanks, I'm there. So we enjoyed a meal at Bocca Di Bacco: http://www.boccadibacco.de/

We also ate at Zum Letzen Instanz, Berlin's oldest restaurant (1621) where a group of drunk Swedish business men (from hand gestures we gathered concrete sales) kept massaging both of my parents' necks.

And we hung out a lot in the lobby of the Westin Grand, where scenes from the second Bourne movie where filmed. They have ornery waitresses.

Surprisingly my parents and Janell claim to like the 'Furt more than Berlin. I don't know if they are saying that just to be nice, but for those of us living in the Cleveland of German, it felt pretty darn good.

Scary Urban Experience #1

Tuesday morning: The sun is shining, it's 9 a.m. and I am walking my 4 minute walk to the subway station to go to work. It's fall, the leaves are bright, and I am modestly dressed in a long black toggle coat and full length pants. I also have my hair in a ponytail and minimal make-up (sorry Mom, I don't always "define my eyes"). See me smiling, see me walking by the butcher and the baker, and thinking to myself, "Where's the candlestick maker? Ha ha."

Suddenly, a nice-looking man, age approximately 35 approaches me. In German he asks if I know how to get to the main train station. Indeed I do! I cheerfully tell him to take a tram and then I turn and keep going. He yells for me to wait and asks me to repeat myself "Noch einmal, bitte." Of course I repeat myself, I'm from Minnesota. I smile and turn and hear him yell "wait" again. He asks if I am British, because of my accent. I say "nope, American." I walk and he yells again. This time, I'm annoyed but I stop and he asks me to walk with him, offering me his elbow. Now, about 3 minutes too late, I realize that this guy is potentially creepy, so I just say in a stern voice, "I have to go to work." I start walking really fast, not 100 feet from the U-Bahn when this guy runs behind me, grabs my arm, turns me around and says "You have to work. I'll give you 50 Euro." This proposition was accompanied by the man making a lewd gesture with his free hand, his mouth and his tongue. I pinwheeled my arm and just screamed "No!" without thinking. Luckily, two construction workers on the street ran over and pushed the guy away, and scared him off. The workers escorted me to the U-Bahn where I told a cop what happened. I can identify this man "Law and Order: SUV" style. He is 5'11, no more than 170 and he has dark hair. I gave all this information to the cop. I don't feel like the victim of a crime, per say, but I do feel like I would make an excellent witness.

I am not a suspicious person, and I certainly do not look like a fancy prostitute at 9 in the morning. I smile at strangers and like to help tourists read maps when I hear them speaking English. I even, much to the annoyance of E, strike up conversations with Mormons on the train. Even though this encounter was strange, and by all means scary, I haven't really changed my routine. Maybe I'm too trusting, but I think this guy knows not to come back to the neighborhood where such a fierce arm pinwheeler resides.

I'm probably being really naive.

German Children

On Fridays I teach a group of four 10 year-olds whose parents want them to excel in English. We play a lot of hang man, and I also make them sing songs. I don't think they're really excelling.

These boys are very funny, often smelling their armpits and declaring they need "Deo," or asking me how many kids I have. They can never seem to keep my personal biography straight and always ask if I'm from America or Australia. They asked this last question again on Friday (right after I read them "The Raven").

Me: I'm from America, I just told you guys that.
Them: Oh yeah! (then they kiss their first two fingers before splitting them into a peace sign, a very German soccer superstar thing.)
Me: Do you guys know what's happening in my country in a few days?
Them: (thinking, actually picking their nose) Um, a train strike?
Me: No
Them: Trash strike?
Me: No
Them: City strike?
Me: No
Them: BUS strike?
Me: No, no strikes.
Them: What? It's not a strike?
Me: No, we're voting for a new president.

*Silence*

Them: My father says the Americans are the world police.
Me: Well that's his opinion but... um, do you guys want to play hangman?