Tonight was attempt #2 at Bavarian Pretzels. Using this recipe and some food-grade lye I'd ordered on the internet, I made immensely delicious (if not perfectly Bavarian) pretzels. So tasty! Aesthetically, there is a bit of room for improvement, and next time I would prefer it if they don't stick quite so much to the baking tray. Sadly, no photos. I was first very busy cooking and second very busy eating. Too bad. Images of me clad in elbow-length gloves while dipping the pretzels – very quickly – in the water/lye solution would have, no doubt, been humorous. Some other time, perhaps. I will make these again. I will double the recipe.
Englisch/Deutsch
tying the knot /
Tonight was the first in what I predict will be a series of pretzel experiments. The results were tasty and enjoyable, but not quite the Bavarian delicacy of my dreams. I'll keep trying.
pre-boiling. note: I used this pretzel recipe
post-boiling, salted
baked! with a yummy and totally unbayerisch cheddar-mustard sauce, recipe here
Amerikanisch Oktoberfest /
is in October, because that is comprehensible to USAmericans. A festival called "Oktoberfest" which takes place from mid- to late-September only prompts head scratching and skepticism. And so it is that Shroeder's, an otherwise rather legitimate-seeming German restaurant and bar in the Financial District, hosted one of its several Weis'n celebrations this past Friday. Allow me to be entirely clear:
uh-huh
this party : Munich's Oktoberfest
my 8th birthday party : Tiberius on Capri
(okay, it's not me, but you get the idea)
uh-huhFor the record, I had a lot of fun when I turned 8. I had a piñata and ate a lot of cake and got nice presents. Even so.
I really enjoyed this Oktoberfest, though. I got to drink some good German beer and my very cool housemate John was seconds away from winning a drinking contest. I took my dirndl out for the first time, and it worked exactly like a dirndl should: quick service at the bar and plenty of attention all round. I even got whirled around the floor by a member of the Golden Gate Bavarian Club who knew what he was doing. I didn't, but this is one of those rare instances where it's so blessedly easy to be female: smile, stay on your toes, and just keep moving.
I really enjoyed this Oktoberfest, though. I got to drink some good German beer and my very cool housemate John was seconds away from winning a drinking contest. I took my dirndl out for the first time, and it worked exactly like a dirndl should: quick service at the bar and plenty of attention all round. I even got whirled around the floor by a member of the Golden Gate Bavarian Club who knew what he was doing. I didn't, but this is one of those rare instances where it's so blessedly easy to be female: smile, stay on your toes, and just keep moving.
auf weidersehen, Deutschland /
My route back to San Francisco was Munich to Dublin to Boston, (one week stop-over of seeing friends, odd gadding about, and art & architectural fun), to San Francisco.
Having just gotten off the plane in Dublin, I bump into a woman accidentally. "Entschuldigung," I say, automatically. "Entschuldigung," she replies, then goes back to speaking Spanish with her friend.
Meanwhile I try to cosy up to the notion that I may never truly feel I "belong" anywhere. (not as angsty as it sounds)
Having just gotten off the plane in Dublin, I bump into a woman accidentally. "Entschuldigung," I say, automatically. "Entschuldigung," she replies, then goes back to speaking Spanish with her friend.
Meanwhile I try to cosy up to the notion that I may never truly feel I "belong" anywhere. (not as angsty as it sounds)
A Supposedly Romantic Thing Which I Did All By Myself /
Neuschwanstein castle (New Swan Stone, for the curious) is perhaps the most popular tourist destination in Germany, and easily the most famous castle in the world. So I suppose I was asking for it, in a way, but it seemed ridiculous to live in Munich so long and not go.So, there I was, sitting on the train Monday morning, horrified by the hordes of noisy, nasal USAmerican tourists, and bemused by my horror. Who do I think I am, repulsed by my fellow countrywomen and -men? But there I was, as I sometimes find myself when confronted with Americans abroad, hiding my book so they wouldn't see it was English. Because then they would talk to me. Somehow, they always want to talk. The novelty of meeting a fellow American abroad seems to astound them as much as it appals me.
When I arrived, there was a three and a half hour wait for the next English tour, a four hour wait for the next German tour, and a two hour wait for the next audio guide tour. Was it available in English? No? German? No? Italian? Rusty, but it'll have to do.
I spent an hour rowing myself around the nearby Alpsee in a small wooden boat. I got some gorgeous blisters, and it was very, very quiet, and wonderfully solitary out in the middle. A large chunk of the freshly-developed antipathy and misanthropy melted away.
I walked up the hill (c. 20 minutes?) to the castle, catching up to and passing one of the horse-drawn carriages on the way (walking = faster and free!).
The tour lasted, I believe, just under half an hour. We were herded about like exceptionally dumb cattle, and chastised if we attempted to take pictures. The major advantage of being on the Italian tour is that everyone tried to take pictures anyway. Italian lackadaisicality battled German hideboundness for about 25 minutes. In general, the Germans won.
What interested me the most was the competitiveness of it all - the pushing and shoving to get on trains, buses. We all wanted our share of beauty, glamour, romance, and we were bound and determined to get it. The cut-throat pursuit of pleasure.
you can't say that about my Freundsprache /
"The German tongue. Fleshy, warped, spit-spraying, purplish and cruel...I sensed a deathly power in the language. I wanted to speak it well, use it as a charm, a protective device. The more I shrank from learning actual words, rules and pronunciation, the more important it seemed that I go forward. What we are reluctant to touch often seems the very fabric of our salvation. But the basic sounds defeated me, the harsh spurting northerness of the words and syllables, the command delivery. Something happened between the back of my tongue and the roof of my mouth that made a mockery of my attempts to sound German words."
- Don DeLillo, White Noise
I know this is the popular opinion in the U.S., easily found among people who have never heard German, except by American actors in Hollywood movies. But I don't find it to be a harsh language. I think there is far more of an emotional/historical memory at work than anything else.
- Don DeLillo, White Noise
I know this is the popular opinion in the U.S., easily found among people who have never heard German, except by American actors in Hollywood movies. But I don't find it to be a harsh language. I think there is far more of an emotional/historical memory at work than anything else.
room 101 at the Goldenen Hirschen /
some useful information posted in my hotel room:
"Hospitality and safety are omnipresent throughout our Establishment. Though you may take it for granted that the outbreak of a fire in our building is almost excluded, we are even prepared for such an emergency and request the favor of your kind assistance...Keep your presence of mind..."
"Hospitality and safety are omnipresent throughout our Establishment. Though you may take it for granted that the outbreak of a fire in our building is almost excluded, we are even prepared for such an emergency and request the favor of your kind assistance...Keep your presence of mind..."
ring my bell /
It always surprises me when people live up (or down?) to their cultural stereotypes.
I live in a "WG" (pronounced "Vay-geh;" short for Wohngemeinshaft, or shared apartment) with two other people. Our WG is in a four-story apartment building. There are eight flats. In Germany, or at least in Bavaria, there are no apartment numbers. Instead, the building has a number and each person's mailbox in the hallway has their name on it and that's how we get our mail. Outside our apartment building we have a shiny brass plate sort of thing with everyone's name next to their respective doorbell. The names are not engraved; rather, your name is on a little piece of paper inside a sort of slipcase. In January, when I moved in, we updated our nameplate and mailbox accordingly. Unfortunately, in the process of doing so we lost one of the tiny brass screws that affixes our nameplate to the wall. We tightened the other screw, though, and the name plate sat quite correctly in its proper position, nicely parallel to the one below it. However, about three weeks ago, one of our neighbors stopped one of my roommates on the stairs and said we really should replace the screw. (Did I mention that we are by far the youngest people in the building? The next closest in age are in their late thirties, I suppose. The oldest is probably around seventy.) As of just over two weeks ago, the screw has been replaced.
We received a hand-written note today in our mailbox. Dear WG, it said, It would be nice if you would replace the screw on your name plate with one that matches...It would be so nice if it didn't look "messy." Kind regards, Your Neighbor.
I find the anonymity amusing. And it's true, the screw we used to replace the one that disappeared (despite much searching!) amid the tiny stones and dirt of the flowerbed doesn't match. It's silver and it's slightly too big (this was a tiny, tiny screw), so it sticks out from the frame by about one centimeter. Clearly, this is an eyesore.
So, my plans for Monday (every single store is closed in Bavaria on a Sunday) include going to the hardware store to search for a tiny, tiny brass screw.
I won't ask for a cup of sugar anytime soon.
I live in a "WG" (pronounced "Vay-geh;" short for Wohngemeinshaft, or shared apartment) with two other people. Our WG is in a four-story apartment building. There are eight flats. In Germany, or at least in Bavaria, there are no apartment numbers. Instead, the building has a number and each person's mailbox in the hallway has their name on it and that's how we get our mail. Outside our apartment building we have a shiny brass plate sort of thing with everyone's name next to their respective doorbell. The names are not engraved; rather, your name is on a little piece of paper inside a sort of slipcase. In January, when I moved in, we updated our nameplate and mailbox accordingly. Unfortunately, in the process of doing so we lost one of the tiny brass screws that affixes our nameplate to the wall. We tightened the other screw, though, and the name plate sat quite correctly in its proper position, nicely parallel to the one below it. However, about three weeks ago, one of our neighbors stopped one of my roommates on the stairs and said we really should replace the screw. (Did I mention that we are by far the youngest people in the building? The next closest in age are in their late thirties, I suppose. The oldest is probably around seventy.) As of just over two weeks ago, the screw has been replaced.
We received a hand-written note today in our mailbox. Dear WG, it said, It would be nice if you would replace the screw on your name plate with one that matches...It would be so nice if it didn't look "messy." Kind regards, Your Neighbor.
I find the anonymity amusing. And it's true, the screw we used to replace the one that disappeared (despite much searching!) amid the tiny stones and dirt of the flowerbed doesn't match. It's silver and it's slightly too big (this was a tiny, tiny screw), so it sticks out from the frame by about one centimeter. Clearly, this is an eyesore.
So, my plans for Monday (every single store is closed in Bavaria on a Sunday) include going to the hardware store to search for a tiny, tiny brass screw.
I won't ask for a cup of sugar anytime soon.
Zusammengesetztes Hauptwort /
I'm really enjoying learning German. I wish it was because I was some kind of language genius and would be fluent in a month or that I was planning on reading Goethe in the original or something else suitably impressive. But really, it's out of absurdity. German words are often extraordinarily long (by English standards), but they have an even more extraordinary – if in some ways relentlessly pragmatic – poetry that I find increasingly irresistible.
I am speaking, of course, about the Zusammengesetztes Hauptwort, or compound noun. This part of speech flourishes in the climate of the German language in a way that makes its languishing English cousin cry in the corner in despair, rubbing its tears into the wallpaper. The creation of new words in German seems to have been extremely economical; whenever possible, two existing nouns were stitched together to create a new and entirely logical noun. If you know what the pieces mean, you probably don't even need to look up the English equivalent in your words book – I mean, dictionary. Allow me to offer my favorite samples thus far; see how you do:
1. Haustier – house animal
2. Handschuhe – hand shoes
3. Kinderwagen – child car
4. Mittagsessen – midday eating
5. Tierpark – animal park
6. Vorband – before band
7. Staubsauger – dust sucker
8. Wasserkocher – water cooker
9. Fußboden – foot ground
10. Worträsel – word puzzle
11. Taschenlampe – pocket lamp
12. Sommersprossen – summer sprouts
Wasn't that fun?
Surely you're not still resisting the charms of German? What if I told you that they have a special verb for watching television (fernsehen – to TV see), and for eating breakfast (frühstücken – to breakfast)?
You can't hold out forever.
(1. pet, 2. gloves, 3. stroller, 4. lunch, 5. zoo, 6. opener, 7. vacuum cleaner, 8. electric kettle, 9. floor, 10. riddle, 11. flashlight, 12. freckles)
I am speaking, of course, about the Zusammengesetztes Hauptwort, or compound noun. This part of speech flourishes in the climate of the German language in a way that makes its languishing English cousin cry in the corner in despair, rubbing its tears into the wallpaper. The creation of new words in German seems to have been extremely economical; whenever possible, two existing nouns were stitched together to create a new and entirely logical noun. If you know what the pieces mean, you probably don't even need to look up the English equivalent in your words book – I mean, dictionary. Allow me to offer my favorite samples thus far; see how you do:
1. Haustier – house animal
2. Handschuhe – hand shoes
3. Kinderwagen – child car
4. Mittagsessen – midday eating
5. Tierpark – animal park
6. Vorband – before band
7. Staubsauger – dust sucker
8. Wasserkocher – water cooker
9. Fußboden – foot ground
10. Worträsel – word puzzle
11. Taschenlampe – pocket lamp
12. Sommersprossen – summer sprouts
Wasn't that fun?
Surely you're not still resisting the charms of German? What if I told you that they have a special verb for watching television (fernsehen – to TV see), and for eating breakfast (frühstücken – to breakfast)?
You can't hold out forever.
(1. pet, 2. gloves, 3. stroller, 4. lunch, 5. zoo, 6. opener, 7. vacuum cleaner, 8. electric kettle, 9. floor, 10. riddle, 11. flashlight, 12. freckles)
Weihnachtenalptraum /
I feel that the mythical world is seeping into mine.
I think it's generally agreed upon by the participants that in the U.S., Christmas is a wildly commercial but generally cheerful and chocolaty time. Despite the warning to misbehavers of no presents and coal in their stockings, the threat is assumed by all to be idle. Santa Claus is a gentle man, willing to forgive your sins and transgressions. Sort of an older, fatter, jollier Jesus. In parts of Germany, however, there are still links to a wilder and weirder time. Santa Claus has henchmen, and not your usual toy-making elves, tiny and non-threatening in curly-toed shoes. In the Bavarian Alps, children are threatened with the Krampus.
The Krampus is Santa's helper. He metes out the punishment that jolly old S.C. just can't bring himself to inflict. In the Alpine towns, usually around the 5th or 6th of December, the young men dress as the Krampus, and walk through the street, chasing children and occasionally young women. They look scary (imagine if you were about four or five years old, and this happened in your house, or if you were walking to school one morning, and you saw this coming down the road towards you). Long-toothed terrifying demons with long horns, clanking bells and waving sticks!
I think if I had been a child in such a town, this would have given me nightmares for life.
(a thousand thanks to Maxi, without whom I never would have dreamt of any of this.)
I think it's generally agreed upon by the participants that in the U.S., Christmas is a wildly commercial but generally cheerful and chocolaty time. Despite the warning to misbehavers of no presents and coal in their stockings, the threat is assumed by all to be idle. Santa Claus is a gentle man, willing to forgive your sins and transgressions. Sort of an older, fatter, jollier Jesus. In parts of Germany, however, there are still links to a wilder and weirder time. Santa Claus has henchmen, and not your usual toy-making elves, tiny and non-threatening in curly-toed shoes. In the Bavarian Alps, children are threatened with the Krampus.
The Krampus is Santa's helper. He metes out the punishment that jolly old S.C. just can't bring himself to inflict. In the Alpine towns, usually around the 5th or 6th of December, the young men dress as the Krampus, and walk through the street, chasing children and occasionally young women. They look scary (imagine if you were about four or five years old, and this happened in your house, or if you were walking to school one morning, and you saw this coming down the road towards you). Long-toothed terrifying demons with long horns, clanking bells and waving sticks!
I think if I had been a child in such a town, this would have given me nightmares for life.
(a thousand thanks to Maxi, without whom I never would have dreamt of any of this.)
Not Ausgang /
Ah, Berlin: city of culture, of hipness, of music, of whimsy. An extremely high number of people in Germany speak decent to fantastic English. Many of them live in the country's dashing, cosmopolitan Haupstadt. Which makes the lamentable translations found all around the Pergamon, a truly extraordinary museum, all the more inexplicable:
This is pure camp. Summer camp. Bonfire and s'mores.
This is pure camp. Summer camp. Bonfire and s'mores.
Deutsch als Fremdsprache /
I had my first Deutschkurs today. There are about fourteen students, and we're from: Romania, Rwanda, Vietnam, Poland, Greece, Brazil, Hungary, Nigeria, Kosovo, Italy, Iraq, Ghana, and the U.S (just me). Our teacher is a Romanian who speaks German, English (and Romanian, of course), and understands Spanish and Italian. I've already realized that I have difficulty understanding the German of some of my fellow students because they have an accent that is (understandably) different than mine or that of the Bavarians I'm accustomed to listening to. I'm below the average age of the class, but the youngest by far is the 19-year-old Italian guy who blushed to the roots of his hair when the teacher talked to him. He claims to understand no German whatsoever, which made me volunteer my terribly faded and tattered Italian in a more or less successful attempt at assistance once or twice. Not everyone speaks English. Currently, we have no lingua franca. We'll see how this develops over the next two and a half months.
While I'm still in immeasurable awe of people who are fluent in more than one language, it has been my sad conclusion of late that, in contrast to an idea I once cherished, such fluency does not confer upon the speaker True Genius. Some people who are bi- or trilingual are capable of perfect idiocy in multiple languages. This is depressing.
While I'm still in immeasurable awe of people who are fluent in more than one language, it has been my sad conclusion of late that, in contrast to an idea I once cherished, such fluency does not confer upon the speaker True Genius. Some people who are bi- or trilingual are capable of perfect idiocy in multiple languages. This is depressing.
a bit negative /
apparently in Germany, it's bad luck to wish someone "happy birthday" before their actual birthday. Why it's necessary to have a negative superstition that relates to a birthday is beyond me, I confess.
same procedure /
I was giving some instructions to one of my shyer students when he gave me a look that I can only describe as impish and asked me "Same procedure as last year?" At this, the other students (eight exceedingly tall German men, all in their 30s and 40s, all of whom work on airplanes, and all of whom semi-regularly pretend to be afraid of me because I'm so strict) burst into laughter. I voiced my confusion, and demanded to be let in on the joke. They were shocked that I was unfamiliar with their source material, "Dinner for One, or: The 90th Birthday."
They explained to me that this short film is shown on German television every year on New Year's Eve. Apparently it's a cult classic in Germany, and in a few other places on the Continent as well. This is despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that it is almost entirely in English, and unsubtitled. It's about 18 minutes long, black and white, and stars two British actors completely unknown to me, Freddie Frinton and May Warden. The sketch was originally written in the 1920s, but gained lasting fame with the 1963 recording for German television. It's funny, in an overblown-physical-comedy, light-heartedly alcoholic, British sort of way. If you feel so inclined, enjoy.
They explained to me that this short film is shown on German television every year on New Year's Eve. Apparently it's a cult classic in Germany, and in a few other places on the Continent as well. This is despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that it is almost entirely in English, and unsubtitled. It's about 18 minutes long, black and white, and stars two British actors completely unknown to me, Freddie Frinton and May Warden. The sketch was originally written in the 1920s, but gained lasting fame with the 1963 recording for German television. It's funny, in an overblown-physical-comedy, light-heartedly alcoholic, British sort of way. If you feel so inclined, enjoy.
Krapfen /
Doughnut season is in full, bewildering swing. Krapfen (like doughnuts, with various fillings but no holes) are omnipresent, and available in overwhelming varieties. I present here a sampling from one bakery, which currently offers a call-a-krapfen service (my translations are offered as necessary; names range from the bizarre to the potentially inappropriate, at least for a pastry):
- Der Klassiker - Marillenkonfitüre (The Classic - apricot jam)
- Amaretto-Marzipan
- Himbeer (raspberry jam)
- Baileys - Vanillapudding mit Baileys
- Kürbis-Kokos - Kürbiskonfitüre mit Kokonusscréme (Pumpkin-Coco - pumpkin jam with coconut creme)
- Porno Vodka - Kirschkonfitüre mit Wodka (Porno Vodka - cherry jam with vodka)
- Schoko (chocolate)
- Wölkchen - prall gefüllt mit Vanillesahne (Clouds - vanilla cream)
- Giftspritz'n - Marillenkonfitüre mit Jamaica Rum (Poison Spray - apricot jam with rum; pictured above, it's topped with a festive plastic syringe, filled with an appetizing lime green liquid! yum!)
- Jagatee - Hagebuttenkonfitüre mit Jagertee & Stroh Rum (I don't think this name is translatable - with rosehip jam, tea with schnaps, and Austrian rum)
- Hot Chicken - Vanillepudding mit Eierlikör (That's right, this doughnut is named Hot Chicken - vanilla pudding with egg liquor)
- Erdbeer-Limes - pürierte Erdbeeren mit Wodka (pureed strawberries with vodka)
- Die Krise ist vorbei - Johannisbeergelee (The economic crisis is over - currant jam)
appearances/deception /
I got to talking with a German girl on the train. She said to me You don't look like an American.
I thought, What does an American look like? I thought we looked like everything. How could I not look like that? What do I look like? What's left?
Oh, I said, maybe it's because I have short hair.
I thought, What does an American look like? I thought we looked like everything. How could I not look like that? What do I look like? What's left?
Oh, I said, maybe it's because I have short hair.
the words /
German has a word for to forget. So I don't know why this happens, perhaps it's colloquial, or has to do with usage rather than literal meaning. But it's happened to me several times where I'm talking with someone and they can't think how to say what they want to say, and they pause, and then tell me, "I miss the words."
I want to say, I miss them too! Repugnant, chartreuse, cataclysmic, trickling, dross, unwieldy, dregs, disconsolate, ampersand, elusive, prognosticate, hyperbole, circumscribed, pastoral, antediluvian, prelapsarian, heteronormative, concupiscent, seredipitous. I'm off on one iceberg, they're off on another, and we are both slowly melting.
I miss the words.
I want to say, I miss them too! Repugnant, chartreuse, cataclysmic, trickling, dross, unwieldy, dregs, disconsolate, ampersand, elusive, prognosticate, hyperbole, circumscribed, pastoral, antediluvian, prelapsarian, heteronormative, concupiscent, seredipitous. I'm off on one iceberg, they're off on another, and we are both slowly melting.
I miss the words.
mahlzeit! /
I love mahlzeit.
Once a month, I leave the hustle and bluster of Munich and bahn it to Lindenberg im Allgäu, a town nestled in the foothills of the Alps whose most ready descriptors are almost inarguably small and cute. For three days, I teach English classes at Liebherr, stay at the Bayerischer Hof and wander around, to the amusement and puzzlement of the locals. When I go out for dinner at one of the town's restaurants, my entrance causes heads to turn and conversations to falter. She's not from here, everyone agrees. It's not, I think, that I look so different. It's more that everyone knows everyone here. Being here is a kind of inverse celebrity: I am noticeable and noteworthy because no one recognizes me. So they stare. I am inevitably reminded of the stranger coming in through the swinging doors of a Wild West saloon. Howdy. You're ain't frum around these here parts, are you? Indeed, I ain't. After a moment someone nods, offers a quiet "Abend," and everyone goes back to their beer, their games of cards. Someone gives a small bowl of water to the tiny grey poodle under the table. I pick a quiet corner, and pull out my book. Currently, Borges Collected Fictions. This inadvertently made a great impression on a man with a slightly weaving walk, who, as he passed me wished me "Guten Appetit," then peered at the cover of my large book. "Auf Englisch?" he asked, with a shake of the head. It's much more impressive that I read long books in English if you think my native language is German. It's much easier to think my native language is German if I keep my mouth more or less shut. I smiled. When I finish my meal and leave, everyone wishes me "Schön abend."
Once a month I have lunch in the company canteen. On my way there, while I eat, and on my way back to my classroom, I have the same conversation with everyone I see. "Mahlzeit," they remark. "Mahlziet," I reply. This is said in a matter-of-fact tone; again, rather like cowboys in an old western Awful hot. Sure is. There is no good translation for "mahlzeit" into English. The closest idea is "Enjoy your lunch." But, as I explained to my students, this is a wish for the future. It is not an appropriate remark to make to someone who has obviously just finished eating. A nearer meaning is "lunchtime," however, it is nothing short of amazing to me to think of this as a greeting in English. "Lunchtime," "lunchtime." Over and over. You might say it to thirty people in fifteen minutes, and they to you. I have happily despaired of translating this idea. It's not even German, really, it's part of this small company town. A word most commonly used here, a sub-strand of Allgäuisch, the local dialect. Engaged as I am in constantly explaining how to say things from one language in another, it's nice to have been given something that really has no equivalent. More than nice, there's something exciting about it. It forces me to remember the inventiveness and possibility of language, of communication, of nuance, of thought.
Mahlzeit ist die schoenste Zeit.
Once a month, I leave the hustle and bluster of Munich and bahn it to Lindenberg im Allgäu, a town nestled in the foothills of the Alps whose most ready descriptors are almost inarguably small and cute. For three days, I teach English classes at Liebherr, stay at the Bayerischer Hof and wander around, to the amusement and puzzlement of the locals. When I go out for dinner at one of the town's restaurants, my entrance causes heads to turn and conversations to falter. She's not from here, everyone agrees. It's not, I think, that I look so different. It's more that everyone knows everyone here. Being here is a kind of inverse celebrity: I am noticeable and noteworthy because no one recognizes me. So they stare. I am inevitably reminded of the stranger coming in through the swinging doors of a Wild West saloon. Howdy. You're ain't frum around these here parts, are you? Indeed, I ain't. After a moment someone nods, offers a quiet "Abend," and everyone goes back to their beer, their games of cards. Someone gives a small bowl of water to the tiny grey poodle under the table. I pick a quiet corner, and pull out my book. Currently, Borges Collected Fictions. This inadvertently made a great impression on a man with a slightly weaving walk, who, as he passed me wished me "Guten Appetit," then peered at the cover of my large book. "Auf Englisch?" he asked, with a shake of the head. It's much more impressive that I read long books in English if you think my native language is German. It's much easier to think my native language is German if I keep my mouth more or less shut. I smiled. When I finish my meal and leave, everyone wishes me "Schön abend."
Once a month I have lunch in the company canteen. On my way there, while I eat, and on my way back to my classroom, I have the same conversation with everyone I see. "Mahlzeit," they remark. "Mahlziet," I reply. This is said in a matter-of-fact tone; again, rather like cowboys in an old western Awful hot. Sure is. There is no good translation for "mahlzeit" into English. The closest idea is "Enjoy your lunch." But, as I explained to my students, this is a wish for the future. It is not an appropriate remark to make to someone who has obviously just finished eating. A nearer meaning is "lunchtime," however, it is nothing short of amazing to me to think of this as a greeting in English. "Lunchtime," "lunchtime." Over and over. You might say it to thirty people in fifteen minutes, and they to you. I have happily despaired of translating this idea. It's not even German, really, it's part of this small company town. A word most commonly used here, a sub-strand of Allgäuisch, the local dialect. Engaged as I am in constantly explaining how to say things from one language in another, it's nice to have been given something that really has no equivalent. More than nice, there's something exciting about it. It forces me to remember the inventiveness and possibility of language, of communication, of nuance, of thought.
Mahlzeit ist die schoenste Zeit.
subterranean film, bavarian ire /
On Saturday night I went to the Werkstattkino, which is a pocket-size, art house movie theatre. It's also in a basement. (Don't you love it when alternative culture is literally* underground?) I saw Programm 2 of Oberhausen on Tour - highlights from the recent the International Short Film Festival Oberhausen. Neat! The highlight for me was an animated short about an awkward and apologetic polar bear with an English accent who tries to make up with his equally English penguin girlfriend. Parlour drama cross with Ant/artica! Over tea and ginger cookies, he slowly, carefully, hesitantly, and with obvious embarrassment retracts his comments of the previous evening while she glowers, flippers crossed, on the sofa opposite (I didn't mean what I said, you're a beautiful swimmer. And you're really good at catching - small - fish.) Oh, I laughed. Runner-up highlight: when the credits for the aforementioned film rolled, and the man in front of me turned and said in obvious irritation, "It wasn't that funny." I have one thing to say to you, o my humorless friend: train your English!**
*I'm really glad someone else is already doing this, so I don't have to.
**seemingly for a variety of reasons, Germans rarely speak of practicing their English. Instead, they are inclined to say with a sigh and a shake of the head "Ach, this is heavy***. I must train my English."
***also (and of course I am speaking of lower level language learners), many of my students complain that "English is so heavy", translating from the German (schwierig), which appears to do double-duty for both heavy and "difficult". But really, why shouldn't language have weight? There is so much accidental poetry in non-native English.
*I'm really glad someone else is already doing this, so I don't have to.
**seemingly for a variety of reasons, Germans rarely speak of practicing their English. Instead, they are inclined to say with a sigh and a shake of the head "Ach, this is heavy***. I must train my English."
***also (and of course I am speaking of lower level language learners), many of my students complain that "English is so heavy", translating from the German (schwierig), which appears to do double-duty for both heavy and "difficult". But really, why shouldn't language have weight? There is so much accidental poetry in non-native English.