If you thought I was abducted, sorry, I'm here and ok. But tomorrow I am flying back for a quick visit home and the last week I have been working overtime so I can take this impromptu break. And I also got a crazy fever/cold- thing which required many trips to the pharmacy, or Apotheke.
Germans are notorious for being health freaks and are adamantly against using non-natural medication unless someone is on a deathbed. So far, I've been "prescribed" eucalyptus oil, thyme tea and some gel capsules of anis oil. As you probably guessed, these measures haven't really done much. I think I smell good, but it still feels like there is a hammer pounding my cheek if I bend my head to read a book.
This is a lame update, so I'll just sign off with a quick piece of advice I learned last night. When cooking your own pizza crust, don't place the dough on foil to bake. The dough and the foil bake together and you have to peel the foil off in little strips that burn you like a mother.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Paranoid android
Either I'm being administered drugs in my sleep or strange things have been happening to me this week in the 'Furt. Now, I'll admit that as a romantic given to hyperbole, I have a tendency to get swept into conspiracy theory. But even with that recognized tendency, I've been observing some very interesting movements and frequencies around me. I feel a little bit like Liz Lemon in the episode from season 1 of "30 Rock" when she thinks her Middle Eastern neighbors are terrorists and calls them in to homeland security. Turns out, the neighbors were making an audition tape for "The Amazing Race." Ha ha ha... but wait: There IS no "Amazing Race" in Germany. Hmmm.
1. Last Monday I was waiting for the subway at Hauptwache, a busy station in the center of the 'Furt. It was about 9 a.m. I see two men in suits snapping digital pictures of the empty train tracks. Now they were either curious engineers marveling at some German ingenuity and efficiency, or they were plotting...something big. The train came. Surprise, they didn't get on, choosing instead to exit the station. Suspicious?
2. On Wednesdays I have a break from 1 p.m. to 3 p.m. and I usually come home to check my email and make myself some eggs for lunch. For the past two weeks, my doorbell rings at 2 p.m. I don't answer it because I'm afraid it's the German officials who make you pay taxes if you have a TV. But there's a catch here: The doorbell rings once, and I swear to God I hear no footsteps (and remember are apartment is a creaky wooden pre-war thing).
3. This one is the worst. On Friday I was going to work at about 7:45 a.m. and as I was getting on the down escalator, two policemen get on with me and ask if I saw anything strange that morning. I asked them to repeat it again, just to make sure I was getting my German right, and they asked again. I said no, and then asked why. They just shrugged me off and walked quickly away from me on the platform.
If I don't post again, you can all assume it's because I'm otherwise disposed...
1. Last Monday I was waiting for the subway at Hauptwache, a busy station in the center of the 'Furt. It was about 9 a.m. I see two men in suits snapping digital pictures of the empty train tracks. Now they were either curious engineers marveling at some German ingenuity and efficiency, or they were plotting...something big. The train came. Surprise, they didn't get on, choosing instead to exit the station. Suspicious?
2. On Wednesdays I have a break from 1 p.m. to 3 p.m. and I usually come home to check my email and make myself some eggs for lunch. For the past two weeks, my doorbell rings at 2 p.m. I don't answer it because I'm afraid it's the German officials who make you pay taxes if you have a TV. But there's a catch here: The doorbell rings once, and I swear to God I hear no footsteps (and remember are apartment is a creaky wooden pre-war thing).
3. This one is the worst. On Friday I was going to work at about 7:45 a.m. and as I was getting on the down escalator, two policemen get on with me and ask if I saw anything strange that morning. I asked them to repeat it again, just to make sure I was getting my German right, and they asked again. I said no, and then asked why. They just shrugged me off and walked quickly away from me on the platform.
If I don't post again, you can all assume it's because I'm otherwise disposed...
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Frankfurt's Little Children
This post will either make my mom happy because it's more salacious or it will worry her. We'll see.
To supplement my income in trying economic times (and because I'm on an almost 3-month long break in between Winter and Summer Semesters at University) I've started babysitting for a family in the 'Furts Westend.
The Westend is by far the toniest neighborhood in the 'Furt. It's bordered by the University to the west and the Palmengarten, a gorgeous botanical park, to the north and the financial district to the south. The streets are wide and tree-lined, 80% residential and 80% Altbau (pre-war construction). It is such a beautiful area, that the American occupation forces chose this neighborhood to set-up shop for the last half of the 20th century. Everyone who lives here now is employed in the banking sector, including the family I work for. The Westend is shockingly white, blissfully unaware of a failing market and one of the only neighborhoods in the city where the strollers are as nice as the cars. These three factors make for one certainty: Amazing playgrounds.
Throughout Westend there are maybe five, six, black-iron gated playgrounds, sandy and full of wooden caterpillar slides and lime-green monkey bars. The playgrounds appear like mirages, nestled in between apartment houses and shaded by trees. Yesterday, it was sunny and 55, I took my charges to the playground nearest to their home and was amazed at the flirtations taking place between moms and dads on the swings. It was just like the movie/book "Little Children," except these Germans were better looking (don't get me started on how good the moms looked, it was 10 am on a Saturday and they were wearing the typical "off-day" uniform of rich German ladies: skinny jeans, riding boots, Burberry trench. I was wearing some New Balances and old Gap jeans with baby puke on the thigh.)* and had way more money than the characters in Tom Perotta's work.
One couple was so into each other, sitting side by side on the swings, babies in lap, that I thought they were the proud parents of fraternal twins. But they were not. They left at different times, with different strollers, but not before planning to meet again after afternoon naps. Emotional affair!
I can't wait to go back.
*One thing about German rich moms, they are OLD. You think they're not, but then you get up close and it is wrinkle city. And they have the old lady skinny thing which makes them all sinewy.
To supplement my income in trying economic times (and because I'm on an almost 3-month long break in between Winter and Summer Semesters at University) I've started babysitting for a family in the 'Furts Westend.
The Westend is by far the toniest neighborhood in the 'Furt. It's bordered by the University to the west and the Palmengarten, a gorgeous botanical park, to the north and the financial district to the south. The streets are wide and tree-lined, 80% residential and 80% Altbau (pre-war construction). It is such a beautiful area, that the American occupation forces chose this neighborhood to set-up shop for the last half of the 20th century. Everyone who lives here now is employed in the banking sector, including the family I work for. The Westend is shockingly white, blissfully unaware of a failing market and one of the only neighborhoods in the city where the strollers are as nice as the cars. These three factors make for one certainty: Amazing playgrounds.
Throughout Westend there are maybe five, six, black-iron gated playgrounds, sandy and full of wooden caterpillar slides and lime-green monkey bars. The playgrounds appear like mirages, nestled in between apartment houses and shaded by trees. Yesterday, it was sunny and 55, I took my charges to the playground nearest to their home and was amazed at the flirtations taking place between moms and dads on the swings. It was just like the movie/book "Little Children," except these Germans were better looking (don't get me started on how good the moms looked, it was 10 am on a Saturday and they were wearing the typical "off-day" uniform of rich German ladies: skinny jeans, riding boots, Burberry trench. I was wearing some New Balances and old Gap jeans with baby puke on the thigh.)* and had way more money than the characters in Tom Perotta's work.
One couple was so into each other, sitting side by side on the swings, babies in lap, that I thought they were the proud parents of fraternal twins. But they were not. They left at different times, with different strollers, but not before planning to meet again after afternoon naps. Emotional affair!
I can't wait to go back.
*One thing about German rich moms, they are OLD. You think they're not, but then you get up close and it is wrinkle city. And they have the old lady skinny thing which makes them all sinewy.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
I am so happy right now...
... because I am watching "Germany's Next Top Model" with Heidi Klum. The girls just landed in L.A., and they are having walking lessons with an ex-Israeli military officer. The man is yelling at them in English (and these are 17 year-old Germans with very imperfect English). He just told Marie, my early favorite, "You are beautiful. But you bore me."
Heidi told the girls that they have to start speaking English, because the fashion houses in Italy and USA don't speak Germany. THEN, she told them she's having English lessons. There was an uproar.
Heidi told the girls that they have to start speaking English, because the fashion houses in Italy and USA don't speak Germany. THEN, she told them she's having English lessons. There was an uproar.
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