Learning German the Italian Way

Juan, Liz, Antonio, and Abdo living it up in Berlin

Hello from the US of A! While I'm savoring my time here, I thought I'd post a story from my first few weeks of language class in Berlin.

I began taking German the day after we arrived. I had one month in Berlin before we began traveling, so I thought I'd jump right in. There were 3 other students in the class - all guys - 1) Juan - born in Chile, spent the last few years in England, speaks Spanish and English, 30 years old - 2) Abdo - from Yemen, speaks Arabic and no English, 22 years old - 3) Antonio - from Italy, speaks Italian, Spanish, and a little English, 24 years old. (You're wondering how I know everyone's ages - with a limited vocabulary you quickly delve into personal questions like these. Nothing like being asked by someone everyday 1) How old are you? 2) Are you married? 3) What is your phone number? So we asked them all the time.) Our teacher (38 and married) had a crush on Antonio, as did everyone. He said everything with an Italian accent. This, and everything about him, had an intoxicating effect on us. It became a language issue, however, when learning the different gender endings for words in German. Antonio wanted EVERYTHING to be feminine - just throw an "aay!" on the end of it all! Our teacher had to take a break from batting her eyelashes at him to remind him that some words in German simply end in consonants.

After our last German class for the 'semester' (really just the month of August) we went out for a celebration with our teacher. We went to a cafe that served both booze and tea/coffee. I guess I figured 'when in Rome', so I planned to order a beer. I ordered last however, and was losing my confidence after my three classmates and teacher ordered tea and coffee. I still did it, though, and when Antonio heard me order beer, he got very excited and immediately cancelled his coffee order. 'Warsteiner? Ja, gut! Nicht kaffee, Ich möchte ein WARSTEINER!'

During the time at the cafe we only spoke in German, which must have been incredibly entertaining for our neighbors. We were stuck on things like 'What is your favorite food?' for awhile and then attempted to talk about topics like museums using our limited vocab and excessive hand gestures. Antonio asked me many questions about my siblings. He wanted to hear all their names and kept saying that they sounded so 'American'. (He actually laughed out loud with astonished glee when I said my sister's name was Margaret. I didn't mention Americans didn't make that one up.) When I told him Kathleen and Andrew were planning to bring baby Daniel over this year, I remarked that even the baby would need a passport. Antonio smiled and paused for a few seconds, clearly thinking of the right way to say something, and then blurted out in his Italian German: 'Baby has-uh die Tele-tubby passport! Extra pages for coloring!' We both laughed for much longer than necessary. It was just so thrilling to tell our first joke in German together.

I am thankful everyday that those boys were my classmates in my first few weeks of language class. They taught me so much about how to enjoy being back in a classroom. In their wonderful way, they showed that breaks are meant to be extended, cappuccino is better than coffee, and that trying new sentences - however grammatically incorrect - is how you learn a language.

"Who invented teenagers and why" and "Something Wonderful"

"Who invented teenagers and why"

I guess it had to happen sometime. I had just exited the U-Bahn in the neighborhood where I'd soon be meeting my new tandem partner. I was trying to confidently make my way without consulting my map when suddenly I felt my dangly earring smash into my head.
"Was ist das?"
I didn't have time to figure out before I felt the next shots - I was being pelted in the head with large gummy candies by a group of punk teenage boys. One inch round gummy candies.

Thought 1: Why kick a girl when she's down?
Thought 2: Why don't I know how to swear in German?
Thought 3: When all else fails, some words are universal.

So I took a deep breath and stopped walking, faced them (they were unapologetic) and said, "What the hell is wrong with you?" True confession: I was very angry. I believe I "said" (yelled) some other things like "Why aren't you in school? Go to school!" Etc., etc. At this point, getting pelted in the head with candy was not funny to me. Plus - why would you waste candy? What's wrong with these kids? To make things really perfect, when I attempted to regain my composure and walk away - I tripped. Not a small trip - quite a large one, in fact - and all four boys watched with rapt attention, savoring every bit of it. I could still hear them laughing as I paused around the corner to pull myself together. This is when I lost it. I left Dominic a tearful, mumbling message bemoaning the existence of punk teenagers throughout the world.

As far as I know, recovery from an attack does not occur without food, so I headed into a charming coffee shop (I had an hour to kill before meeting my new friend) and had a wonderful exchange with the cashier. Although I must mention that after I'd successfully ordered (and received) both food and drink "auf Deutsch", he gave me my total in English - saying "I mean, you don't speak German, right?" "Right." Someone please throw me a bone! (See next paragraph.)

"Something Wonderful"

Finally, the day became wonderful: I met my new tandem partner. The goal of the "tandem" is that we'll split our time between speaking English and German so we both can learn our new languages. Her English is already quite good, but she has lots of little things she wants to work on, and well, you know about my German. Most people meet for one hour their first visit, and after one hour she was asking me what I wanted to order next. This is my kind of attitude! I had written out a list of questions in German and I dare say we actually had a "dialogue". Honestly, it was thrilling. She is a friendly, encouraging partner.

My favorite part of the meeting came when she was talking about her baby son. I'd know she was on maternity leave, and asked when her son was born. When I heard her reply I couldn't believe it - her son was born June 15, the same day as my nephew! What a great coincidence. I will meet him next time we get together and can't wait to watch him grow over the year as a "stand-in" while I'm missing seeing my adorable nephew.

A walk through our neighborhood

The "Harry Potter-esque" school next to our apartment building - site of the bike incident.


Our neighborhood church - this is where I get on the subway every morning.


Beautiful neighborhood architecture.


Our apartment building.


Our neighborhood fountain - practically Dupont Circle, eh?

The answer to "Where are you living now" is not "I'm going to the grocery store"

Our friendly neighborhood pharmacy - just at the end of the block. We are now regulars.

.
My new doctor - the pharmacist was right - her office is literally "behind the flowers"!

After being sick for nearly three weeks (and staying indoors for an entire 3-day weekend), I decided to re-join the living and start doing things this past week. We made dinner for friends three times in seven days, I had a wonderful ladies night of wine and stories with some Boschies, we went to a pseudo-Berlin Oktoberfest, went back to the Philharmonie, and I got my bike fixed from The Bike Incident. After having the cough of a 90-year old lifetime smoker of un-filtered cigarettes for what seemed like forever, I am now "good as new" - and it feels great.

Class was certainly harder when sick, and as usual I am always caught off guard when I'm asked questions I'm not expecting. I was walking out of class my first day after the hermit 3-day weekend and one of the head teachers/administrators caught up with me. As per usual, he began speaking to me in German and I attempted to answer as best I could before having to switch over to English. Considering he works at the language school that is trying to teach me German, not English, he patiently attempted to switch back to German in a gentle way with a chapter ONE question: "Liz, where are you living now?" I have to tell you, I know every German word in this sentence. Literally every one! But somehow my brain convinced me that that would be "too easy" of a question, that he probably was wondering where I was off to now, after class (in fact - we were approaching my turn for the grocery store and I thought he sensed I was getting ready to leave). So I answered how any idiot would: "I am going to the grocery store to buy foodstuffs." And yes, I literally used the German word for "foodstuffs." He kindly corrected me, but the next day my regular teacher asked me the same question, and I wondered if he told her no student at his school could carry around the SECOND German language book without knowing that basic question.

I am leaving for my one visit home of the year in just 8 hours and will be gone for 2 1/2 weeks. My note cards are packed, my camera is charged. I cannot wait to see my family. While I'm bursting with excitement about everything from playing with my nephew to drinking free water in restaurants, I have been thinking about what I'll miss in Germany, too. (Besides Dominic, of course.) A girl can really get used to fresh bread, delicious dairy products, cafes on every corner (that are affordable!), being ignored at restaurants so you can describe every single detail of your day while only paying for a coffee, not worrying about matching - ever (for that matter, not worrying about wearing the same old outfit every day of the week), feeling like you're living the soundtrack to a wonderful indie movie every time a musician boards your subway train....and so much more. I will be posting some stories I sent my family during my first few weeks here while I'm gone to fill you in on those days (pre- our own apartment, pre-internet, etc.) Auf wiedersehen!

#1 Place to get sick

Getting sick in a foreign land is always an adventure. During the summer I spent in Dublin, I managed to get strep throat (a personal specialty) and had one of the most entertaining (if not mildly disturbing) medical appointments of my life. It was so casual and un-doctory that I almost asked the doctor to go get a Guinness with me afterwards.

Germany, for better or worse, is not like this. (I love you, Ireland, but I have to admit Germany does beat you.) I began feeling sick last weekend, and managed to ignore it (my traditional approach to illness) until Tuesday. We've only a year here - I didn't want to miss anything, especially one of my marathon German classes. Tuesday marked Dominic's last free day before he started his first job in Berlin, so if he was to translate a medical appointment for me, that was our chance. I'd heard a rumor that pharmacists in Germany were able to dispense much more powerful drugs than in the US, so we walked over to one of the many tiny pharmacies in our neighborhood. (This was after looking up all the German words for "sore throat", "non-stop coughing", etc., that Dominic didn't have at his fingertips). The pharmacist listened to him, took a look at me (nothing like being discussed by two people as you stand there, innocently smiling) and said, "If she's sick, you should take her to a doctor. I think she needs more than cough drops." To which I replied (internally, in English, and, let's be honest, much later - after Dom had translated): "As if it's that easy! You don't just walk into a doctor's office!" Well, you actually can. She pointed us directly across the street ("the building behind the flowers") and we stumbled upon a pleasant doctor's office that was open for one more hour that day. Dominic explained my situation to the receptionist and she paused. "How long has she been sick?" We felt as though his answer was the key to whether or not I'd be seen that evening. "....four days?" he meekly replied. That seemed to fulfill the minimum requirement, and we were asked to take a seat. I had no sooner begun flipping through the pages of "OK!" magazine auf Deutsch and "Frau Romig" was being summoned into the doctor's office. Dominic followed after and indicated that he would need to translate the appointment. Evidentally the doctor replied skeptically, "Only if it's okay with Frau Romig", to which he replied, "Believe me, it's okay." We sit down and the visit began. This is when I became extremely impressed. As the doctor examined me, her assistant typed the results of everything that was occuring into a computer. When the doctor said "you're not leaving without antibiotics", a prescription was at that moment being entered in by the assistant, which was then retrieved by the receptionist, who printed it out - ready and waiting for us as we checked out. So all medical files are no only computerized, but all prescriptions are printed. America! Let's do this, too!

Unfortunately it's four days later and I'm still sick, but I remain mesmerized by the German efficiency (and friendliness) we experienced. All in all, I'd highly recommend getting sick here. Especially if you have a Dominic with you to translate.

Run Oma Run

We were marathon-crazy this weekend. The Berlin Marathon is well-liked by runners because of its flat, historic course. We liked the course, too - it went right in front of our apartment. The whole neighborhood seemed to have the same idea - "hey, let's grab some pretzels, our biggest pack of cigarettes, loudest pots and pans, and go watch the race!" Nothing says “let’s celebrate this incredible athletic accomplishment” more than being flanked by smoking couples at our front curb. Instead of joining in, I saved my euros for the "Marathon Party Bratwurst Stand" at the end of our street.

Saturday marked the roller-blader marathon day. The same course used for the runners on Sunday was taken over by 7,000 roller-bladers who whizzed by us. We were sufficiently impressed (and dizzy from staring at them going by) when I noticed something amiss. Did I see…jeans? Oh yes, there were a number of competitors sporting not only jeans, but jean shorts. It became our mission to capture some of the best.














Hey, you might need a backpack, too. You never know.

Nothing says "comfort for 42.195 kilometers" like some stiff jean shorts. But it does make it easier to get to the bar afterwards.

Sunday's race started at 9 and the first runners came past our apartment just past 10. The cheering began well before that, though. Hey, why not cheer for each Polizei truck that goes by to clear the road! Stray bikers, lost dogs, you all deserve encouragement! Our young neighbors led the charge in the cheering department, fully equipped with a fleet of pots and pans and their own handmade flag signs. (Sorry, US of A, no love from the 8-year-olds this time.)

The excitement was palpable as the first runners were spotted at the end of our Strasse. I immediately recognized one of this year’s Olympic winners, Ethiopian runner, Haile Gebrselassie. He won the marathon Sunday and made a new world record (beating his own from last year). Courtesy of Wikipedia, I found reason to like him even more. They reported, “Gebrselassie was born as one of ten children in Asella, Arsi Province, Ethiopia. As a child growing up on a farm he used to run ten kilometres to school every morning, and the same back every evening. This led to a distinctive running posture, with his left arm crooked as if still holding his schoolbooks.” Hard to confirm with the picture below, but he’s the one in yellow. It was SO EXCITING when these guys ran past!

The street was packed for a long while, and we tried out different German cheers (plus some frequent yells of “Dig deep!” from Dominic, just for fun). We clapped in time with the little girl’s pots and pans band, and took turns running down the street for warm drinks and pretzels.
Things got really fun once the pros were past us and the slower runners began coming by. The crazy outfits, the inspiring stories – there’s enough drama in a marathon to make a good opera. Our cheers fell on welcome ears at this point – these were the people who had written their names on their shirts so spectators could yell for them, which we were only too happy to do. A few weary runners uttered an appreciative “danke!!” and clearly needed the encouragement.







Don't worry - there was a runner in jean shorts. I was convinced we would spot one, so much so that I told Dominic I couldn't go inside until I'd found him. It took four hours of cheering, but here is the lucky man. I must admit, he looks like he's having a good time.


The entire population of Denmark was also in town to compete in the race. I have never seen so many Danes in my entire life. I have about 30 more pictures with nothing but Danes. It became the equivalent of our jeans-spotting game from Saturday.

On Monday morning my German teacher asked us all what we did this weekend. She called on me first to answer, and I got to try out the past tense for the first time and say "I watched the Marathon!" I think I even got it right.

The Bike Incident

I like life. The moment I get excited about something and announce it to the world - for example, how much fun it is to ride a bike again - you know that there will soon be an "incident" involving me and my bike. I believe the experts call that foreshadowing.

I had a blissful week of bike-riding - weaving in and out of lanes, following confident riders in front of me and pretending we were on a ride together. During a beautiful afternoon last week, I decided to take a short ride. My limited Berlin wardrobe includes few pairs of pants, and the ones I do have are a bit wide at the ankles (read: dangerous). Dominic and I had been noticing the various ways Berliners deal with this issue, and noticed that most people seemed to only roll up one pant leg. With our combined intelligence we concluded that you need only "pick a leg" and roll it up to avoid getting stuck in the bike's chain. Dom even volunteered that this was because the wind's forces would take over for the second leg, preventing it from harm. This made sense to me at the time.

I got about two blocks from our apartment and felt the tug. I looked down and realized I had donated about 5 inches of my corduroy pants to my beloved bike. I casually glanced around, determining how many people would have the joy of witnessing my struggles. In fact, our local school was in the midst of outdoor soccer practice, so I had a good 200 students within spitting distance. This forced me to employ some rusty acting skills. First I pretended I was just "taking a break". Then I attempted to mask my attempts to pull the pant leg out with a fake tying-of-the-shoe. Finally, I realized that this pant leg was going nowhere and I didn't want to continue my struggles publicly any longer. I began my journey home - slowly dragging my bike down the road while still attached to it. I made it to our apartment and managed to "lift" (pull) the bike up the stairs while still connected to it. By some stroke of luck, it was at that point that the pants gave up the good fight. Without me having to cut them out, they let go, and I was again separated from my bike.

In an episode of The Office, Michael makes a "how-to" video for his future son. In his lesson on jump-starting a car, he gives the following instructions: "To jump start a car, first pop the hood. Then you take these bad boys and clip them anywhere on the engine. Then you take these and clip them wherever." Oh yes, I had rolled my left pant leg (hey, wherever), which was already safely protected from the bike chain, leaving my right leg ready for the drama which inevitably came.