tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57771275219117265622024-03-12T16:27:29.621-07:00The Kaiserschmarrn ChroniclesAn account of adjusting to Bavarian life in the midst of Munich.Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.comBlogger22125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-81015588891110191362014-01-26T06:06:00.003-08:002014-01-26T14:45:00.097-08:00Marathon Man – Part 2<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">As any runner will know,
the second leg of the race is a little like this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">1. You begin it with a
sense of positivity – euphoria even – because you aren't feeling half as bad as
you thought you would<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">2. Gradually, bit-by-bit,
you start to become exhausted and achy in places where you didn't know
it was possible to ache<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">3. You hit the 'wall' and
begin cursing everything and everyone and wondering why the hell you decided to
do this in the first place. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">4. Denial: after the race
ends, you forget all of the exhausting moments of the race and commit to doing
it all over again <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rnuC9rLUyZI/UuUWKbu08HI/AAAAAAAAAvo/bnpjo-0m5L0/s1600/Foto-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rnuC9rLUyZI/UuUWKbu08HI/AAAAAAAAAvo/bnpjo-0m5L0/s1600/Foto-6.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Needless to say, it's time
to recount my second date with Marathon Man and true to roots of our dating
beginnings, the second leg stayed true to running form. Moving away from the
realm of exercise, for our second date Marathon Man suggested going to
"Frühlingsfest"– a smaller version of Oktoberfest in springtime, with
beer tents and a funfair. I thought this was a great idea (I'm not going to
lie, I was conjuring up scenes of the Notebook, imagining Marathon Man hanging
from a Ferris wheel like Ryan Gosling), maybe he wasn't boring and soul-less
after all. There's also an important point that needs to be mentioned about
what is worn to the festival – traditional dress: Dirndls for girls and
Lederhosen for boys. Yes, it was only the second date and I was going to be
getting my boobs out – no shame.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The date began somewhat
well – he looked good in his Lederhosen and commented on how pretty I looked
(was this the same arrogant/shy man as date one?) However, like the second leg
of a run, this was the euphoric moment and it could only go downhill from here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It's no secret that I look
for a man who is able to take charge of the situation. It's not that I can't –
in fact I'm usually a control freak – but when it comes to dating I like a guy
to at least take the lead in the beginning (yes I'm old fashioned and
non-feminist, but so what?) Despite being able to lead a pack in the race
though, Marathon Man wouldn't be capable of leading a passive toy dog on a
leash. He couldn't decide which tent to go to, couldn't find the tent he did
end up deciding he wanted to go to, couldn't decide where to sit and couldn't
get the attention of any waiter to order drinks – to the point where the guys
sitting next to us ended up ordering drinks for us. I'm not cold and heartless
and ruthless though – despite him being inept at all of these things, I decide
not to write him off (particularly not when I probably dented his pride by asking
directions to the tent, asking the boys if we could share their table when we
couldn't find a seat, and ordering the drinks with the waitress). It must be
noted that he didn't pay for the beers, but that's ok, they are expensive there
so I didn't think much of that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So here are the main 4
catastrophes of a terrible second date:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">1. Insulting my job. Yes,
he went there. Marathon Man –the boring consultant, not even a vaguely exciting
one – insulted my job. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not being bigheaded here,
but as jobs go, I like to think mine is one of the more interesting ones to
talk about. As a magazine editor I get to write about and visit great places
all the time! So in response to his question about what I did, I replied
"I'm an editor for online luxury lifestyle magazines". His reply:
" I don't like online magazines. I don't see the point and so I don't read
them. If anything I read print magazines, but even those are dying out." I
was shocked. Dumbfounded. I didn't know what to say. Not only did he insult my
profession, but also suggested that my industry is dying. DYING?! I expected
him to soften the blow of his previous statement, but he didn't. He changed the
topic and didn't ask anymore about my job. He instead changed the topic to his
current consultancy project: making morphine drips in hospitals drip the drug
into patients at a more efficient rate. Now this is, of course, a worthy pursuit that will help the world in someway, but his arrogance, patronising and paint-drying way of explaining it to me made me want to take a quick nap. It also made me want to practice my boxing skills too, as he presented himself as saviour of the world while I was a mere journalist in his eyes </span>– an online journalist at that. Unfortunately at this point I
couldn't scream "I'm a celebrity, get me out of here!"</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">2. Going on a ride without
me. As we were wandering around the funfair I could see him eyeing up the big,
crazy ride. I used to be a ride junkie, but since getting labyrinthitis at 16 I
now suffer from vertigo on funfair rides that swing me here, there and
everywhere. After telling him I couldn't go on it but I was happy to go on the
dodgems or something, or if he really wanted to he could go on it and I'd wait,
he chose the latter. I stood there like a mother holding his coat, glasses and
bag that he had dumped on me before leaving to run and join the queue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">3. Being an arrogant g••.
After waiting for him to act like the big man on the big ride (wonder what he's
making up for there?), I suggested going on the go-karts. Now, maybe it’s just
me being naive, but I thought that any man would be over the moon if a girl
wanted to go on the go-karts with him. Not Marathon Man. When I suggested that
it would be really fun to go on them when passing by, he smirked and said:
"You mean those go-karts? Really?’ I said, "Yes, why? It will be fun!”
His response? "I don't think so, I went on a real go-karting track the
other week and so I would find this really basic and boring – too simple for
me." And so we walked on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">4. Being too tight to buy
me a sausage. After being in his company for nearly 3 hours (sadly I had to be
as I was meeting a friend at the festival afterwards, so he knew I had nowhere else I
needed to be but there at the festival), we were both hungry. Now, I didn't expect him to get
me a beer at 8 euros, but a sausage for 2 euros? Surely he could stretch to
that being that I had endured his presence for such a long time? Surely a
sausage? No. In fact, he even went to a different stand to me to buy exactly
the same kind of sausage, probably just to avoid having to pay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So, by now I had definitely
been through all of the stages of the second leg of a race. No. Wait. Not all
of them … denial was still left. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So my friend arrived to
meet us and Marathon Man chatted with us a little before finally leaving. Then,
the fatal moment happened. My friend really liked him. She thought he was
great! Instead of sticking to my guns I let her positivity infiltrate the last
3 hours I had endured and that, combined with the knowledge I acquired on that
day about him only coming out of a 7 year relationship a year ago, made my
anger turn to pity. Maybe he was just struggling to date?
Maybe...maybe...maybe. Note to self: however lovely your friends are, they may
not always know what is best.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Needless to say I ended up
going on a third – and thankfully final – date with MM. It was in a beer garden,
where he again didn't buy me as much as a sausage while recounting his
'holiday' to me and boring me with the 114 photos taken on his phone. His
'holiday' was a TransAlp mountain biking trip from Salzburg to Lake Garda. This
guy was sport crazy with the personality of a stone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I left as quickly as I
could, to never see him again and thanking the German Lord that I was single.
Things I have learnt? Avoid adrenaline junkie, consultant Austrians from
Salzburg – unless you are happy to fork out 2 euros for a Bratwurst and enjoy the
pleasure of bad company.</span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-21419768439927412392014-01-21T14:38:00.005-08:002014-02-16T11:02:12.195-08:00Marathon Man<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">There's a huge gaping hole
in my account of life in Germany and that is: dating. As a young and spritely
single girl in Munich, I have thrown myself into the deep end of dating
Deutsch-style – and what an 'interesting' pool it is. Although my first forays into
dating in Germany involved a Dane and not a Deutsch wonder, that Nordic
adventure was somewhat brief and I could no longer ignore the daunting task of
tackling the blonde hair and blue eyes of zee Germans (note: nobody I have
dated so far has had either of these attributes).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lBEVe9fC6FA/Ut7sw1UqDmI/AAAAAAAAAvY/6EhTPsSVaHI/s1600/What-I-look-like-when-I-run.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lBEVe9fC6FA/Ut7sw1UqDmI/AAAAAAAAAvY/6EhTPsSVaHI/s1600/What-I-look-like-when-I-run.png" height="320" width="246" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So, let me begin with:
Marathon man. Before female readers everywhere start applauding me for my
beginners luck, it's important that I clarify that I unfortunately mean
'marathon' in the running sense. You'd think that I'd take a slow and subtle
approach back into dating right? Wrong. I, being the genius that I am, decided
to accept a blind date. A blind date involving running. A running blind date!
Somehow I didn't think through the fact that when I run I look like a dying
mongoose that has been dipped in deep red paint. I think my naive-self figured
that if he could like me in my running gear sweating up a storm, then effort
and fabulous outfit on date 2 would be like a gift from the Gods (yes, this is
how my mind works).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So I turn up at the agreed
spot on a sweltering summer day to complete a 40-minute blind-date/run around
the English Gardens. Non-Munich readers should know that this involves walking
down a normal shopping street in your shorts, so you are already feeling self-conscious
before you arrive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">There he was standing on
the other side of the road. An Adonis. I couldn't believe my luck – how wrong I
was. Marathon man was socially inept. After greeting me (thank god no awkward
one or two kiss moment!) and telling me his name, there was no small talk.
"Shall we go?” he said.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Now, I decided to leave my
running gadgets at home to avoid looking like a bit of a pretentious pr•••.
Marathon man? Oh no, he had every gadget that Nike ever made, and then some.
Within a few minutes of setting off he asked me "Is this pace good for
you?" as I was frantically panting beside him and reluctantly replied
"Sure!" (nobody wants to appear like a pansy and particularly not on
a date). As soon as I learnt that a) he was a consultant and b) he was Austrian
and from Salzburg, I should have known better and run in the opposite
direction, but instead I stayed and endured the worst date ever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This guy did not know how
to make conversation (which was, by the way totally in German and he never once
offered to switch to English despite being fluent in English himself). There
was never a reciprocated question or show of interest in anything I had to say.
It went a little like this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Me: Do you have any
siblings?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Marathon Man: Yes, a sister<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">*silence* *awkward pause*
*run 10 minutes more*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Me: What do you do, do you
enjoy your job or travel a lot?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Marathon Man: I'm a
consultant. I really enjoy it. I travel quite a bit but luckily not as much as
other firms so it's not too stressful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">*silence* *awkward pause*
*run 10 minutes more*<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">He. Never. Asked. Me.
Anything. About. Myself. NOTHING. Oh wait sorry, he did ask me something:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">What's your quickest
half-marathon time?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Which means he didn't
listen to me five minutes before when I was telling him that I was training for
my first two half marathons ever in a few weeks. *sigh* He then proceeded to
tell me all about his quickest times, where the races were and his tactic to
get quicker. All the while I was thinking "you're attractive, but somebody
pass me a spoon so I can gouge my eyes out because that would be more enjoyable
than another minute of this date". Why are German guys so obsessed with
sport? And I mean really obsessed. I'm a sporty person and it's even too much
for me. They don't just do a run, they do a marathon. When they've done a
marathon they do mountain marathons. Then they do a triathlon just for kicks.
Then they take their hiking to the next level and climb Everest – like you do.
I don't think you have to be a genius to work out the one thing that a lot of
the guys aren't managing to achieve despite all of their sporting endeavours...Give
me a man that will happily munch on a Maccy D any day over a German fitness
freak.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">After running 50 minutes
instead of 40 minutes (so already running further and faster than planned) we
arrived back at our starting point. At this moment, instead of accompanying me
back to the U-Bahn, he declares, "Actually, I think that I'm going to
carry on running and go a bit further. Not sure I got my full workout".
Translation: asshole. I took it as a rejection but then was shocked as he asked
for my number. My number? Strange, I thought the date had gone poorly for both
of us, as he seemed so uninterested. However, for some reason I was still
hovering between whether he was an arrogant git or merely socially challenged
and decided to give him the pleasure of obtaining my digits – and with it, a
second-chance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Mistake. Date 2 debrief to follow soon...</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-78935883348704668332013-10-28T00:23:00.004-07:002013-10-28T00:24:06.403-07:00WW3<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">The war
is a generally a topic that is best avoided in Germany. Brits love to brag
about their win and crack jokes about the 'Jerrys' at every opportunity, but
the Germans are still very much schtum on the subject. The thing is though,
there is a war that is still present in daily German life. Battles are
continually fought and lost – the Germans triumphant, the expats cowering (or
rather, sweating) in a corner. I am of course talking about a very specific
WW3: Window Wars.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial;">Brits
have superstitions about not putting shoes on the table and avoiding the cracks
in the street – all harmless activities that don't affect anyone outside of the
individual's space. The Germans? They have a genuine phobia of window opening.
I know, right now you are sitting there thinking "Seriously? How bad can a
window phobia and superstition be?" But really, it's a serious subject.
Germans have to be warm. It doesn't matter if is 25 degrees outside, you can
still witness 100 denier tights and thick jeans in your midst. More than that
though, they insist on the windows being closed...AT ALL TIMES. Germans
believe that if you open the window and have beautiful fresh (almost
mountain-like) air streaming in through the windows, then you are going to get
ill. It doesn't matter if the air temperature is 25 degrees, oh no, you WILL
get ill. Oh, and don't forget the obligatory scarf. If James Bond had been
German he wouldn't have had any of those crazy gadgets, oh no, Q would have given
him a scarf – to ensure he doesn't catch a cold when running after the enemy in
blizzard-like weather. In the UK, scarves are generally decorative pieces that
only serve a real purpose when it's in the midst of winter, we are outside and absolutely need to keep toasty. The only time I would wear a scarf in the office is if the
heating wasn't working, or I wanted to look particularly swish that day. The
Germans? Well, you'd be lucky to find them at their desk under the mound of
wool wrapped around the top half of their body.</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">But, back
to the windows. The odd thing is, that Germany has more window opening
opportunities than most other countries: windows can be opened on the U bahn
and even on regional trains because they don't go super fast. Here are my most
recent window opening attempts on public transport:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Attempt
1: 8:00am, the doors to the U bahn swing open and a warm wave smelling of
mouldy cheese mixed with Leberkäse hits me. Why hasn't anyone opened a window?
Madness. So, I sit down and casually open one of the many windows that it is
perfectly allowed to open. I sit back, pleased with myself and shut my eyes for
a little pre-work nap. My eyelids haven't even closed before: BAM! The window
is slammed shut by the previously innocent-looking businessman sitting opposite
me. Why on earth didn't he ask if he could close it and at least feign trying
to appease my wishes? It's obviously important to remember that when it comes to windows and overhead locker space in aeroplanes, business men always win, no exceptions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Result of
attempt 1: thwarted<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Attempt
2: German regional trains are amazing. They are clean, have wide corridors,
plenty of space and best of all, they are double-decker – so if you snag a spot
on the top-deck you can take in the wonderful views as you speed through the
countryside. As I hopped into my seat on yet another overly heated form of
public transport (they love to have the heating on full blast at all times of
year) I was pleasantly surprised to discover that it was possible to open the
window next to me. Joy radiated through my soul. After being open a mere 5
minutes, a middle-aged German man actually walked from the back of the
carriage, pushed in front of my seat and slammed the window closed! I was
paralysed with shock at the act, and failed to retaliate. Hashtag window fail.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Result of
attempt 2: thwarted<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Attempt
3: Back on the train again, this time a lovely old-style one where you can pull
the big windows half way down and pretend like you are acting in the
"Railway Children" (I may or may not have been imagining that I was
Bobbie). The carriage was empty so opening windows didn't entail any hit-man-style
risks – bliss. Trundling through the mountains was amazing and breathing in the
mountain air was magic. We then pause at a station and people enter my
carriage, where I was previously sitting alone. In England if you entered a
room with someone in and the window was open or the light was on, you wouldn't
dare change a thing unless it was a life and death scenario, and even then you
would sidle over apologetically and begin the sentence with "I'm awfully
sorry" and then proceed to beg for them to close the window if they "wouldn't mind". Germans don't have time for such considerate theatre. Another
middle-aged man, my favourite kind, storms up to my part of the carriage and
closes the window. Then, after it is closed, asks me if I mind if he closes it
(in a way that suggests he couldn't care less what my answer is). I wasn't going
to take it lying down anymore. This was my moment to act. To reclaim a British
victory. I replied (in Deutsch of course): "Actually I do mind, why do you
have to shut the window?” To which he replied "Weil es schimpft!"
(translation: "Its blustering/roaring!” note: this is also the same verb
for “to offend”) Oh please, and I thought the British were the dramatic ones.
Believe me, a tickling breeze of loveliness is probably exactly what you need,
moaning middle aged German man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Result of
attempt 3: thwarted<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Conclusion:
it seems I will forever be destined to exist in stuffy-filled spaces, at a
minimum temperature of 25 degrees despite being in feather and down coat, and
of course, donning the obligatory thick, woollen scarf. Sweating. Sexy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-US" style="color: #262626; font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Lucida Grande"; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Potential
solution: work on gluing all windows in Germany into a permanent 'open'
position. (note to self: must look into putting this plan into action).</span></div>
</span>Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-68096555493173170712013-04-22T13:19:00.000-07:002013-04-22T13:19:41.051-07:00Home Is Where The Heart IsIn most countries the idea of family is fading away fast. Eating dinner around the table together every night is a thing of the past, stable marriages that endure the decades seem more like rare shooting stars in society other than the 'norm' to aspire to. Germany however, is bucking the trend and singing a different tune: family life is still very much at the forefront of people's minds and lives.<br />
<br />
In the UK it feels like everyone is clammering to break free of family and tradition and the town where they were born. I really don't get that feeling here. In fact, it's the opposite: people wear Tracht (traditional clothing of Lederhosen and Dirndls) in special colours and patterns that represent their hometown and what's more, they wear it with pride. People seem to stay roughly where they are from (or at least those from Bavaria and Munich do). Then again, why move away from such a wonderful place: a thriving job market, beautiful (although often difficult to acquire) apartments, mountains, lakes and...of course, beer!<br />
<br />
The family element really is lovely though. 'Biergartens' aren't profit making machines (unless you go to the English Gardens) but places for people to come together. Actually, in Bavaria, there is a 'law' so to speak, that you are allowed and even encouraged to bring your own food. This really is a beautiful sight when family and friends gather together around one of the beergardens' long tables, pulls out a pretty tablecloth and everyone has a tupperware with a different tasty delight inside. I love this. I miss this when I am back in the UK, where sometimes (although not always) you have to get drunk to have a good time. Don't get me wrong, we definitely get drunk on our beergarden days too, but that's after several hours of merriment, rather than downing as much as possible in Happy Hour. Actually, Happy Hour is equally interesting: 10pm onwards! I love this! It makes perfect sense! It means you don't have to go crazy at 4-6pm and drink as much as you can to keep you going throughout the night without breaking the bank.<br />
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Families here are so welcoming too. My ex-neighbours took me in like one of their own as soon as I moved in - inviting me to brunches and dinner and generally looking out for me. When I moved house, they all pulled together and helped me, rather than watching me lug my boxes alone down the street. This is so refreshing compared to so many anonymous-feeling cosmopolitan cities where you can't smile at someone without them wondering what your hidden motive is.<br />
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Viva Bavaria and the family-feeling!Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-42377605359750295602013-04-22T12:57:00.002-07:002013-04-22T13:06:48.140-07:00The Staring ContestAre you good at staring? Are you single? If the answer to these two questions is yes, then you will be successful on the dating scene in Germany or rather, Munich. Dating is definitely different here in more ways than one. I for one, am not adjusting well.<br />
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I recently heard a friend describe the UK University 'dating' scene to me like this: "Well, it gets to around midnight and then its as if everyone has been injected with something and is clamouring to get with anyone and everyone, not wanting to go home alone. I mean, they just walk up to someone and grab them!" *cue shock and disgust* Unfortunately, I couldn't really correct her on this. It is for the most part, true. I'm not saying that I am proud of this and I definitely wasn't one of the 'midnight lurchers' (well, maybe excluding nights when I was at Top Banana on a Monday and pints of Purple were only a pound...kidding!), but a milder version of this would be preferable to the German way of doing things.<br />
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It all comes back down to their favourite side-activity: staring. When I was in London for one night, I was approached by several guys throughout the night wanting to chat and buy me a drink – *cue reader thinking what a smug and arrogant little wotsit thinking she is God's gift to men* – I can assure you I am most definitely not, but men are more forward from the Isle and at least give it a little bit of effort. They understand the beauty of the chase. They know that if they don't make a move, they are going to miss out. Munich men? They will sit like an unmovable stone and stare at you all night, undressing you with their eyes, and still won't do ANYTHING about it. It's not like I want them to lavish me with drinks and attention, but a simple"Hallo" would make things much less awkward. I once sat opposite some guys with my friends in a bar and they literally stared the whole night – which was more offputting than flattering. They didn't speak for the whole time we were there. Then we leave, 3 hours later, and they say 'Bye girls, shame you are going already!". "Bye"? "Bye"?! How about starting with "Hi!" 3 hours ago when I was vaguely interested, rather than trying to talk when I'm walking out the door. I just don't understand this at all. If this was a wildlife programme, the species would have died out by now: *cue wildlife presenter voice* "The male, intimidated by the female, holds back and watches her from afar, trying to determine her next move. Meanwhile, the female appears to be becoming agitated. This is an exciting moment, it looks like the male is slowly starting to approach and we are going to witness the magical moment of meeting out here in the harsh environment of the German wilderness ...oh...no...wait...the male appears to have been startled and has ran back into the bushes again".<br />
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Then you have got the other approach in the club: the 4 hour stare, followed by edging closer bit by bit in a completely obvious way. They though, think they are totally slick and are reeling me in by the second with their sexy smooth moves – they couldn't be more wrong (particularly because a pensioner could bust better moves than they can). As Queen Vic would have said 'We are not amused'. It's like they have taken tips from black and white films – come into the 21st century, pretty please?<br />
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Then there is the 'let's be friends' kind of courting (basically staring with a little chatting). One of my friends has been here years and told me this technique: they like to be friends with you for at least 4 years before they will even consider anything else. Didn't they watch Scrubs? Hurry up or you are going to miss the window and be forever in the 'friend zone'!<br />
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A few weeks ago though, I was pleasantly surprised. I had left my friend at the bar and then I had come back to find her with a a guy chatting avidly. This, in the Munich world, is shocking. Upon my arrival though, the mystery was soon unravelled. He was Italian and called Mateo (not in any way a cliché...). After struggling to speak to my friend in English, he turned his attention to talking to me in German. Here's the best bit of all though. Pointing at me, my friend and himself he goes on to say: "One, two, three – we could have a good night together yes? *creepy raised eyebrow*".<br />
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On second thoughts maybe the German guy staring isn't so bad after all...Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-26133641329200129372013-04-19T08:34:00.001-07:002013-04-19T08:37:44.410-07:00For the love of...leather?Leather has a kind of cult following on the continent. They really do love it, perhaps one might say, a little too much. When I lived in France the black leather jacket was the epitome of cool amongst 13-17 year old girls. I wasn't living in Paris either, just the pretty suburbs surrounding Carcassonne in the south of the country – but leather was still making its mark. Don't get me wrong, I love a bit of leather too, but I'm tiring a little of the 'leather look' being sported by pretty much everyone – I find myself longing for a little East-London cool where fashion would be mixed up a bit.<br />
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Here in Germany, leather remains a core staple amidst teenage and twenty something girls. Perfectly boy-shaped, they strut the style with ease, matched with tight fitting trousers that would give me a hernia if I wore them. Envious? Me? Never. The thing is though, the temperatures have suddenly risen in Germany to a sultry 25 degrees from...well..the Tundra. Yet, despite the increase, the leather stays stuck to the skin of absolutely everyone! WHY? How are they not dying? If I was wearing a leather jacket and leather trousers in 25 degrees then my own profusion of sweat would have melted and moulded them onto my body for all time – I would be forever known as the 'leather lady', or, well, something like that. The question is though, why are they defiantly wearing them in these tempartures? Is it more than a style statement? Is it a status statement? I'm starting to think so. If it is, I'm definitely not belonging to this upper echelon of leather cool – poor me, I'm so unfortunate being oh so nice and cool in my floaty skirt that doesn't create sweat beads.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1-7bT_7czaE/UXFiyiAVNbI/AAAAAAAAAFA/B9hjgAM5juc/s1600/58000_10200317559094596_1216780547_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1-7bT_7czaE/UXFiyiAVNbI/AAAAAAAAAFA/B9hjgAM5juc/s1600/58000_10200317559094596_1216780547_n.jpg" height="400" width="195" /></a>There is an important part of the leather culture though that I have left out until now. That is the mid-life crisis leather. Let me tell you now, sporting a James Dean style leather-look over a certain age doesn't scream sexy, it cries 'Crisis!', no matter how loud the song 'Daddy Cool' is playing in your head as you strut along the street. Believe me, the German 30-40 year old guys wearing these jackets really are strutting, I actually witnessed one guy on the U Bahn in his shirt looking sensible (definitely not the type who should lean towards a leather purchase) and then once he gets off, he swings on a leather jacket and starts to add a little swagger to his walk. Oh dear, oh dear oh dear. Now, don't misunderstand me, there are definitely some over thirties and daddies out there who can rock this look and make even me go weak at the knees, but in general it should be avoided – yet German guys think a leather purchase is their ticket to Cool Kingdom, or something. Here is my plea to German guys everywhere: "Put the leather...DOWN!" Seriously. Go for duffle instead. In fact, go for anything instead. Unless you are 25, play in a band and have a cigarette hanging from your hand in a nonchalent kind of way, then the tanned goods aren't for you.<br />
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I have to say though, the more you live in a place, the more you start to tip toe towards following their trends. Upon a few occassions I have had the urge to follow through and become part of the leather pretty possy. Am I becoming a German? Here is a picture of me on the right, sticking to my guns and not giving in to the Lord of Leather that rules this city *ahem*.<br />
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On another terrifying note, I have been informed that Denim is going to be the material of the moment this summer. This is fine, when handled by those with a little know-how. The Germans? No doubt they will be sporting the double denim look in no time at all *shudder*, probably with socks and sandles on their feet for good measure *sigh*. It's going to be like stepping back into the 90s...and not in a good way..."Ah oh, ah oh"...oh no.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: arial, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;"> </span><br />
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Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-82503713234990233142013-03-18T14:55:00.000-07:002013-03-18T14:55:44.570-07:00Kaiserschmarrn Classics<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #262626;"><span style="color: #262626;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Believe it or not, I had a blog at 16. I
know, what on earth did I have to write about at 16? It was back in the days
when Myspace was cool (and ‘Facebook’ was just some ‘boring looking wall
thing that your older sibling spent too much time on’) and when the song you
chose for your profile was of the upmost importance – as it would define who
you truly were to the world (or something like that). I had completely forgot
about my first blog, but when sifting through my computer and deleting old
files I stumbled across one entry. Often it feels like the thoughts and
feelings we have when we are younger are no longer relevant as we grow older
and gain more experience in the big, wide world. This entry, however, proved me
wrong. It made me want to sit down, pull up a chair and have a cup of tea with
my 16-year-old self and pick her brain, as she was evidently wiser than I am
now. Really, this diary-style entry couldn’t relate to my life any better than
in these older years, living in a foreign country and starting anew (cheers to
that!).<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So, I thought I would share
my 16 year old thoughts with you all:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I was sitting listening to my music and
then a thought struck me: what really is ‘moving on’? Sometimes moving on can
be a positive thing...moving onwards and upwards...like that song "Moving
on up" but sometimes, it can be a word people use as a way of covering up
the fact that something they didn't want to happen has happened. Like the
disintegration of a friendship. Like the breakdown of a relationship. It seems
to vary from person to person on how the term ‘moving on’ is handled. For some,
it's closing the book...putting it down...and beginning a new one. For others,
it's merely turning the page onto a new chapter and allowing the threads from
the plot in the previous chapter to resurface later </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">on in the novel that is
life, to result in a perfectly rounded ending.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> I'm definitely a chapter person, I feel
that to close off part of your life forever is to deny the possibility of
change and rids your life of that unpredictability that we are all living for.
To shut people and indeed, events, out of your life is sometimes necessary but
I think we always need to be ready for that moment when they reappear. Maybe
what we should really be asking is: is it ever really possible to completely
‘move on’? First words, first jobs and critically, first loves. We all move
away and ‘on’ from these ‘firsts’: our vocabulary widens, our job maps out into
a career and our first love leads onto new loves and indeed, lovers. However,
these ‘firsts’ have a significant impact on our lives and therefore, surely
form part of who we are?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #262626;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So, maybe when someone says it's time to
‘move on’, the response is as simple as this: "I have moved on, I am
moving on and, I will move on"</span></span><span style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 17px;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-23534130098844356612013-03-02T15:35:00.001-08:002013-03-04T15:23:59.772-08:00Krapfen Karma<br />
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Oh Krapfen – the temptation of the Devil. I'm sure Jesus' 40 day and night stint in the desert as described in The Bible isn't the whole truth. I'm pretty confident he wasn't in the desert at all but, in actual fact, was forced to stand in front of a German bakery during Fasching (Carnival) Season – the ultimate temptation.</div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">To those that don't know, Krapfen are a kind of doughnut (without the hole) that are everywhere during the Carnival season in Munich in the run up to Lent and Easter. Here, there, everywhere – they are inescapable. Flavours range from the traditional apricot to more exotic offerings with mango, nougat and chocolate moose. Although I failed to find them this year, I have also heard of the elusive Krapfen that are sold with syringes. Syringes? Yes, we have all turned into jam-injecting junkies. No, seriously – you get a syringe, or more than one, that contain different flavours and then you can fill your Krapfen with as much or as little as you desire. Creative Krapfen – love it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">I definitely over-indulged this season, with my all-time favourite filling being apricot and mango, with a yummy glaze on top (*pauses writing to salivate a little*). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">There is definitely a kind of Krapfen Karma out there though. It<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>can be touch and go as to how much filling you get, depending on where you buy them. The other day I had gotten three quarters of the way through my Krapfen and still hadn't found the filling. In frustration I marched to the kitchen and spread some strawberry jam on the remaining part…only to then once I had done so, find upon my final bite, that it did indeed, have apricot inside. Apricot and strawberry is definitely not the best combination and results in a sugar trip with trembling of sweet teeth – Krapfen Karma #1. Lesson? Always believe in the Krapfen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">The second kind of karma was experienced in the office. We even had a Krapfen eating event one afternoon, indulging in the sugary, doughy delights with prosecco (I know,German offices are great right?). The thing is, the piles of Krapfen were being set up opposite my office for about 2 hours beforehand. The sweet smell became sickly pretty quickly. I had also already eaten a Krapfen the previous evening(trying my best to taste all of the flavours before the Krapfen disappear after Carnival Tuesday), which meant my Krapfen appetite was already satisfied. Result? Forcing down a Krapfen, because I had already eaten far too many already, rather than rejoicing in its glory and savouring every bite – KrapfenKarma #2. Lesson? Pace yourself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">Wouldn't it be great though, if Krapfen also had positive Karma?Like…the more you eat, the more happiness comes into your life. If so, I definitely deserve the title :"The Happiest Krapfen Queen on Earth".</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-77482451762638342972013-02-13T14:20:00.001-08:002013-02-26T14:19:21.606-08:00Toasters and Showers.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I know what you are
thinking: "what can she possibly have to say about toasters and showers?
Mere electrical appliances surely aren't worthy of any kind of attention, they
are the same the world over!" Halt. Let me just stop you right there. They
most definitely aren't the same the world over. Oh no. Toaster and shower
situations (not both at the same time) have induced great trauma to me at times
(not of the electrical shock kind…that's reserved for German electrical
fences…but that's a whole other story).</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Let's start with the
shower sadness. Yes, sadness. Mixed with confusion. As a British lass I am used
to a shower (when placed over a bath) to be attached to the back wall – i.e.
facing the length of the bath. To me this makes absolute perfect sense for many
reasons: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">1. The water doesn't go
everywhere<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">2. I have room to
stretch my arm out as I sing into my loofah microphone<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">3. The water doesn't go
everywhere<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">4. I have plenty of
room to dance around whilst listening to NRJ on my shower radio<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">5. The water DEFINITELY
doesn't go everywhere<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">6. The shower/bath
screen doesn't get soaking wet – which means a lot less cleaning effort<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">7. If someone
accidentally bursts in to my apartment for emergency water repairs whilst I am
in said shower, they won't get a full frontal view at first sight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">8. Oh, and of course,
the water DOES NOT go everywhere and my bathroom isn't turned into a lake that
could rival the Olympic diving pool.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">The Germans are usually
such logical creatures, but when it comes to attaching bathroom apparatus they
fail miserably. Maybe all the bathroom fitters are on cannabis? *Takes a puff* "Hee hee hee! Hans, here's a great plan, let's put the shower on the wrong wall and let the whole place get wet every time they shower! Hee hee hee! I'm so funny and clever and great at practical jokes! Hee hee hee! Hey Hans, is that a water fairy over there?" *takes another puff*. That's the only
way I can explain why they decide to attach the shower on the long sidewall -
facing the bath screen. Why oh why oh why? It makes absolutely no sense.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">At an open apartment
viewing (a whole other experience to go into) I was walking around a beautiful
new build place with all the mod cons, then I stepped into the bathroom and saw
the shower and my heart sank. Not even modern builds are adopting modern
bathroom sense? I heard a slight sigh next to me and turned round. It was a guy
looking as disappointed as I felt. 'English?", I said. "How did you
know?", he said. "Your look of utter disappointment at the bathroom shower".
At which point he too, launched into a huge rant about it. It really does
disturb us British – it makes us feel like the whole German world has gone mad
with this decision. Whatever next?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Well…it get's worse.
The appliance hell doesn't end there. Toasters. In England toasters are a beloved,
if not sacred, object. Tea and toast. Tea and crumpets (if you don't know what
these are, you are missing out). Tea and pancakes. Tea and toasted teacakes.
Ok, I know it's a lot of tea drinking, but you get my point. The toaster is
part of our daily tea drinking and toast loving British lives. To the
Germans, toasters are entirely disposable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">So far, in all the
houses and apartments I have been in Germany, there has barely ever been a
toaster in sight. If there has been, it has been covered, dusty, under a pile
of newspapers and empty bakery bags (no joke). It's traumatic. The Germans just
don't do toast. They don't understand the concept. They are all about the
Vollkorn bread and the Breze, but toast? Oh no, thank you. To the British,
toast and bread are almost like two entirely separate entities. German's
definitely don't differentiate the two. I once asked for toast and a German
said "What? You mean toast bread?". Erm what? Toast bread? I mean,
yes I understand what they are getting at, toast is essentially toasted bread.
But still, the name repulsed every British bone in my body. I wanted to scream
: " No! I want bloody TOAST! Not TOAST BREAD! And if you are going to
insist on referring to its toasted state, then say TOASTED BREAD!".
*breathe*. The thing is though, it's not just that, they class "Toast
bread" as a totally separate sort of bread. Bread as we British know it,
the sandwich style with crusts on by good ol' Hovis or Warburtons, just doesn't
exist here. When you do find it, it's called "American sandwich
bread". I'm not sure which term enrages me more, "toast bread"
or "American sandwich bread". I feel like setting up my own brand of
"toast bread" and calling it "bread loaf", just to prove a
point. There's an idea. There's also confusion over what constitutes a toaster.
Germans seem to think that you can make breakfast toast with a sandwich
toaster. This is sacrilege. Of course you can't. A sandwich toaster is there to be used for cheese
and ham toasties ONLY. It's a delicate art to understand, obviously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">The holy grail of
appliance differences has also been discovered though. It's not all doom and
gloom…oh no. Everyone, kneel down and praise the glory of: the mixer tap. Every
apartment, no matter how big or small, old or new, has mixer taps as standard.
Long gone are the days of standing in a British bathroom desperately trying to
reach optimum temperature by splashing some of the ice cold freezing water from
one tap into you cupped hands and then adding a smidge of boiling hot water
from the other one – and then spashing it onto your face and realising that
despite your efforts you added too much cold water and just froze your face
off. No, no, the German's are having none of that palaver. Good ol' mixing taps
– a true wonder of the modern world. I bet the Germans feel like they have
gone back into the dark ages when they cross the channel and are faced by two
taps at the sink. No doubt the German husband calls to his wife: "Steffi,
vvvvhy are there two taps? Vot do I do vith the second one?" No doubt the
mysterious tap system perplexes them for the duration of their visit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">The question is though, are the mixer taps
worth the trade off for toasters and well-positioned shower heads? Never. Long
live toasters, crumpets and the Queen.</span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-34645921195171163252013-01-28T09:13:00.002-08:002013-02-26T14:20:59.567-08:00Are you looking at me punk?!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333233;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333233;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="DE" style="color: #262626;">Welcome to Germany. Welcome to the
world of the continual staring contest. Maybe it's an exaggeration, but for me,
it always seems that someone, somewhere in Munich is staring at me. Soon I am
going to develop an image complex. Am I going out with chocolate on my face?
Lipstick on my teeth? My knickers twisted? I sure hope not, but that's
definitely how the Germans make you feel with their continual onslaught of
intrigue that is painted so heavily on their otherwise innocent faces (always
encased with long, flowing blonde locks).</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #262626;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #262626;">In England it's definitely a heads down affair on the
underground and pretty much anywhere else. Maybe for fear that if you do
actually look at someone even in an innocent, indeliberate way, they will start
on you. I like to think though, that other than the fear of being pounced upon,
the English don't openly stare at people in the street and on the tube
because…well…they have manners. The Germans don't have such things engrained
into their being like the English do. I think for the English it's a birthright
- you inherit manners, a tea-drinking and biscuit dunking obsession, a
continual lust for bacon and an anti-jeans wearing policy before you have even
fully formed in the womb. The English would NEVER stare the way the German's
do. If someone did stare at us like that, we would meet them with an
aggressive: "What you lookin' at mate?" or "Problem
missy?". Here, in the realms of the Fatherland, it's an accepted part of
culture.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #262626;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #262626;">So why, are the German's staring so much? Is it me? Am I THAT
interesting / weird to them? For a long while I thought it was, but the truth
is, the Germans are just nosey. The way politeness is a part of who the English
are, nosiness is a part of the German make-up. It doesn't necessarily have to
be a negative, malicious thing but they definitely do want to know or find out
what is going on when they don't have all the facts. Maybe that's it, the
German lust for information and facts to expand their knowledge and increase
efficiency? Quite possibly. Sometime though it's just PLAIN nosiness. This spans the generations too and isn't discouraged by elders. Like, for example,
when I was carrying a TV on the U Bahn…EVERYONE was staring at me. Including a
father and his son who had a full blown conversation about my TV whilst
standing next to me: " What make is it?", "I'm not sure son, I
can't see past the girl carrying it", "Oh it's Samsung",
"Sony is better". In ten minutes I had heard all of their opinions on
my brand new TV, all the while with both of them staring right at me and my purchase.
No shame! In England we are the experts, at least, of talking in hushed voices
when we are talking about someone nearby to us. Sneaky? Maybe. A little more
polite than loudly discussing every detail of the staring object? Most
definitely.</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333233;">
</span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333233;"><br /></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333233;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="DE" style="color: #262626;">Staring session number two: I was eating a pretzel and drinking
a can of coke on the U Bahn. The amount of disapproving stares I got was off
the scale. Ok, I admit, not the healthiest of choices, but I was hungry and
feeling under the weather and needed sugar fast. Ok, I also admit that the bag
the pretzel was in was waaaaaay too big for the pretzel in an almost comical
way, but that's not my fault. I NEVER stare at the morning meatloaf sandwich
munchers stinking out the whole S Bahn do I? No. Of course not.</span><span lang="DE" style="color: #262626;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="DE" style="color: #262626;">Staring session number three: the changing rooms at the gym.
Now, this, is the weirdest of them all. They are all women too, so what's the
deal? I'm sure this is a competitive ego thing for sure. Seeing who has the
least cellulite and the best undies. I've already told you that the German's
love to strut their stuff in the changing rooms, so the staring that
accompanies this should now come as no surprise to you.</span><span lang="DE" style="color: #262626;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="DE" style="color: #262626;">Staring session number four: staring at police station posters.
This is the height of nosiness. Never before have I seen someone so intrigued
as to who the latest bad guy on the run is that they actually ascend the police
station steps to take a look and peer avidly at the mugshot poster. It can only
be one of three things: extreme nosiness, a fear of the world, or…they are on
the run themselves and are hoping the police haven't wised up to their illegal
wanderings. Hopefully not the latter – they were fairly close to my
home…*gulp*.</span><span lang="DE" style="color: #262626;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="DE" style="color: #262626;">Staring number five: the intimidation stare. Now, this is
something new. I only experienced it today for the first time at the gym. Two
women aged 60 or so, came into the running machine part of the gym to see that
every one of them was taken. Now, if this were me (which it has been so many
times), I slink away and go on the spin bikes and then come back later to see
if there is any space. These German women? Oh no. Oh no, oh no. Wait? Them? Of
course not. They then proceeded to embark on a 30-minute (no exaggeration)
intimidating stare-a-thon at me and the other guy running away happily before
their invasion. I've never experienced anything like it. They even walked up
and down between our running machines staring at our times and distances on the
screen. Unbelievable! It was like a silent staring interrogation room (I won't
liken them to the 'unmentionable' In Germany that they perhaps could have been
in a former life) - totally uncomfortable - but I was determined not to give
in.</span><span lang="DE" style="color: #262626;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="DE" style="color: #262626;">Unfortunately, this staring side of German life is not something
that it is possible for me to change, so survival techniques are necessary.
Only after making mistakes which induce extreme-staring sessions is it possible
to learn what to avoid. Here is what I have learnt so far:</span><span lang="DE" style="color: #262626;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="DE" style="color: #262626;">Do not go to ANY kind of fancy dress party and travel to said
party on the U Bahn. White bunny ears and devil costumes will only cause
staring trouble, no matter how fabulous and funny you feel in said outfits –
the Germans will just look at you like you are: a) a hooker b) just let out of
the loony bin or c) an English stereotype that gets drunk and dresses up.</span><span lang="DE" style="color: #262626;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="DE" style="color: #262626;">Do not draw attention to yourself. Bright pink lipstick is not a
sexy, style statement in this city – it's a staring magnet.</span><span lang="DE" style="color: #262626;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span lang="DE" style="color: #262626;">And finally, whatever you do…don't make eye contact with anyone,
under ANY circumstances, whilst in the sauna area.</span><span lang="DE" style="color: #262626;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span lang="DE" style="color: #262626;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The stories behind the above learnings will have to be saved for
another time. Meanwhile, enjoy the stare-free freedom of your home countries.</span></span><span lang="DE"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--></span>Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-61607608762019842472012-12-22T13:02:00.000-08:002012-12-22T14:29:03.648-08:00"He's behind you!" – Oh no, wait, no he's not.<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">That's right, German pantomimes would be very different to English ones (if they even had Pantomimes that is). The Germans are definitely never behind you, they are alway one (or perhaps five) steps ahead of you. The Germans may be
efficient, but the Germans don't queue. No ifs or buts – they don't queue, end
of. What they are absolute masters of however, is the evasion of the dreaded English-style
queuing system (which I long and crave for, I have to admit). Don't let your
guard down for even a second; otherwise they will slip straight ahead of you –
taking the last butter breze that you had been craving in the office for the
last 3 hours (true story). The sneaky Germans can begin their queue-jumping
approach in several ways, all beginning with a seemingly innocent tap on the
shoulder followed by:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"Can I...?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"I don't want to buy
anything, I just have a quick question."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">"I was here earlier, I
just nipped to the toilet"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I have now learned the
responses to all of these potentially duping techniques:
GET.TO.THE.BACK.OF.THE.QUEUE<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I'm ashamed to say I fell
for all of these at first though, being the nice, trusting English person that
I am who has faith in those around me not trying to outwit me to the best
baked-goods. A fifty year old little...well..you know what...decided to cross
me when I was hungry and queuing to buy cream cakes (always a bad idea). I had
already waited over 15 minutes in the non-existent queue (it involves hovering
around the counter and hoping you catch the eye of the baker first!) and was
getting impatient. She leans across me (she knew what she was doing the devious
woman – a blatant body block if ever I saw one) and says, "I just have a
quick question!". Turns out, unsurprisingly, that the quick question was
about which cake she wanted to buy, which she then spends 15 minutes choosing
while I was standing behind, money in hand. The most shocking part is that
nobody around me was outraged by this. In England there would have definitely
been some tutting, or curt comments. Or, better yet, the baker would have said,
"I think this other lady was here first". Not in Germany. It's
Darwinian – you snooze you lose – and in this case I lost the strawberry
custard tart that I had greedily had my eye on for a full quarter of an
hour. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">What is amusing though, is
when a German tries a similar technique when surrounded by a group of British
people, like at the airport. I was waiting to board when a German guy comes
over and self-righteously pushes in front of me. I was not amused. Before I had
chance to breathe and open my mouth though, the British cavalry were already
there: "Oi mate, the back of the queue is behind you!". To which the
German replies *in a very German, comedy-style British accent*: "I vos on
thee toiLET, I vos ere before." Naturally though, the Brit didn't back
down: "Well I didn't see you mate and it sounds like a classic
queue-jumper thing to say. I'm afraid if you go for a p*** , you lose your
place." Safe to say, this brazen British attitude actually worked. I
smiled inwardly – God Save the Queen and her queue-obsessed citizens.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">German queue behaviour is
pretty strange too. I feel like as British person it is innate to queue in a
straight line, one behind the other and, naturally, make sure you don't skip
ahead of someone who was there 2 hours before you. The Germans? They do the drip
effect. This can be best seen at airports (regardless of whether you are flying
EasyJet or Lufthansa). As soon as that boarding announcement echoes over the
airwaves, the Germans jump up from their seats and swarm towards the desk, in
drip-like fashion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">One of the most frustrating
habits though, involves the U Bahn. I can be standing waiting for the U Bahn to
arrive for 10 minutes, with my prime spot where I know the doors will open
(yes...I'm sad...I actually now know this...) and then, low and behold, a
German comes and stands directly in front of me. DIRECTLY! It doesn't matter
that the rest of the platform is entirely free, oh no, they just HAVE to stand
there. Maybe it's the competitive side coming out again; in the same way it
surfaces in sports shops. Perhaps there is something in that though, I
definitely feel like it's always girls that do it – usually really pretty ones
too. They are usually tall, blonde, tanned and flick their hair in my face as
they do so. Lovely. I think this is definitely an underlying queue right too –
your points on the hotness scale. These pretty girls seem to feel like it is their
birthright to be first in the queue, no matter what the queue is for. A
generalisation? Perhaps. Then again, if you had had blonde locks thrown into
your face as much as I have, then you would understand where I am coming from.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Queuing at the supermarket
checkout is also another stumbling block to master. The conveyor belts are a
lot shorter in our supermarkets here – meaning a lot less time to load your
things on and off, and you can be sure you have a pushy German huffing and
puffing behind you. Yesterday I even had a woman stepping on my shoes in a
stress to put her cat food tins on the conveyor – calm down love! Parents with
no control over their children are also mildly enraging, even more so when they
ask you for a favour. The other day I was in the supermarket queue and a woman
asked me to get some stickers and give them to her, as my shopping would be
expensive enough to get them free. Sure, why not help a lovely mother? She
wasn't that lovely though. She let her irritating kids pull, push and shove
around me (and actually me too), and then patronisingly interrupted my
conversation with the cashier to tell me that she didn't want THOSE stickers,
she wanted the OTHER stickers, followed by a massive sigh of frustration and a
look which said *stupid British woman*. Meanwhile her children were mishandling
my oranges – little buggers. I felt like telling her to stick her stickers
where the sun didn't shine, but instead...I kept my cool.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Speaking of children, I had
a very irritating toilet-queuing situation recently (don’t get me started on
there only being 2 toilets for a place filled with hundreds of women). Everyone
was dying for the bathroom, that much was obvious, (blame it on beer), and then
a woman waltzes in with her son and pushes to the front. Now, don't get me
wrong, I'm not a child-hater...quite the opposite in fact. However, if he had
been under five it would have been fine...under 6...acceptable. But seven or
eight?! That's just wrong to me on too many levels. What's going to happen to
him if she sends him to the boy’s bathroom? He's not going to get lost in the
lavatory bowl. Even if he did, at least he would learn something. I'm almost
100% sure that he was a decoy because she was dying to go, and knew that would
help her get to the front. Never underestimate the power of a desperate, queue-jumping
German Frau.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Oktoberfest queuing is
another thing entirely. Luckily the bouncers are well trained for the regular
lines though, such as: "My friend is in there and has a table".
Luckily for me too, they weren't trained in regard to boobs, exceedingly good
dirndl bras and bunches of single women – I can unashamedly say that I got into
tents every time this year with little trouble (am I turning into a
queue-jumping German?!).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It's not all rudeness and
pushing and shoving through. Oh no. The German's can be extremely polite – just
in the most awkward of places: the sauna, and the changing rooms. You can be
standing starkers in the changing room and the Germans will always greet the
room with great gumption when they enter and leave it and if they think you may
not have heard their hearty hello, they will probably come closer and say it
again (regardless of your naked state), so make sure to respond straight away
to avoid having a close-up and personal version. In the sauna too, it's the
same: "Grüß Gott" (Greet God. Welcome to the catholic state of
Bavaria – this is how we say hello here) is said to the whole room upon
entering. For the first time in their day too, the Germans actually shift over
and look almost eager for you to sit beside them. Hmmm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">On second thoughts, maybe
I'm not so unhappy with the impolite attitude. Actually, I would definitely
welcome it in the wellness area if it means no more awkward sauna situations–
go ahead Germans, spread meanness across the spa world, you have my
blessing! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-51113679695577600392012-11-22T12:42:00.002-08:002012-11-22T13:34:58.042-08:00"I see naked people". "How often do you see them?" *cue tortured-looking-Sixth-Sense-style expression* "All the time!"<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">If you have a fear of
genitals then Germany isn't the place for you. They pop out of nowhere when you
are least suspecting it. Here, there, everywhere. You can be bending down to
pick up a pen you dropped, turn around and then suddenly meat and two veg are
practically grazing your right cheek (the cheek belonging to your face, that
is). You really could do a twisted naked version of Sixth Sense quite easily in
Germany's nudist-filled environs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Seriously though, Germany
is definitely the land of the 'free' in the clothes wearing sense. Whenever and
wherever there is an opportunity to strip off and strut their naked stuff, the
Germans will take it. When I first arrived in Munich I was an innocent, fairly
prude British soul. Naked? In public? Me? I was afraid of even my doctor seeing
anything from the neck down, let alone Joe down the road in a public place. The
main place where you can't avoid naked bodies is the sauna. Yes, the sauna. I
know British people will be reading this thinking "huh?” Here's the huge
difference between Germany and England though (which pretty much acts as an
indicator to their attitude to nakedness in general), in English saunas and
spas there are huge signs that read: "Swimwear must be worn in the sauna
and spa area at ALL times". Here's the German: "Swimwear must NEVER
be worn in the sauna at ANY time. Those who do will be politely asked to
leave". Leave?! LEAVE?! Yes...I was as shocked as you were in the
beginning. It only gets worse though. Once I was at a large water park / spa and
then there was an announcement over the tannoy: "Please be advised that it
is now 6pm and the whole of the area is now "Textilfrei" Those who do
not wish to participate must now leave". Textile-free? I didn't have much
time to process the information before all of the German's were stripping off
and swimming in the pool around me – the stuff of nightmares. Never until that
point have I been more concerned about accidentally kicking someone with my
foot whilst swimming...who knows what my toes may touch...?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Over time I gradually
started to adopt the German approach and go starkers in the sauna (I know, too
much information, right?). Still, at least you have a towel to wrap around you.
It's all about the technique too though...the technique I like to think of as ASS:
Avoidance. Shielding. Sweating. Here's how it works:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">1. Avoidance. I try to make
sure I am in the sauna on my own if possible, carefully timing it so that I
always start my session when someone has just left (this also avoids the awkwardness
of being in sync with another sauna-goer...which essentially means that you sit
naked together, shower next to each other, sleep next to each other, and then
do the whole thing all over again two more times *squirm*). If this isn't
possible, I at least try to be first in the sauna, lie down, in the darkest
corner and close my eyes – that way, I will never know who was in there with me
and will never have the difficult moment of seeing them in clothes and not
really knowing quite what to say.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">2. Shielding. You definitely
have to have technique as a woman. Guys have it easy – they just whack the
towel around their wil.... well...you know. Women have so much extra to shield!
It's taken me several times over the years to perfect, but now I've got it down
to a fine art so that any potential perverts don't really get much of a show.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">3. Sweating. The more you
sweat and the hotter you look – the less likely you are to be the centre of
male attention. So work those sweat beads ladies!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">All this though, is
unfortunately not enough to deter the Germans. They LOVE to talk whilst in the
sauna, even to complete embarrassed strangers like me. One opening line was:
"you seem sporty, were you in the gym with me earlier?" (a bit
stalker-ish...), another was from an old, fat, Bavarian man: "Was that you
swimming earlier? You are really fast!" (My thoughts: yes...I am
fast...because I'm not seventy...in fact I'm young enough to be your
granddaughter and you are talking at me and my fully exposed boobs right now -
STOP IT!).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">As well as the saunas
though, there are also whole naked Sauna Worlds! Yes...worlds! There are over
40 saunas of different kinds...including ones with planetariums inside or
thrones and beer on tap...it really is a whole new world of naked fun. The
thing I can't get over though is swimming naked in a pool with other people
(yes I did it...got to try everything once right?). It's like taking a bath
with everyone who you are on the U Bahn with – what a disgusting and
shudder-worthy thought.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Unfortunately the nakedness
isn't confined to the spas though. Oh no. In Germany "Where's Willy?"
rather than "Where's Wally?" is probably their favourite book. You
could definitely make a good game out of it in Munich's English Gardens in the
summer. Nakedness reigns in certain sections, so you need to be careful where
you lay down your mat to sunbathe! The riverbanks are swarming with the nudists
too (although that term probably doesn't apply in Germany, as everyone is a
little bit of a nudist inside). There is one character that I call
"Jesus", who has long hair...a long beard...wears white kaftans and
strips off to bathe in the crystal clear running waters of the Isar (no doubt
he's a crazy Catholic thinking he can cleanse his sins!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Personally I just think the
Germans are all extreme exhibitionists. The female changing rooms at the gym in
Germany are a good example of that. I'm very British when it comes to the
changing rooms: I choose a locker in the corner and get changed facing it, as
quickly as possible. The Deutsch women? No way, this is the chance for them to
strut their sexy stuff! They stroll around, even putting their socks on before
their kickers – weird. What makes me laugh the most though is when they actually
do their moisturising regime for all to see. Slapping on the cream extra loudly
to make heads turn, then putting one leg up dramatically on the bench while
they rub it in. (I'm sure for any men reading this...this is nearly their
"Fifty Shades of Grey" erotic novel moment and I'm just reinforcing
the stereotype in their minds that all women do when they are alone together is
run around semi naked. Maybe it’s not a stereotype after all and the men are
totally on-point...) It all boils down to competition though, like everything
with the Germans. They just want to show off the body they spent 2 hours
perfecting that evening, that's all. I can't help thinking: "Whatever
love, you slap on that cream onto your toned abs, I really don't care and
there's no guys to faun all over you in the female locker room so I don't get
your game plan – I'm going home to eat cake and watch trash TV...and I'm going
to enjoy every second of it!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Strange things have started
happening to me though. I'm always adding a sauna session onto my gym stint. I
look at friends in shock when they say they wear swimwear into the sauna in
England: "It ruins your swimwear! Don't you get hot? It’s so
unhygienic!". In fact...am I starting to become accustomed to stripping
off without a care in the world? Am I *gulp*, becoming a naked-loving German?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I think I'm a few naked steps away from nudist –
but that's not to say that being naked in a small sauna doesn't have its
benefits, particularly when the German football team walks in like they did
into mine. And I'll leave you with that little nugget to ponder on.</span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-30349387724162977872012-11-09T15:30:00.002-08:002012-11-09T15:35:50.110-08:00I just wanna make you sweat<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I'm sure that when Snoop
Dog sang (rapped?) these immortal words, he wasn't aiming them towards the
Germans. Perhaps the glowing skin of the LA Americans needs to be told to sweat a
little more so that people actually believe that they are a) human and b) are actually
working out. The Germans definitely don't need Snoop Dog to persuade them –
perspiration seems to be a way of life for so many of the population in the Fatherland.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">An insulting
generalisation? Maybe. However, the amount of body odour I have experienced
this week has been overwhelming. On the U Bahn, in the shops, and...of
course...in the gym.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">In England we do take
towels to the gym, but generally I find that you take one that is only slightly
larger than flannel size in order to discreetly mop away the little beads of sweat on your forehead, and also to put in between
your hands and the machine. In my mind, it's really all that's necessary
really, provided that you use the antibacterial spray properly. The Germans
definitely don't think so. The majority of fitness fanatics in the 'fitness studio' give me and my towel
disapproving looks and I'm sure I've already got a reputation as "dirty
girl" – and not in the "oh she's so hot and dirty" capacity
either.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> In Germany I have
noticed that the Germans bring four massive towels to the gym. I find that a
fairly astounding amount of drying material to bring to one place. I find it
particularly shocking because I never have that many towels all clean at one
moment in time – how do they do it? Seriously though, I probably had my mouth
open in surprise when I, for the first time, saw so many people with gym bags
the size of houses because of their overflowing towels inside. Now I know why though: they need at least four in order to effectively mop up the buckets of sweat that they perspire during
the thirty minutes that they are on the treadmill. Actually, if we want to be accurate here, it is one towel for
the 'fitness studio', one for the swimming pool, and two for the sauna session
– one to pop their sweaty behind onto and the other to rub themselves down
during said sauna session. It really is a technical towel technique that must
take years and German heritage to master – I assume this anyway, as I am lucky
if I even remember mine!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Towels aside, body odour is
definitely an issue everywhere. Do they not know about the miracle power of deodorant?
If so many people smelled that bad in Britain there would be a riot. Ok, so maybe
not a riot, but at least someone would say something. Like, for example,
"Hey best friend / girlfriend / boyfriend, I love you with all my heart,
but you smell like rotting cheese and I don't think I can take it anymore.
Here's some Rexona (Sure) – use it, and enjoy". Maybe this non-deodorant-wearing
phenomenon is an extension of the Bio-buying obsession (Germans LOVE organic
food to the point where it's a status symbol. Don't get me wrong, I love
organic food too, but in Germany buying 'Bio' is the equivalent of being robbed
in daylight). "How on earth is buying organic in any way linked to deodorant?”
I hear you cry. Well, it's probably because the Germans are afraid of the
chemicals contained inside. I don't blame them for their fears, but if they are willing to
drink copious amounts of Diet Coke and Spezi (Coke and Fanta mixed
together...weird...and disgusting!) that is filled with aspartame, then why
can't they just bite the bullet and spray under their arms too? What's more,
this isn't even really excuse – have they not seen Garnier's chemical free, au
naturel range? If not, then I will gladly direct them to it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The worst part is that they
don't even seem to notice. When getting on he U bahn the other morning, the
doors opened and I was hit with a wall of heat and odour (a mixture of body
stench and the pungent smell of a 2 day old meatloaf (<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; line-height: 16px;"><em style="color: black; font-style: normal;">Leberkäse) </em></span>sandwich that someone was
consuming at 8am...yum). Naturally, I opened the window when I went inside. The
businessman opposite me watched me do it, giving me an evil stare as I did so. He
then sneakily waited for me to put my earphones in and close my eyes for my
morning commuting nap and then he slammed it shut again. Crafty little bugger.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Back in the environs of the
gym, there is a whole new trend kicking off. Not washing your gym clothes in
between sessions. Now, this is going beyond the Bio-buying principal, this is a hygiene
basic. I don't need to describe the smell, I'm sure you can guess. I think the
gym team noticed it too, as now there are signs that say that you have to wear
clean clothes and shoes when training. Signs! Now do you understand the extent
of the problem? Here's the added horror too – you aren't allowed to open the
windows in the gym except for five minutes every hour and that is usually only done by a trained window-opening gym professional. In fact, even when you or the gym instructor does do that, the Germans look at you like you are crazy, weird, or like they want to
come over and put the weight they are holding in your face. Yes, the air issue
is that serious. So serious in fact, that the instructions regarding only being
allowed to open the window once every hour is written on another lovely little
sign next to the window. This sign also says that these rules are now set in place to create fairness after
the "disputes" and "situation which ensued last year".<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I can only assume that the
situation was this: an expat was close to dying of body odour poisoning in the
gym and went to open a window. The Germans, in fear of catching a cold from
the fresh air (n.b. see earlier blog for innate German fear of being cold and
fresh air making you catch a cold) ran to shut it and then in their haste,
accidentally pushed the expat out of the window – resulting in a messy
manslaughter case (which was the aforementioned "situation").<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Or something like that
anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I fear I am going to be the
next "situation" when I just can't take it anymore and have to wrench
open the window. Fingers crossed they have implemented a safety measure and
there is a crash mat waiting for me at the bottom. If not, farewell friends.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-44835416227292552212012-10-20T06:48:00.003-07:002012-11-25T15:16:06.386-08:00Do I look like a drug addict?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Germans do healthcare
differently. As already mentioned, I'm a hardcore fan of the German healthcare
system - if they did cute little t-shirts with "I heart German
healthcare" on them, I'd definitely buy one and parade it around the town.
When it comes to waiting times, knowledge and niceties from GPs and reception
staff, Germany would win the gold medal (if there was such a thing as the
Medical Olympics!).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When it comes to having a
cold or flu in Germany though, that's when I want to get the first plane back
to England and kiss the feet of the CEO of Boots, Superdrug, and whoever
decided that Tesco should start having its own pharmacy. Well, kiss their feet
and then maybe kidnap them and drag them back to Germany with me to start an
entrepreneurial venture.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Buying medicine to fight
colds and flu in Germany is a challenge, and not one you want to undertake with
a temperature, runny nose and sore throat. Where can you buy those
all-important life-saving drugs? The pharmacy. "Why not just pop to the supermarket
or boots-equivalent?", I hear you cry. Well, because they simply don't
sell them. When I first arrived in Germany and wasn't acquainted with their
approach to medicine dispensing, I spent a good half an hour in both my local
supermarket and toiletry-selling shop trying to find an elusive pack of
paracetamol - only to discover that I would never find it in either of these
places.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">To be fair, there are a
large number of pharmacies around but just sometimes, I would like to do
everything all at the same time without having to traipse around numerous shops
to get the array of items that I need (note: shopping for clothes is also the
same soul-destroying experience. There are 3 H&M's and 3 Esprit shops all
in the centre of the city... plus 2 Debenhams-style department stores which
also stock the brands...all, however, stock different things...so if you want the hat you saw online that isn't already in the current shop you are in, you have to buy your jumper that's already taken you 3
hours to find and try on amidst the crowds, and then go to yet another H&M
or Esprit branch...it really is a lot of fun!). The pharmacies are expensive
too. I paid 8 Euros for Strepsils. 8 EUROS!!! I nearly had a heart attack at
the counter when she told me the price. Thinking about it maybe I should have
feigned a heart attack...then maybe I would have got a discount. There are
little things I like about the pharmacies though. The fact that if you purchase
something they always give you little freebies like cough sweets or tissues or
a La Roche-Posay face cream sample...or...the most random one I was once given
was athlete's foot cream, when all I went in to buy was aspirin. Do I look like
I have sweaty feet?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">As well as looking like a
person who has a sweaty foot problem, I think a lot of the pharmacists mistake
me for a drug addict. No, really. In England it's customary to have a medicine
box at home full of all the essentials and when it's running low, whether you
are ill or not, you go and "stock up". "Stocking up"
doesn't feature in the lives of the Germans when it comes to medicine or anything else for that matter (I'm always the only one at the supermarket doing a "weekly
shop" with a trolley rather than having merely 3 things in a basket). I really don't understand, why wait until you are dying of the flu
or dying of hunger to traipse to the shops and get the essentials? This really
does go against the way the Germans meticulously plan everything else in their lives. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This lack of "stocking up" habit creates problems for me. If I walk
into a pharmacy and ask for several packs of paracetamol, aspirin, ibuprofen
and perhaps some cough medicine just in case, to say that the pharmacist looks
perturbed would be a total understatement. "You do know that you must not
take this all at the same time don't you?” the pharmacist says, looking deeply
into my eyes as if trying to scan for suicidal tendencies. I always reply with
a hearty laugh saying that I am "stocking up", but they never look convinced and
their nervous demeanour doesn't evaporate with these words. Fear of overdose even goes as far as
tea. No, I'm not kidding. A friend of mine wanted to buy some herbal tea for
her grandma's indigestion. As her grandma lives in another country, she wanted
to buy several and take them back to her (yet another smart person who
"stocks up", I heartily approve). The cashier point blank refused to sell her 4 boxes of tea because of the overdose-risk. Overdose risk?! For tea?! I'm sure even if
grandma did have a massive teapot at home to fit all 80 bags in at once, that
the biggest problem it would have caused her would have been an 80-day bathroom stint.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">It must also be mentioned
that the Germans are extremely partial to a good old bit of homeopathy. Don't
get me wrong, I love alternative remedies and will always give them a go, but
sometimes you need something a bit more substantial and medically hardcore to
get you through a working day whilst ill. If you can't breathe, then I'm not
really sure that a 14 euro sea salt natural nose spray will cut the mustard, or
rather, cut through the green sinus blockage gunk (mmm...lovely).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Having said that, maybe I'm already turning more
German than I think. I just bought 8 tea bags for 2 Euros called
"Erkältungstee", which is a tea made of natural herbs to fight colds
and alleviate flu symptoms. It tastes like dishwater, so it better work. If
not, I just got ripped off for a disgusting tea that will be more likely to
help me grow elderflowers out of my ears than solve my autumn illness. </span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-76309377857350697712012-10-03T08:00:00.003-07:002012-11-25T15:23:51.558-08:00German Efficiency <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">We spend so much time these
days trying to crush stereotypes because they are apparently untrue
and prejudiced. Some are and I'm all for the crushing of those, others, however,
should just be accepted...and maybe even applauded. Yes, I'm talking about the
old stereotype about Germans being super efficient. It's definitely true (as is
the staple joke about towels...towels always cover the best loungers in the spas
to "reserve" them for the German ghosts that are never seen lying on them
until 10 minutes before closing).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I loved living in France,
but there was one big reason as to why I could never live there permanently.
The word "efficient" might as well not exist in French vocabulary.
Shop and supermarket opening times are ridiculous enough as it is (8 until 11,
3 until 5, 8 until 9...which is code for how many cigarette breaks they need
throughout the day and how long they need for the traditional leisurely French
lunch), then add to that the fact that you can cycle your little socks off to
get there in time after work to buy the all important ingredients for your
Boeuf Bourguignon only to discover that its closed...again...probably because
the owner , Jean, got restless and decided to go and have a Café au Lait with his mate
Pierre and discuss crucial political points.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Enough of the French
though, that's a whole other blog opportunity! Good old efficient Germans. As
soon as I stepped foot on the soil of the Fatherland I felt that I had found my
long lost home, I could breathe easy for the first time - my OCD of planning and
efficiency would finally be satisfied and understood: trains would run on time,
shops would be open until the second hand clicks onto the 8pm closing time and
questions would be answered with precision and perfect solutions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Efficiency runs through the
veins of the Germans, even more so than in mine. God forbid that the U-bahn is
half a second late. In fact, you don't even need to look at the clock to know
that it is late, the frustrated rustle of German bodies on the platform as they
pull out their iPhones to check the time and then glance in the direction of
where the train should be coming from, is enough of a giveaway. I'm pretty sure
that after it arrives they are then using their WiFi to look up the MVV
transport network complaint form, ready to download and fill out at the
office. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">This is in stark contrast to
the British, they would not doubt be eagerly, loudly and shameless speaking
into their phone: "Hey Barry, yeah, train's late, fingers crossed it won't
bloody come at all and we can sod off and go and have a pint mate!"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">There is a marked
difference that sets German efficiency apart though and that is: the art of
anticipation. The Germans invented this little beauty, no doubt. "What the heck the art of anticipation when it's at
home?!", I hear you cry. Well, essentially it means that they anticipate
situations BEFORE they even happen - resulting in absolute maximum efficiency.
It's like the Germans were all born with an inner eye that allows them to
accurately predict the future. Their inner eye must have been having an off day when the British won the war...then again their Lord Voldemort-style leader was Austrian...and that's a whole different kettle of German-speaking fish. If you call the German equivalent of 999
(It's 112...just in case you are ever in need.... and if you are...remember it was
me and my blog that saved you from certain death in Deutschland!), then no
matter the problem, they will just sent everything: fire engine, ambulance and
police. Not only will they do that, they will probably also send three of each,
just to be on the safe side. How considerate of them. If I had someone
chasing me down the street trying to kidnap me, I would want it to happen in
Germany - the emergency services would probably have already predicted our
route and set up a roadblock in advance to intercept us. Once I even saw 10
fire engines go past my suburban road, none with sirens on. I can only assume
that they were teaching colleagues new, faster routes to get to fires so they
didn't get lost (as this was a new building estate) - can you get any more
efficient than that?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Doctors are also no
exception when it comes to the efficiency rule. Whatever the problem, even if your GP can't
see anything wrong, they will refer you to a specialist to be on the safe side
and to make you feel at ease. "Oh that's all well and good, but you will
probably have to wait 6 months to see the specialist!", I hear you grumble. Well...no. I
once had pain in my ear but my GP couldn't see anything inside. Now, if I were
in England I would have been ushered out at this point as an overly dramatic
hypochondriac, inventing ear issues (that is, of course, if I managed to get past the mardy, unhelpful receptionist batallion at the front desk and get an appointment in the first place). This is Germany though. She immediately
called her specialist friend around the corner and I was seen by them 15
minutes later. By "seen" I mean I went to a futuristic, state-of-the-art
looking surgery, and they used ultrasound on my face and ears to see what
normal apparatus can't - low and behold I had perforated the eardrum caused by my
flight over from the UK. See? Efficiency wins again! If I were in England I
would still be suffering...which the doctor would probably call "character building". Hmm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">With Oktoberfest in full swing
right now (or "Wiesn' if you want to be a true local), the German
efficiency OCD is at it's best. They have staff at all major U Bahn stations to
help you onto public transport and make sure you don't drunkenly disappear down
the crack between the train and the platform. In England they would probably
just watch and laugh at your stupidity - right? After all, it's a new drunken
tale to tell! Not only that though, the U-bahns are actually going a lot slower
than usual, just in case a drunken Oktoberfest reveller decided to fall in
front of them. They really have thought of everything.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So it seems that this
German stereotype is one that really is special, and deserves applause. As I
returned home in the early hours on Friday from the Wiesn' I was thinking exactly
this - everything had worked like clockwork. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Then my night bus didn't
turn up for some reason, meaning my 4am antics turned into 5am by the time I
got home - tired, cold and slightly traumatised after avoiding several kidnap
attempts ( With one guy approaching me and asking me how I am in a dark street: Him in a creepy voice: "Don't you trust me?", Me: "hmm...let me
think...NO!"Another directly asking me and another girl at the stop to
spend the night with him in a hotel and fulfil his dreams...I think you can
already anticipate my response despite perhaps not having the magical German
inner eye). Finding another bus stop was equally a struggle, I'm so used to
German sign efficiency that when there isn't one there directing me where I
need to go, then I am lost. I wasn't the only one either - I accumulated a
number of other lost German women on my way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I don't have an iPhone, but if I did I'm sure I
would have been looking up the MVV complaint form on Friday evening (and perhaps also "SOS
harassment"). I was also cursing the fact that I hadn't taken a jumper
with me because I was so chilled to the bone in the night air and worrying that I would get ill the next day because of it. Maybe I'm already German after
all?</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment-->Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-43931020624668118562012-09-27T14:03:00.002-07:002012-09-27T14:37:30.158-07:00Run, Forrest. Run!So this weekend I delved into a whole new German world...sport. Some people think that the Americans are the most competitive nationality when it comes to any kind of physical activity. Those people haven't met the Bavarians. The Bavarians are a strange bunch. They love their beer and sausages and pretzels, but they also love hardcore exercise and can often be seen on Sundays surfing, running and cycling around the city and its environs.<br />
<br />
This Sunday I took part in the Tegernseelauf (for non-German speakers, this is a run around a lake called Tegernsee in the mountains close to Munich). Although I used to play a lot of team sports like Netball in school, I definitely wasn't a performer when it came to athletics. When I run longer distances I tend to look like a half dead, beetroot-red mongoose, which has never really encouraged me to do it. Either I'm incredibly unfit, or I have a superior circulation system that unfortunately just pumps the blood to my face instead of to my heart. If anyone ever asks me, I'm going to say the latter. I did, however, bite the red-faced bullet this week and I ran 10km.<br />
<br />
In the "run" up to the race (excuse the pathetic pun...it was just too tempting to whack in there), I did do a lot of training, as eventually I would like to run a Half Marathon (If I do, I'm sure I will make the German headlines"Mongoose running loose in marathon", as the reporters fail to identify that the red thing running around inexpertly is, in fact, human and called Louise). In order to train, you need some running kit. In England it would be acceptable to just throw on some old, perhaps even stained, jogging trousers and a t-shirt. Doing this in Germany would be like committing sports suicide. If you enter the park for a run with anything less than an ipod/iphone, fancy trainers (I actually initially wrote running shoes here...dear God...the German-English is infiltrating my brain already!) and Nike or Adidas running clothes, then you will get the "pity" look. I'm genuinely serious. It's the kind of look that says: "Oh look at that girl "trying" to be a runner, bless her, she will never make it". Actually, scratch the "bless", the Germans wouldn't have that much sympathy. To be considered to be taking your fitness seriously in Germany, you need to dress seriously and look the part. Initially I didn't and even my Pineapple capris didn't cut the mustard...and the pity look ensued.<br />
<br />
In fact, even the sports shops are serious here in Munich. The running floor even has a mini running track and running machine so you can test out your new pair of shiny Nikes to check that they are up to scratch. Never mind that you smoke, drink beer, eat sausages and are generally unfit - oh no - it's THE TRAINERS that make all the difference! Add to that the fact that I've seen people queuing in their droves to buy trainers in the 'sale' - "Reduced from 200 Euros to 195 you say? Quick, here's my card!". I'll never understand the Bavarians paying these prices - the Munich population must have money to burn...or calories that they are so desperate to that they will pay any price for the gear that they think will help them to do so. There is even a competitive atmosphere in the shop while everyone runs up and down the track trying on different pairs - each beautifully groomed woman eyeing up her competition...thinking "These pink, Nike Free Running trainers looks so much better on me, because I am amazing, I am beautiful...I am a RUNNER!"Yes, being a "runner", gives you status here. In England it would be: "Are you crazy? Running in the rain on a Sunday when you could be in bed with a hangover after an amazing Saturday night?!"<br />
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If you can't beat them, join them - as the old saying goes. Whilst in the shop, the German within me seemed to come to the surface all of a sudden and I purchased one of those pretentious running belts with water bottles and a pouch and a Nike Climacool top and shorts (because a standard t-shirt just wouldn't be good enough, or German enough, now would it?). Some of these running belts have 5 bottles attached. Who on earth needs 5 bottles?! I'd be stopping off for a wee every five seconds if I drank that much during exercise! Then again, I need to remind myself that the Germans are always cold and always dehydrated (the shock on the salesperson's face when I bought shorts is a whole different story).<br />
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Armed with my new running gear I hit the park again. RESULT. No pity stares this time...looks of fear were on their faces! (hopefully due to my new, serious sporting look and not because I had a VPL line...or something stuck to my face...or because they were in fear of my life because I was wearing shorts in less than 25 degrees).<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-20g_H5FKcB4/UGS8ce7qOLI/AAAAAAAAADc/cia7jEa_edU/s1600/HBiK8F2S_Pxgen_r_478x307.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-20g_H5FKcB4/UGS8ce7qOLI/AAAAAAAAADc/cia7jEa_edU/s320/HBiK8F2S_Pxgen_r_478x307.jpg" width="320" /></a>The race itself, however, had a fantastic atmosphere that was completely the contrary to the competitive-filled parks of Munich. Everyone was really friendly and pumped for the race. The backdrop of a stunning lake and mountains really topped it off for me and I thought: how lucky am I to be in a city and only 30 minutes away from stunning places like this?<br />
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I had to hold my laughter in when The Final Countdown played before the start - I haven't heard that since cheesey music night at the student union, totally wasted on Snakebite and Black ("Purple" for Warwick students) and swaying with hall mates.<br />
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I made it through though - I pulled out all my German sporting power and made 34th place out of 500 in my age group. Not too shabby for my first ever race! The Germans really have it right too - free beer, pretzels, fruit and chocolate at the finish line! The good atmosphere created by those running with me and supporters clapping at every kilometre (including my own - thank you Ju!), made me reconsider - had I been too harsh? Maybe the German's weren't mean and overly competitive, self-righteous and in love with themselves when it comes to sport? Maybe I was wrong about them? Maybe they had been misjudged and misunderstood? The poor souls.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LFfWaVBCF1g/UGS8s9KaTRI/AAAAAAAAADk/LUIvg1B-Yq0/s1600/120923_Tegernseelauf_223.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LFfWaVBCF1g/UGS8s9KaTRI/AAAAAAAAADk/LUIvg1B-Yq0/s320/120923_Tegernseelauf_223.jpg" width="320" /></a>Just as this thought struck me I saw the perfectly toned body of the blonde girl leading the pack, with a crop top on to show off her incredibly flat stomach (be proud if you have one, just don't let the rest of us feel bad by wearing skimpy running gear), hair perfectly groomed, nose in the air, and her boyfriend cycling alongside her carrying her water and energy bars and diligently handing them over when barked at.<br />
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Ok, so maybe the sport-crazy, beautiful Munich Germans will never change.<br />
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<br />Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-36412815178790097532012-09-17T11:58:00.000-07:002012-09-17T12:29:31.743-07:00Weißwurst-Frühstück anyone?<div>
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Well, it's official, I'm truly on my way to becoming a Bavarian Frau (minus the cleavage that I can, unfortunately, never hope to obtain). Speaking of cleavage, when I actually bought my first dirndl last year, I was rather disgruntled. I had tried on numerous sizes and styles and wasn't getting the desired effect (cleavage-wise). In the end, I just pointed at the saleswoman’s breasts and said longingly in my worst German: " I want what you have!" Rather than being disconcerted by the fact that I was longingly looking at her chest, she understood me straight away and said: "What you need, my dear, is a dirndl bra!” and she promptly went off to find me one. The German's really do have a solution for everything - including body parts - amazing. <br />
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Anyway, putting breasts aside...<br />
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This week I donned my dirndl, jumped on my bike (I know, the stereotypical image!) and winged my way to a friend's Weißwurst-Frühstück. Normally very little can raise me from my bed at 8am on a Saturday morning, but the prospect of sausages, pretzels and beer before midday was just too tempting (and of course, spending time with some wonderful people and celebrating their university success!). Weißwurst is a different kind of sausage and actually, doesn't look that appetising - it's like an albino sausage, with its pale white skin. Actually, thinking about it, it's probably the kind of sausage I would be if I were turned into a sausage in my next life - pale...white...no matter how long I cook I never turn a shade darker...<br />
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For those that don't know, it's made of a mixture of veal and pork and is cooked in boiling water with chives. I did, however, learn that there is an art to eating it.<br />
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It's important that the sausage is kept in the boiling water until the minute you eat it - that's why it always comes in a cute little bowl. Why? So you can take the skin off of course! Unlike other sausages here in Germany, you don't eat the skin on a Weißwurst. I'm a bit disconcerted by this...what's wrong with the skin? Actually, I'm even more disconcerted by the fact that I have, before now, unknowingly eaten the skin. <br />
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Luckily I was sitting next to my friend's boyfriend Richard, a "true" Bavarian who was able to impart the all-important skin-peeling knowledge onto me. Slit it right down the middle and then peel! Sounds simple, but I promise you that I was definitely the only person fiddling with her sausage for longer than a minute (there's no innuendo-free way of saying that sentence). Maybe next time I should try the extreme, yet well-loved by the Bavarians, technique of slitting the end off and then sucking the sausage out of the skin... (I know - just when you thought the innuendos were over).<br />
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It really was a fantastic morning though. Weißbier, pretzels,Weißwurst, Obazda (a kind of spreadable cheese...it's my kryptonite) and good people - all enjoying breakfast together on a long bench. I couldn't help thinking that Britain could use more things like this. Don't get me wrong, I love drinking and dancing to celebrate as much as the next person, but there is something wonderful about spending a Saturday morning breaking bread (or rather, Breze), drinking - but not in order to get drunk, and chatting with old and new friends, rather than lying in bed hung-over from the night before.<br />
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This is part of Bavaria's heritage and I'm looking forward to making it an integral part of mine.<!--EndFragment--></div>
Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-19555855266244051712012-09-10T12:53:00.001-07:002012-09-10T14:06:09.753-07:00It's getting hot in here...Yes, I'm talking about weather and temperatures again. Don't hold it against me, I am British afterall. It's in our make up. As is small talk, a love for tea and gravy, and the ability to be extremely polite or completely disgruntled with the world around us (it must be noted that this list can also be affected by the weather outside our window...more sun...less tea...more rain...more roast dinners and gravy...heatwave (n.b. anything above 18 degrees)...happy and roaming the streets semi-naked...downpour...yelling at anyone that invades even a millimetre of our space).<br />
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I was prompted again to think of the differences between the Germans and the English in regard to temperatures, when a woman slammed the window shut on the U Bahn (more than likely because she was getting a chill!). It was roasting in there - rush hour, full of people, and definitely full of too much body odour for any window to be closed. As soon as she shut it all I could think of was an old school song by Nelly (who was popular when rapping was fresh and new and before Flo Rida featured on every US record with his blatant sexual innuendo songs): "It's getting hot in here, so take off all your clothes". No...I wasn't seriously considering stripping off and getting down and dirty with all of the German commuters. Although it would have been funny to see their faces if I had. Although having said that, they love naked spas...why not go one step further and bring naturism onto public transport too? I did, however, definitely take off as many layers as I possibly could without drawing too much attention.<br />
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The truth is though, that if it isn't July or August, if it is less than 29 degrees, and if you are wearing a short sleeved top - you will get attention and people will look at you as if you are insane / with pity for the chill and illness that it going to befall you for such a reckless removal of clothing. I'll never understand the hows and whys of German jean-and-cardigan-wearing when it's still warm outside.<br />
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I'm worried though that eventually I will be converted. A colleague of mine (who is American and lovely), actually moved from cardigan to coat when I opened the window for some fresh air yesterday (it was 24 degrees outside). Even she sheepishly admitted: "after 5 years here I seem to have become a cardigan and jeans convert - I'm always cold!" She had even (*gasp*) started believing that crisp, cold, fresh air will 90% of the time cause you to develop a cold, and will make you worse if you already have one - oh dear, oh dear.<br />
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This concerns me. This is one conversion to German life that I don't want to adopt (along with only wearing jeans when going out on the town - a subject to explore in depth another time).<br />
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I'm going to cling onto my short sleeves for dear life and even when the snow drifts come, I am determined to stride out in my skirts and tights, albeit with boots to stop me developing frostbite. I may get odd looks, some may fear for my life, but at least I will be: warm, fashionable, colourful, comfortable and not giving all my hard earned money to: GAP, Wrangler and Levis. Speaking of which, I'm sure if all the Germans girls switched to wearing skirts, these companies would have to quickly implement a plan of action to win them back( maybe long, denim skirts?) otherwise they would go under, or at least suffer a significant dent in their profit. I just shivered slightly thinking of a long, denim skirt trend hitting the streets. Either that or I'm getting chilly because the window is open...<br />
<br />Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-51269307709073501112012-09-10T12:17:00.000-07:002012-09-10T14:06:18.943-07:00Always ride on the right side of life!I've been fairly lucky with my old lady encounters so far in Germany. I must have a friendly face (or an easily persuadable one), as they always seem to come to me for help, wherever I am. I have, so far, helped an old woman get a loaf of bread down from the top shelf followed by a heartfelt discussion about the best bread to buy these days, showed another which U Bahn to get, had a little chat in German with a 70 year old about learning languages whilst swimming in a lake (multitasking at its best...my water tredding has never been so good!), helped another find the washing powder she was looking for...the list goes on. Do you think I've earned my place in heaven yet?<br />
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An American friend of mine hasn't been so fortunate. All of the mardy, old bags seems to find her. At first I thought she was just a little paranoid (sorry Liz!) but, all it took was a bus ride with her to see the torment she must often endure from 80 year old Germans. We were standing on the bus, nowhere near the old lady sitting down at the front. She suddenly started to rant various insults in German about English speakers and then proceeded to say directly to Liz: "You should know that I am getting off at the next stop and you are in my way". She didn't get off at the next stop. Or the next one. Or the one after that. So she wasn't just an old bag...she was a lying one too. Obviously our English conversation offended her narrow mind. Still, all credit goes to Liz - who retorted confidently in German, much to the woman's surprise. So it seems that whereas I have invisible sign on my back saying "Old lady S.O.S service", Liz has one saying "Take all your old lady baggage out on this American" sign. Hopefully they will never do this literally with their over-sized handbags filled with cans of dog food. The world can be cruel sometimes. *sigh*<br />
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I found out this weekend though that I am not completely immune from old lady wrath. In Munich we ride our bikes almost everywhere, it's fantastic. The cycle lanes are wide (enough for two bikes to ride side by side...this is an important point) and are connected to the pavements rather than the roads, so nice and safe. Technically you are meant to ride on the right-hand side. 99% of the time I am a rule abiding wannabe German, and I do ride on the right. My new apartment, however, requires me to cross two crossings in order to go over to the right hand side of the road for the final 20 seconds of my journey. Do I ride on the right for this 20 sec stint? Sometimes. If I'm feeling German. I was, however, in a English rebellious frame of mind and decided to ride on the left. Quelle horreur! Like a bat out of hell (a very old bat, mind you), an older woman came speeding towards me on her bike. Being the polite soul I am, I decided to pull over, and let her pass, rather than carrying on cycling by her (there was plenty of space to do this).<br />
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I give her a smile.<br />
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She screams: "Geisterfahrer!!!!!!!!!!!! (Ghost driver)<br />
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Lovely.<br />
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I think next time I will just shout: "BOO!" back at her and give her a little Geist fright - let's see how well she manages to yell at people from her high-saddled throne-like bike then.<br />
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<br />Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-69750550380129625552012-08-22T12:26:00.002-07:002012-09-10T13:38:44.452-07:00Socks and Sandals? Seriously?Sometimes when I am sitting in the U-Bahn on the way to work I feel guilty. *Cue reader getting excited that I am about to dish out some deep secret*. Actually, rather than some deep, dark, twisted past - I feel guilty because sometimes by just looking at people who are badly dressed I feel like I, myself, am committing a fashion crime.<br />
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I'm not shallow, my life doesn't revolve around fashion and I definitely don't judge a book by it's cover. Having said all that, the German's dress sense is just BEGGING for judgement. Ok, scratch that, not EVERY German. I really need to discount 99% of the female population in Munich who are overwhelmingly beautiful and could give LA socialites a real run for their money.<br />
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That remaining 1% though...well...they are committing fashion crimes that you can only think about in your worst nightmares.<br />
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Socks and sandals aren't considered a mistake here, in fact, *deep breath*, it's almost like it's a trend this summer amidst the Munich population. Men, women and children are all wearing socks and sandals in various forms. Apart from being a fashion mishap, it really doesn't make any sense. Sandals were invented to let your feet breathe and look beautiful when it's 34 degrees outside. They are an excuse to get a pedicure and flaunt your new coral shade of polish. So why, why oh why, wear socks with them? If your feet are very sensitive and get chilly in 34 degrees, why not just stick to shoes? Ballerinas? Pumps? Anything but socks and sandals - please - I don't think I can see another pair without saying something. The worst is when you see a poor child wearing them, they have no control over their parents' fashion faux pas'.<br />
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The best is yet to come though. Tights (or rather, Strumpfhosen, in German) with shorts. In 34 degrees. Not even nude either, full-on black. Are these people insane? I would be sweating like a Mongoose...if, in fact, a Mongoose sweats in prolific amounts when forced to wear tights. Why do this? Are they cold? Ashamed of their white and pasty legs? If it's the latter - embrace the pale! My eyes would be far less offended by a nice pair of pasty legs rather than a thick pair of 40 denier.<br />
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Add onto this the leggings trend. Don't get me wrong, I love a good pair of leggings, jeggings and all of the other forms. I would not, however, wear a pair without a lovely long top to cover my bum. The amount of women wearing cheap, semi-see-through leggings without a long top to cover their striking VPL is astounding. Don't they have any shame? Then again, the Germans have no problem prancing around naked in swimming pools and spas, so perhaps this gives them a new found confidence to wear leggings in this way, a confidence which I am yet to find...and hopefully never will.Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-42060887088907169972010-04-08T15:24:00.000-07:002012-09-17T14:18:28.473-07:00Get out right now!!!!!!!!!! (pretty please? With Mozart on top?)A rather surprising thing happened the other day. I was waiting inside a bookshop for it to close, as afterwards there was going to be a meet and greet with an author (Ian Rankin). Now, I can guarantee that if this was Waterstones in London, there would be a very loud announcement over a loud speaker asking people to leave (albeit in a false posh London accent, trying to disguise the owner's Cockney soul).<br />
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Here in Germany they do things a little differently.<br />
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They play classical music.<br />
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REALLY LOUDLY.<br />
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It starts off as a soothing background noise, luring you into a false sense of security and your expat thought reaction kicks in: "Oh, isn't this nice how they don't rush you out of the shop in Germany like they would usher you out in England." However, steadily you notice the music becoming louder....and louder...and louder. Before you know it, Mozart has blasted onto the bookshop scene in an almighty crescendo that becomes torturous to your ears.<br />
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I'm sure this is just a mere adaptation of the torture technique. You know, where they find the most grating tone possible and then play it for hours until you crack? I sound like a torture expert don't I? Really I've just watched a lot of "Spooks" on BBC1. Poor old Adam, he went through the mill in Season 6.<br />
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In fact, it's probably even designed as a way to usher out the British who are lagging behind because they don't understand the initial polite announcement of "Wir schliessen jetzt" (We're closing now) I can imagine the cultured Germans all sitting down around a large table in a meeting room discussing the best way to get rid of the British from their bookshops. Then some genius, probably named Hans, pipes up "Zie classical music! The British will retreat straight away!!"<br />
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What I find even more intriguing though, is what their technique is at the beginning of the day. Maybe I should go in before the shop opens one day to investigate what type of music they use to lure people inside at 7am? It will no doubt be one of two things:<br />
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If they want British customers: Leona Lewis.<br />
If they want German customers: Mozart's Piano Concerto No.24 in C minor<br />
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Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5777127521911726562.post-77616700890800257682010-03-22T08:25:00.000-07:002012-09-10T13:39:05.884-07:00Red, Green, Amber...rote Ampel, grün Ampel, gelb Ampel...When you are a small child one of the first things that you are taught by your parents is the green cross code. Look left, look right and look left again. It's essential for survival and Darwinian in the way that it separates children: there are those who stride out confidently into the street and also those who cling onto their mother's hand in the way a baby bear may cling to it's mother's back. When I was younger, this animal contrast was taken even further and the code was in fact taught to children by watching hedgehogs cross the road. The reckless hedgehog that didn't listen to it's mother would get squished. Pleasant eh?<br />
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So why, as we get older, do we forget that the reckless hedgehog ends up being scraped up off the side of the road? In London, J-walking is not just an occasional reckless act, but a way of life. No real Londoner would ever dream of waiting for a red light to change to green. NEVER. The moment you do wait, you are immediately picked out as a foreigner, and those Londoners behind you will begin their huffing and puffing as the hurriedly try to skirt around you and run across the road before the light turns green.<br />
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If you don't cross the road in London when your gut tells you to you, you could be waiting on the pavement forever. In fact, by waiting for the green light with all of the other "safe" people, the risk of being stuck in the road becomes far greater when a group of Chinese tourists decide to take a picture of a black cab whilst they cross- not realising that roads work the same in all countries: cars and lorries and buses continue to drive at you whether you have your SLR out or not.<br />
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Having been a part of the humdrum of London for some time, I can tell you that this method of crossing a road has now become an integral part of my character. Me?Wait for a green light when the road is evidently empty (or busy, for that matter) ?Pigs might fly.<br />
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However, after moving to Germany I am infinitely struck with a completely different attitude. The Germans WAIT. Yes...WAIT. I have seen hoards of business men rushing along the pavement to work and then all of a sudden when they hit the pedestrian crossing, the eagerness suddenly evaporates and they hover there diligently waiting for the green light. Furthermore, the crossing here in Munich takes infinitely longer to change from Red to Green- I once listened to a whole ipod track, tapping my foot impatiently rather than in time to the beat.<br />
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Even in the dead at night at 1am when there are obviously no cars around, they will still wait....and wait...and wait. Whenever I, at this moment, decide to cross, my act is met with a look of astonishment from the waiting German across the road. It makes no sense to me why the Germans would be in so much in fear for their safety if they crossed on a red light. I, in fact, find it much more distressing to cross on the green light, as cars are allowed to go at the same time as pedestrians which means they literally drive AT you.<br />
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God forbid if you do cross the road in Germany on a red light. I saw the fate of a young teenage girl, equally as impatient as myself (and no doubt she wasn't German to commit such an offense) who crossed a tiny road on red. A tram that was parked nearby and wasn't even coming towards her, sounded his horn at her to signal that she was a "reckless hedgehog". This was followed by mutterings and tut tuts from the surrounding Germans, all critical of the young girl's crossing attempt. The glares she got could have melted the ice on the pavement (oh wait, there isn't any...because the German's salt grit seems to have a magical quality that ours does not have. It doesn't even leave behind any orange gunk when the snow has melted away - yet another German mystery to explore and explain) Still, if anything will discourage me from being a J-walker, it is the prospect of being honked at by a tram in Central Munich and watched by onlookers. Mortifying.<br />
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When all is said and done though, at least the German's won't be the ones being scraped off the roads in Munich. That position can be left for the British tourists.Kaiserschmarrn Queenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18150489628667354457noreply@blogger.com0