“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.
ersten Haarschnitt
Haarschnitt is an awful sounding word. But that’s what I got today. My first German haircut.
I’ve been putting this off for many reasons — (1) I am afraid to make phone calls in Germany; (2) I am afraid of German hair stylists, mostly because I’ve seen some of the ‘dos around here; (3) I am a procrastinator and would rather drink wine and watch past episodes of Dexter.
My first experience was pretty positive. Lovely English-speaking hair stylist, great head massage, pretty decent haircut. I lost 10 cm of hair, but it’s basically what I wanted. Also, they offer free coffee and tea, which I will definitely indulge in next time, given the “preise.”
Let’s just say this hair salon was kind of like the steakhouse of hair salons, with everything a la carte, including the “hair lotion” …
- Just a cut = 6-oz filet
- Blow dry = hair “style” = side of something expensive with, say, saffron
- Hair “lotion” = a glass of house vino
When my 33-Euro haircut turned into a 57-Euro haircut, I quickly realized it’s because the haircut was 33, the blow dry was 19, and the “hair lotion,” which I didn’t ask for (but that my stylist described), was 5 Euros. 5 Euros!
All in all though, I am happy. And I will pay the “preise” again just so I don’t have to step out of my comfort zone and find another salon. I’ll just be sure to read the menu.
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.”
Super fast update!
We’ve been negligent in our blogging, but we’ve been busy. The occasional downloaded episode of New Girl or Mad Men aside, we’ve hardly had a minute to breathe. So, before I get to work, a very quick update!
We finally moved into our new apartment in Lindenthal, which is a neighborhood within Cologne. We’ve got an enormous park to one side, and a street full of stores, restaurants, bakeries, and gelato shops (I kid you not) to the other side. I’m pretty much in heaven, and so are the dogs.
Our apartment is completely unfurnished, so we’ve bee occupied with buying furniture, assembling furniture, and wondering how we’re ever going to finish getting the place set up. But, we do have a bed, couches, a kitchen, and a new-to-us washing machine, so the place is definitely livable. We can certainly deal with the echoes for now.
Our shipment from the U.S. arrived last Thursday, and we finally got all six suitcases, two dog crates, and miscellaneous groceries and paperwork out of the Pullman on Friday. Unpacking our suitcases took longer than the entire shipment of air freight from the U.S. Probably weighed more too. Yay for elevators and strong husbands.
Jeff’s mom and step-dad took a detour on their trip home from a three-week Middle Eastern cruise to visit Cologne this past weekend. They arrived on Friday from Istanbul, and we spent Saturday and Sunday showing them the ropes. Despite hearing warnings that EVERYTHING would be closed on Good Friday and Easter Sunday, we managed to keep a fairly busy schedule:
- Delicious Italian food right across from Pullman on Friday. I think there are 70,000 Italians in this medium-sized city, so basically, I’m happy as a pig rolling in … you know. Lots of Italian specialty shops, as well, and the cheese here is super cheap. More on that later.
- Breakfast at a local backerei Saturday morning, followed by a tour of our new place, a tour of the Dom, and a huge pork-fest at a downtown brewery for lunch. Then onto some important shopping — the oil and vinegar store (one of my new favorites) and to ProMrkt for an alarm clock. In the process of our short shopping trip, I spilled hot chocolate all over myself and the bathroom stall in the shopping center, walked out embarrassed because I had no “tip” for the cleaning ladies, and came back later with a 2-Euro coin. And ya, you tip the bathroom “monitors” … if that’s even what they’re called.
- Easter Sunday was the best. Delicious breakfast brunch at the Pullman, followed by a walk down the Rhein, a tour of the Easter market (basically a big, awesome junk sale), 45 minutes in the Chocolate Museum, a short 1-hour river cruise, and a nap. Later, we met Jeff’s mom for some Chinese food, and this concluded the visit. They left super early this morning.
Today is considered Easter Monday in Germany, and it’s what they call a “bank holiday.” So most businesses, grocery stores, doctor’s offices, etc., are closed. The grocery store bit drives me nuts, but they’re always closed on Sundays, so I’ve almost come to grips with not having 24/7 access to a supermarket. Lots of Catholics here who still take religion very seriously. I think they also really like to relax.
Speaking of relaxing, I’ve done enough of that today. Must get to work now that it’s 8:30 a.m. in the U.S. But, more pictures, insights, and updates to come.
Tschüss!
A European Adventure 