Frohes Weinachten und Gutes neues Jahr!
New Year’s resolution number one: start blogging again. It’s amazing how awful we’ve been at this. Truly.
So many things have happened since we last blogged. We visited Munich, Nuremberg, and Amsterdam, experienced our first Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s in Germany, and had quite a bit of fun in the process. I will post pictures from our trips this week. Promise.
In the meantime, some commentary on the holidays.
Thanksgiving
Obviously, this is not a German holiday. I’m surprised they haven’t adopted it here, however, in the spirit of working less, closing grocery stores, and as an additional excuse for slacking in customer service. Fortunately, this is not the case because planning is not my forte. I was able to successfully purchase last-minute items on Thanksgiving DAY for my garlic mashed potatoes and bacon-grease infused green beans I took with me to our neighborhood Thanksgiving (with friends and a family of Jeff’s colleagues, of course). Despite missing my family greatly, this was one of the tastier Turkey Days I’ve experienced in recent history — likely because everyone brought their culinary A-game to one or two dishes! And who knew that pilots and their spouses were such a culinary bunch.
Following Thanksgiving, we had a smaller, more intimate German-style Thanksgiving, at which our half-German couple friends (Emily and Nick) cooked goose, with a side of purple cabbage and apples and dumplings. Quite Deutsch! Oh, I must not forget the chestnuts they added to the gravy (I love them; Jeff doesn’t). Mmm. mmm. We hosted. They did most of the work. I’m generally OK with that arrangement.
Thanksgiving with goose!
Goose, cabbage, dumplings — oh my!
Christmas
The Christmas traditions of the U.S. are pretty much German traditions, so being here is pretty awesome. To summarize things quite simply — Germans love and wholeheartedly embrace this holiday, so it’s quite festive! The best part, Christmas markets and Glühwein. Christmas markets (or, Weinachtsmarktes) are essentially these mini craft fairs, where local craftsman set up shop and sell ornaments, art, food, knick-knacks, etc., all while people walk around sloshed on warm, mulled vino. It’s pretty amazing.
On Christmas Day, Jeff and I enjoyed being together — with the dogs — for the first time, ever, I think. We indulged in a feast with friends on both Christmas day and New Year’s.
The New Year’s tradition in Köln, and all of Germany (I think), is to light off as many fireworks and other explosives as possible (unfortunately for us, this terrifies our dog Kaya and leads to explosive something else). In fact, commercial-grade fireworks are even sold in grocery stores the week leading up to Jan. 1.
We witnessed children blowing off smaller fireworks in the street in front of moving cars, and we saw one local almost blow off a hand (and maybe a face) by closely inspecting what he thought was a dud (it wasn’t). I think this article sums up the Germany holiday nicely: “New Year in Germany is full of suicidal charm.”
(For whatever reason, WordPress is not letting me upload photos and then text, so here are a random selection of shots from what I just described.) Happy new year! Hopefully I will blog again before next year…
Market at the Kölner Dom.
The markets are exceptionally crowded. Especially on weekends. I might have some permanently Glühwein-stained clothing.
Enjoying the markets with friends
Enjoying their new Christmas dog toy.
Attempting to get dogs in the photo! FAIL.
Jeff modeling his new sweater and PJ pants on our little Christmas “picnic” blanket.
Kaya and tree.
Christmas table “scape” — minus the food. I was really impressed with the layout.
Holiday party at the Pullman.
New Year’s — the aftermath.
Happy 2013!
“Because it’s Wednesday”
Two weeks ago I went through the painful process of scheduling Jeff a doctor’s appointment. I know, how wifely of me.
Today, I went through the even more painful process of attempting to reschedule it.
Spoke with receptionist, “Oh, well you will have to call back tomorrow. The ‘surgery’ is already closed today. Because it’s Wednesday.” Like, a-duh.
Oh, right. I forgot, it’s “halfday humpday.”
The end.
I’m going to keep this one short. Because it’s Wednesday.
Guten Tag. For Real.
It’s only 11 a.m., and the day is already living up to the common “guten Tag” greeting. And for actually having stepped out of the house and engaging in productive/social behavior, the highs are outweighing the lows….
It began with a brief low — waking up for a 9 a.m. doctor appointment. Sounds pathetic, I know, but I typically maintain a schedule that would be most suitable for an island time zone in the mid-Atlantic. Fortunately, this was followed by a high point — actually experiencing rush-hour train traffic with the rest of civilization and feeling like a pseudo-productive member of German society. (Also, by leaving early, the train was only 80 degrees and steamy, rather than 95 degrees and steamy).
Next, I skipped a few low points and went straight to a number of highs. This began with finding the doctor’s office, which was perfectly situated at the train stop. With about 15 minutes to spare, I had time to order a coffee — in German, a “milchekaffe” — and exchanged some pleasantries and smiles with the lady behind the Kamps’ counter. Happy Germans, happy Allison.
Second, the doctor’s office — recommended by two fine American wives — where people were pleasant and English-speaking. And(!), after reciting my phone number in German, I was told by the receptionist, “you speak good German!” Ha. “Yes, I know my numbers.” She also said she liked my gold shoes.
Next, she took my picture — “just like they do in American doctors’ offices,” she explained. (Not really, but I’ll just go with it.) “But unlike in America, you can smile in this picture.” So I smile, thinking about every other photo I’ve been required to present to German immigration officials, in which I’ve been told explicitly NOT to smile.
Off to the waiting room, where strangely, everyone greets you. Seriously, I entered the room to a chorus of “guten Morgens” from the other patients. This repeated with every person who entered the room, and eventually I joined the choir. I was fitting right in until they called my name out over the intercom in an English sentence. Seriously?! Do you think I can’t pick out the word ECKELKAMP from a group of unfamiliar words? There goes my cover.
High point/low point: Doctor is nice, and sort of cute. He also speaks English, and I don’t have to take my clothes off (Germany is kind of a “naked country,” and from the stories I’ve heard, and from what I’ve experienced, I was just expecting that I’d have to disrobe. Fortunately, nein). High point.
Unfortunately, they don’t have the prescription here that I need. In fact, the active ingredient, which I want as little of as possible, is only available in about 100 times my current dosage. Probably even more, but I don’t feel like busting out a calculator. In fact, the other ingredient in my ‘script doesn’t even exist here in Deutschaland. Low point.
Back to the train, where the KVB (basically the train police) actually checked my ticket, which was fortunately correct and validated. They check maybe 1 out of every 25 times I ride the train. Win! I’m so relieved, I miss my stop. Fail! Fortunately, the stop I get off on is right next to a “chemist” (or Apotheke), and the pharmacist speaks English. She was also the chattiest German I have ever met — asking where I’m from, telling me about her very “typical” American vacation last year — Phoenix to Las “Wegas” to San Francisco. I wouldn’t call that typical, but in her mind, it was. So I smiled and asked how she liked San Francisco, which happens to be one of my favorite US cities. I’m trying to rush the conversation because in most German business establishments, the person behind the counter can’t get rid of you fast enough. Not this lady. Chatty Cathy.
[brief pause – just spilled my tea all over the table.]
So, it’s been a good Morgen. And for all the bitching and moaning we do (i.e. “Mind your own business”), the good generally outweighs the bad. And next time someone yells at us for strangling our dog, or decides to aggressively hip check me as I sit on a stopped bike on the sidewalk, I will try to just extract some sort of positive interpretation. For example, Germans really love dogs; apparently, this trumps the more socially accepted notion of “mind your own business” or “dogs are dirty and shouldn’t be allowed in restaurants” in the U.S. The latter has been quite enjoyable for Kaya and Breezy.
As for hip-check on the sidewalk, I’ll have to think about that one a little more. For now, I’ll just conclude she was a cranky human being, with her nationality having nothing to do with it.
“Erdbeer-Rhabarber” Pastry
Strawberries (Erdbeeren) are in season and they are soooo delicious. There’s a pick-your-own-Erdbeer place down the street, but we haven’t bothered to actually do the picking since there are also fresh-picked strawberries delivered right to the local Rewe.
Another food here that’s quite popular with the Germans — rhubarb — which has the coolest German translation: “Rhabarber.”
Anyway — what to do with this combination but make strawberry-rhubarb pie?! Well, sort of. Because I began this endeavor at around 8 p.m., I opted to buy pre-made pie crust. Unfortunately, this was not to be found in the local grocery store! With only puff pastry and pizza crust to choose from in the refrigerated section, I figured we’d give strawberry rhubarb puff pastries a try. And they were quite delicious!
Here’s the basic recipe, adapted from AllRecipes.com:
Ingredients:
- 3 cups cut up strawberries (about a pint)
- 3 cups diced rhubarb (about a pound). Make these pretty small.
- 1 cup, plus a couple tbs, white sugar
- 1/2 cup flower
- One egg yolk
- Butter (about 2 tbs, I guess)
- 2 rolls of pastry (or two sheets) — a.k.a. Blätterteig
Directions:
- Combine 1 cup sugar with 1/2 cup flower.
- Add dry mixture to chopped fruit.
- Stir and let mixture sit for about 30-45 minutes. This part is important. Don’t let impatience get to you.
- Cut pre-made puff pastry into about eight 5″ by 7″ rectangles (4 per sheet).
- Add strawberry rhubarb mixture to center of each puff pastry rectangle. Divide evenly.
- Add a couple dollops of butter to the top of the fruit mixture before sealing the pastry.
- Fold over the edges (so your pastry now resembles a small burrito) and seal with water (should have 1-1.5 inches of pastry overlap)
- Press the top and bottom edges with a fork to seal.
- Brush egg yolk over top, sprinkle with sugar, and cut some slits in the top to let steam escape.
Cooking:
- Arrange pastries on parchment paper or tin foil on baking sheet.
- Cook for about 25 minutes in a 190-200 C oven (about 400 F), until tops are golden brown.
- Let cool for at least 15 minutes.
- Serve with vanilla ice cream.
Enjoy!
Strawberry rhubarb pastry. Please forgive the awful camera shot. And the fact that I’d already taken a bite.
The dog saga continues.
Immediately after posting yesterday’s blog, I received this email from our RSB agent (the woman who helped us find our apartment). Impeccably timed. Apparently, our landlord still thinks it’s appropriate to communicate through her, rather than even attempting the Denglish necessary to speak with us directly. The email reads:
” Hi Allison,
I just left a message on your voicemail, but I’m not sure if you hear them.
I just get a call from [landlord]. She told me that the gardener at your house will not do the garden, as the garden would be full of dog sh…
I was a little astonished, as Jeff just told me, that you are very seldom using the garden.
Please be so nice and give me a call about it.
I’m sure there is a misunderstanding.”
We have not used the “garden” since the first week of May. Shit’s not ours! In fact, there’s no sheisse back there at all.
This is the same gardener who has taken more than a week to trim the hedges in the front of the apartment. Not with cuticle scissors, but with an actual gas-powered hedge trimmer. Sounds like someone is looking for an excuse not to work. Surprise!
Anyway – after some communication, the landlord has decided not to blame us (gee, thanks). But because there is “clearly” poo-poo in the backyard, she is changing the lock on the gate so no one can go back there. Logical.
Mind your own business
Let me back up.
Starting about the week after we arrived in Cologne, Germans began commenting on how we walk Kaya. Now, Kaya is a tough dog. She pulls like a freaking reindeer, and we’ve been doing everything we know how to do in order to maintain control without actually hurting her (no pinch collars, no electric shock devices, no barbed harnesses … despite how tempting). One method we use is “the Caesar hold,” keeping the collar high up on her neck — per the recommendation of both the Dog Whisperer AND our German dog trainer — so she keeps her head up and can’t pull as hard. Now, she still pulls, which sometimes leads to her front legs lifting off the ground, and the occasional hacking noise escaping from her throat. While this may not look pleasant, it’s pretty damn obvious to me that the dog is doing this to HERSELF.
Well, not according to some.
The first two women who stopped us were fairly pleasant. The third, a woman in her 80s (we guess) with a walker AND A CANE, was not so nice. She took to screaming and pointing at us from across the street, while waving her walking stick and pantomiming our torture techniques — a theatrical performance for all 500 people waiting to cross the busy street! Rudolfplatz, for those of you who know where that is.
The dogs in Rudolfplatz. They look like tortured souls don’t they?
Fortunately, we found an apartment with a yard where we can run the dogs — helping exercise the devil out of Kaya before working on actual training techniques. So we thought. Turns out, yards here are just to look at, not to use, but our landlord made an exception for us — well, unless anyone else in the building complained. Tuesday of last week, someone finally complained, after first insulting us by asking for the SECOND time if we even live in the building (Yes, we still live in the building.) We’d more or less given up on the back yard anyway because there were too many “tasty treats” in the bushes, but it was the principle of it that really pissed me off.
Luckily for us, we discovered a new way to exhaust Kaya. We started training the dogs last week to run next to us on the bikes. A perfect solution! A way for Kaya to run without running away. This is something people do all the time in Cologne.
BUT (of course, there’s a “but”), yesterday someone disapproved. Another elderly woman approached Jeff in the park and asked Kaya’s age. He told her 18 months. Old lady says, in German, “Oh, that’s too young. You need to walk her next to the bike.” Jeff explains that we’ve been working with her, that this is how we exercise her so we can then train her, etc., etc. (probably in broken Deutsch, but I didn’t actually hear it). This isn’t good enough. So she threatens to take a picture with her cell phone and send it to the “Polizei.”
The Polizei!??!? Now this is just getting ridiculous.
Jeff promptly pedaled away, lady still sputtering about God knows what.
I’d like to point one thing out — this is a country where people put their human children on bikes before they can even WALK.
Anyway, enough with my rant. I have more important things to do … like take down wanted posters featuring my husband’s stunned face.
Cheers!
*An editorial note — for all the people who bitch at us, there are probably 200,000 who don’t. And there are many Germans here we absolutely adore. But, this was something I had to share.
Very weekendy weekends
Travel is nice, but so is staying in Cologne and just doing ‘normal’ stuff.
By normal, I mean, happy hours, friends over for dinner, cooking lots of yummy food, long and lazy breakfasts (notice the food theme?), walks with the dogs, bike rides. Enjoying LIFE at a slightly less frenetic pace. Of course, it’s still slightly more interesting when you can’t read road signs, still don’t have the Fahrenheit-to-Celsius conversion nailed down, and nothing’s open past 2 p.m. on Saturday to solve your flat-bike-tire issues.
Regardless, these past two weekends have been quite nice.
Germans and Lasagna: Last weekend we did not much. Had our authentic German couple friends (well, half German) over for dinner on Friday. We cooked lasagna and sat on our floor eating around the coffee table because we still don’t have a dinner table and chairs (table this week; chairs in JUNE!). We’ve heard getting settled can take about 6 months. I believe it, especially for those of us without cars.
Inspired by my recent Italian adventure, I have to say the Gshwankelkamp lasagna was pretty good. I couldn’t seem to get the sauce right and then realized it was because the wine I added was slightly nasty when sober. The evening before — when it was bottle number 2 — it tasted fine, so I kept carelessly adding it to the sauce. BAD idea. Anyway, the recipe I made was a derivative of this, if you feel like experiencing it personally. But, I never really follow anything to the T. World’s “best” lasagna, according to AllRecipes.com: http://allrecipes.com/recipe/worlds-best-lasagna/. I would disagree, but here are my slight modifications that make it better:
- On the sauce, well, there’s no sweet Italian sausage that I can find in Germany (and when I asked the butcher, he thought I was asking if he speaks Italian, so who knows), but since Germans like their pig, I just added ground pork, and to make it “sweet,” I added some extra fennel, paprika, salt, pepper, a little honey (sugar will do) and some red pepper flakes (I prefer spicy sausage to sweet anyway). I probably doubled the onion, garlic and spices in the sauce, as well, and I also added a fair amount of red wine and some balsamic vinegar, which I think makes everything taste better.
- On the ricotta filling, I added some minced garlic, probably 3/4-1 cup of Parmesan cheese (because you can never have enough cheese), two eggs and a couple tablespoons of basil. This recipe calls for straight ricotta, and you probably don’t have to add anything to it (especially the ricotta here, which is more like butter than cheese), but my mom is Italian, and she always adds parm, herbs, and at least an egg to her filling.
So, essentially, I didn’t use the recipe for much except cooking time and how to assemble the layers. Whatever.
Feeling French on Saturday: On Saturday, I was feeling French (not really) so made crepes out of the Joy of Cooking cookbook, which is the only one of about 100 cookbooks I brought with me. I figured it had most of the basics. And thank goodness for FoodNetwork.com. My main inspiration for Saturday’s breakfast: I really wanted to use the leftover ricotta as filling (with berries). So, we did kind of a crepe sampler — one with just butter, cinnamon and sugar, one with ricotta and berries, one with brie and honey, and one with just some weird cheese I was trying to get rid of. The winner: brie and honey. Here’s a pic of the crepe. Patience is the key ingredient on these bad boys. This is not a 30-min breakfast.
Crepe making. A lesson in patience.
Flat Tire and a Bad Day for Bikes: Later in the day, Jeff and I biked to meet a friend for lunch (more Italian) and then stopped to get some fenders and additional bike accessories. On the way home, I thought it would be fun to see how fast I was peddling by attempting to set off the radar on our street. About three standing and aggressive leg “strokes” (?) in, my pedal came off, and I had a near-death “stumble” (exaggerating a little bit since I didn’t really even fall to the ground). I still have a huge purple/yellow bruise and welt on my calf, and for a while, it appeared that I actually had two calf muscles. Braving the bike again, we took another ride around our hood later in the day, found the soccer stadium, and then about 10 minutes from home, I got a flat tire. Nothing’s open on Saturday after 2, so no more biking for me that weekend. Probably a good thing.
Biergarten Sunday: Sunday we took the dogs for a walk, strolling to a nearby biergarten (well, probably 2 km each way). Kaya pulled the entire way, and patient Jeff pretended to have a good time.
Here’s Beeze at the biergarten.
This past weekend was also loads of fun and included “Derby de Mayo” and our first German concert, but more on that later. This post is already way over the readable limit!
Ciao!
Your message is as clear as … poo
Jeff and I took the pooches for a long walk to the biergarten yesterday. On our way home, we found numerous messages along one particular stretch in a nice neighborhood and on a well-groomed, tree-lined walkway. These signs were held down by … doggy bags:
Your message is as clear as ... poo?
We took a picture so we could Google-translate it later. Literal translation:
“And who is its processing to that shit now my clear away?
-I do not care?
Then allowed to grow very quickly throughout the problem-a huge. not for them. only for those of us who live here.
-The city?
They call it there please and let you know that they have disposed of that shit here.
Or perhaps they?”
I find the output of Google translate to read a lot like old English, bringing me to flashbacks of literature classes when I struggled to uncover meaning in a language I was/am fluent in.
Regardless, my takeaway was that these residents are not pleased with the dog shit in their ‘hood.
Later in the evening, Jeff and I witnessed a local get out of their car, dispose of their garbage in a bush along the park, and then proceed to go enjoy the gorgeous garden they’d just soiled. We had a front-row seat to this brazen act.
Perhaps subconsciously taking a clue from the silent poo protests we’d witnessed earlier, we Google-translated this message and placed it under their wiper blade:
“Bitte legen Sie Ihren Müll, wo es hingehört. Danke.”
Translation: “Please put your garbage where it belongs. Thank you.”
A Coke Bier?
I’m not sure if this is a “German” thing or not, but Jeff and I had a random experience the other night at a local Thai joint.
Drink ordering time: I resort to my typical order — “Kolsch.” It’s the local beer (or bier), and everyone has it so it’s safe, and I (typically) don’t have to worry about my pronunciation. It might be Scion or Reissdorf, but every restaurant carries a Kolsch.
So you can understand my dismay when the waiter brings me a COKE (not Kolsch) and then scurries off. Jeff and I decide it’s probably an English-to-German-to-Thai mistake.
Waiter comes back — “Kolsch, not COKE, bitte,” I say. “Ah, entschuldigung,” he replies. He takes the Coke.
He then returns with a very dark looking bier in a Kolsch glass. Kolsch is always light.
First swig. “It’s sweet,” I tell Jeff. He tastes. “Oh yea.”
“Did they put coke in my Kolsch?”
“Mayyybe.”
I decide not to attempt another order, so I drink it.
When the waiter comes back, he asks, “Another coke bier?”
Mystery solved.
broken in norway
i know it’s been a while since my last update. it’s not intentional, just had some things going on.
the least exciting thing that happened to me was a nice, fat european cold. it plugged up my sinuses real good. picked that thing up while finishing a trip (thankfully not in the middle of it) and it hung around for a good 10-11 days. so that interfered with a lot, including some really nice weather when i would much rather have been drinking beer in a garden somewhere. hopefully that fills my quota of colds for the next several months.
beyond that, as Allison mentioned, we got all moved in to our new place. it’s pretty awesome. a huge park right out the front door, great food and drink very close by and a nice yard in back that every once in a while makes a nice dog track. it’s so nice to be able to let our two pooches run to their heart’s content unencumbered by leashes. naturally, kaya feasts on whatever nasty thing happens to be on the ground while we’re back there. we’re not really sure what it is she eats back there but my guess is mouse poop. the area around us is kind of lousy with mice. thankfully the mice haven’t shown up inside, probably due to the german insistence on having an air-tight living space. maybe the mice are the reason for that, or at least part of it. whatever, hopefully kaya gets tired of eating whatever that stuff is cause i’m pretty sure it’s gross.
our place is great though, 1.5 baths, 2 bedrooms, sweet kitchen (with a quiet dishwasher) and a pretty massive living / dining room area that overlooks the park. it was a little more expensive than some other places but still well within our budget. i’m glad we happened upon it with a little help from a co-worker. thanks tricia and andrew.
the work side of things is going well. i’m starting to feel a little more at home with my new company and equipment. the plane is forgiving and thankfully so are the other pilots. although, we did manage to break something on our way into norway this morning. well, we didn’t really break it, it just broke on its own. it’s a valve between the engine and the wing that is pretty important and not readily available. and now we have a little time to sit and contemplate the norwegian way. first lesson in norway is: expensive. train to downtown? 32 bucks please (USD). one way. beer in the hotel bar? 15 dollars (again USD). but the folks are friendly and courteous and i get the impression they speak english better than me (i?). they probably at least use capital letters when typing. weirdos. this trip has involved some interesting body clock adjustments too. first night starts at 1am and ends at 8am. sleep the day away then turn around and end about 1am. 24 hours later, start again, end at 8am and repeat. oddly enough, sleep and fatigue haven’t been a problem. i am apparently blessed with my dad’s natural gift of sleep. thank you dad. the best part is, when we finish at 1 or 2 or 3 in the morning and i make it to the hotel bed, i feel perfectly justified in sleeping till noon or whenever. i’m recovering. that justification makes for a nice, squishy pillow. the only time that gets jacked up is when there is a delicious free breakfast in the morning. sleep is important, but that breakfast buffet has an expiration time to it. my bed will still be waiting when i get back.
hopefully we aren’t staying in norway too long, it’s nice but there are many things to do at home. like buy and install light fixtures. that’s another german apartment-ism that i can’t remember if i addressed before. the previous tenant moved in and installed their own light fixtures and when they left, they took them. perfectly normal around here. so now we have loose, live wires exposed on the ceiling in various places throughout the apartment. the ceilings are high though so not to worry.
all for now.
A European Adventure 