The Economic Crisis Hits the Markson Family Monopoly Board

I don't claim to be a financial expert, but even I can plainly see the effects of the current economic chaos on ordinary American families. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Your hope a fire

I was resigned to foregoing the concert. “Sara Groves will be here again someday,” I told my friend Emily wistfully. “I just don’t think I can afford 24 hours off next weekend.” “Sara Groves – are you kidding me? Chelsea, just go.”

Emily knows me well enough to understand that Sara is more like my long-lost older sister than anyone else I’ve never met. She was my closest friend in Europe this summer, the one who was always as close as my laptop. She reminds me in all her songs that she understands my life and offers a better way to see it. So go I did, last weekend, to the Art.Music.Justice concert near Harrisburg, and found it well worth the while.

The drive there and back was stunning. I’m enraptured by rural Pennsylvania because it reminds me of Vermont, and I felt like a leaf peeper hypnotized by the dazzlingly vibrant leaves transparent in the intense sunlight. Arriving at the concert, I met up with Penn State friends (Ruth, Catherine, Dana, and others) likewise involved in International Justice Mission (IJM), an antislavery group and one of the concert’s beneficiaries. My parents even decided last-minute to join me.

I knew the concert couldn’t top the five years I’ve spent getting to know Sara’s music. Her portion was too brief, but it had what I wanted: stories. Much of her latest album has puzzled me, and at the concert, I realized how much of it is about social justice. She told of Elisabeth, an Asian girl forced into prostitution, and others she’s met through her support of IJM. She spoke of her heroes and people near to her heart. It went beyond her music, just as I had hoped. I enjoyed the other artists, too: Derek Webb I’ve liked for a while, and I’m hoping for more of Sandra McCracken and Brandon Heath soon.

Afterward, I spent the night with my friend Catherine’s family. Her mom greeted us with, “Hi, I’m sporcling!” Sporcle, as I discovered, is a cache of addictive quizzes that makes you fill in lots of blanks. We beat one on Oh, Susanna, and got pretty far on Symphonic Orchestra Instruments, but were crushed on the Periodic Table. Catherine’s parents remind me a lot of Catherine, and so I loved them instantly. It was also great hearing teacher insights from her new husband Greg, now in his second year of teaching music. We proved together that water tastes better when sipped through neon straws.

I thought I had worked ahead enough, but it turns out that I was correct in my initial hesitation about affording time for this trip. All this week, my German students suffered from my lack of preparation, despite my best efforts to recover. It’s a shame for them and makes me feel guilty, but I can’t regret the trip. It reminded me of so much that is important to me.

Your courage asks me what I am afraid of
(what I am made of)
And what I know of love...

In the neighborhood

The garden by the neighborhood's entrance. Due to a bad hip, Jackie had to give up her role as its caretaker about a year ago, and she tries not to lament all the weeds that have sprung up. Maybe they'll become dangerous, but for now, it still looks lovely.


Lemon meringue and coconut cream pie are the two favorite desserts of Jackie's boyfriend Ben. It was my first time making the former; I still need to try the latter.

The honeymoon’s not over

Two weeks ago, I met my new German students. The first few weeks of student teaching are commonly referred to as “the honeymoon,” when hundreds of little angels cooperate perfectly for their student teacher’s lessons. As college students, we are instantly Cool. Plus, they haven’t had time yet to get bored and start misbehaving. This phase does not last, but I’m still in it. I love my students. I’ve barely learned all 130 names, but I’m already sad about leaving them in mid-October for French, wonderful though those kids may be.

This week I took over both sections of German 1. We’ve been learning numbers, greetings, stating one’s name, and the questions “Who/what is that?” Most of them had a 9-week exploratory German class last year, so I’m trying not to bore half of them with the review that the other half really needs. I have a lot to learn, and especially in first period, I feel bad that they're suffering from my figuring things out. But I’m excited for the huge wall map they’re making, merged with presentations on the German states. Next week, while they’re busy with the project, I’ll start teaching German 2 as well.

It’s interesting seeing what they know and don’t know. Even German 2 students, after one year, can understand a LOT of German. But they always forget, when writing, that “I’m going” and “I go” are translated the same way into German. (Same with any –ing verb.) Poor kids – I’d forgotten how hard the early stuff can be...even before the past tense … In a writing exercise today, translated from English, one kid had the following beauty:

Original (English): Stefan is putting food into the bag.
Attempted (Denglisch/invented): Stefan ist puttingt fuden in dem sack.
Correct (German): Stefan stellt das Essen in die Tasche.

In German 4, students had to state their names and interests for me. When I asked one student what he liked, he accidentally answered “Woman.” He got a bit flustered when everyone started laughing. I was dying, and it took a while to regain control. I hope he wasn’t offended, because when something is honestly funny, I have a very hard time keeping a straight face. I always lost those “don’t smile” games in elementary school.

Mr. Hindman used to live in Austria, so his knowledge of language and culture is outstanding. This summer he took a group of students to Austria and Germany. The kids love talking about their time there, and so does he, which makes German feel very personal. It’s great hearing their stories and enthusiasm. It’s also a big switch from last year’s placement, where my mentor teacher had only ever spent a week in France and had been homesick the entire time.

Girls on the town

Jackie sports an official Cycle Paths T-shirt on a recent excursion with the group.

The danger in caring

“Why don’t you just leave me alone?” he [Tomaso] asked. His voice was very soft and he raised his eyes to me. “Why are you always looking in me?” I saw his hand close around the scissors and lower them. “I wanted to hate you. Why wouldn’t you let me? Why wouldn’t you just let me be alone?”

[…] I was overwhelmed. The question of questions he had asked me. What right did I have to make him care about a world that did not care about him? For every child I saw, for every child I touched, that question was there. And he had not been the first to doubt my wisdom in it. For me the sorrow came in having no answer, in never being quite sure that the pain I gave was better than the pain I relieved.

-Torey Hayden, Somebody Else’s Kids

This scene follows an attempted attack on Torey by an emotionally disturbed boy in her special-needs class. Her four elementary students are as diverse as could be. Boo is autistic, abuse left Lori brain-damaged, Tomaso is violent and in denial about his father’s murder (which he witnessed), and Claudia is pregnant. Somehow, they form a community.

Reading this book has made me cry, probably more than any other book. It’s also caused me to think about why I’m drawn to teaching, and what I want from it. Hayden describes the utter beauty she sees in these kids, their expertise at pushing her buttons, and her fluctuation between trying to pretend she’s omniscient and doubting she knows anything useful. She’s an idealist and a dreamer, and I needed a dose of that before starting student teaching. It’s easy to let details swallow up vision instead of fleshing it out. That scares me.

Torey Hayden reminds me that school is about the learners, not about the lessons. Lori’s brain damage has left her unable to process symbols: though her IQ is normal, she can’t even distinguish the letters in her own name. When Lori is humiliated in front of the “regular” first-grade class for her inability to read, Torey apologizes for the school. “We should never have made you feel that reading was more important to us than you are.”

I know foreign languages are scary to a lot of people. While I believe everyone who’s learned their native language can learn another one, I don’t want to blindly demand a skill or a rate of learning from everyone. May I have sympathy for the learners who honestly don’t get it, even when it seems ludicrously easy to me. May I avoid mixing up the struggler with the stubborn, or the confused with the lazy. Too often, lack of sympathy is the plague of the teacher who learned her subject matter easily.

Hitting the (soon-to-be) floor running

Yesterday, In-Service finally began at my school, meaning everyone at the high school is preparing for students. Actually, we began yesterday at Harrison Middle School listening to pep talks and instructions. (The folding chairs said “HARRISON” on the back, but the one in front of mine had been scratched off to read “PRISON.”) The highlight was definitely the silent speech given by the superintendant, who simply let us read each Powerpoint. A memorable quote: “Talk is cheap. The Romans didn’t build an empire by talking…okay, so they did it by slaughtering their opponents, but still…”

The teachers had to learn their way around the school just like me. (We went on a scavenger hunt, where staff filled our “goody bags” with planners, dry erase markers, first aid kits, etc.) It’s been closed all summer as massive renovations near completion. They’re thrilled about their sparkling new rooms and upgraded technology. With about half the building open, they’ve been teaching out of boxes the last few years. There’s still a long way to go – exposed drywall, unlaid tile, stepladders, and floor-waxing machines are the norm. Several sections won’t be finished until January, so some teachers have temporary room assignments. But it’s already a huge improvement, they say.

Unpacking boxes and hanging posters has helped me connect with my mentor teachers, especially Mr. Hindman in German. Originally, I expected to work with both teachers for half the day all semester. Now, it looks like I’ll be with him for 8 weeks, then switch to Mrs. Frye in French. But she’s already given me her #1 Advice for New Teachers: “Do what you want until someone yells at you.” Words to live by. Until then, I think I’m going to love teaching with Mr. Hindman. He’s infectiously enthusiastic and full of cool ideas. I just need to adjust to his schedule: he arrives between 5:45 and 6 daily, so I’ll need to leave my house by 5:30. Students arrive Monday, but I’m not nervous yet…there’s much to be done in the meantime.

Well, isn’t she something!

This semester I’m living with Jackie, my uncle’s marvelous mother-in-law. I’ve always been close to her daughter, my Aunt Nana, and it’s fun to spot similarities between such distinct people. Jackie and I met briefly in May when I visited overnight, but this week we’ve certainly gotten to know each other better. She is a force to be reckoned with: opinionated, outgoing, and lively. Her favorite phrase is "I'm so lucky." She finds most people around her "delightful" and pours herself out for neighbors and friends in tough times. One of the first to earn a master’s degree in linguistics, she taught reading and high school English for decades, mostly to non-native English speakers. The house is filled with her watercolors, most based on photos she’s taken in her world travels.

She’s passionate about athletics and the outdoors: she bikes three times a week, sometimes with a club called the Cycle-Paths. Twice, she’s biked from Pittsburgh to Washington, D.C. and back. After college, she danced professionally for a year. When her daughter got serious about gymnastics years ago, Jackie became a national-level judge, judging Mary Lou Retton from age 6. Years of skiing and hiking hut-to-hut in the Alps inspired her to take up German in the last ten-odd years. When I wake up, she’s usually returning from the gym.

During the lull before student teaching, I’m enjoying the chance to be included in some of her interests. We solve the New York Times crossword puzzle together - I contribute 3 answers; she gets the other 27. She takes me biking around Pittsburgh and walking through the woods behind her. (We got home from biking 20 miles yesterday; while I took a rare nap, she swam laps.) She shares her “Economist” magazines, her Wall Street Journal, and her library card. I chat with the mostly-retired neighbors in her condo complex about their upcoming events in the Bulgarian Cultural Society. I eat sweet corn on the porch with her and her “special friend” Ben, pleading to help clean up for once.

It’s also neat to see her nearly Internet-free lifestyle. For years, she’s had four hours per month of dial-up. Since I’ve gotten here, she’s used a biographical dictionary, a 1974 World Book Encyclopedia, a catalogue of bird species, an atlas, and other paper-based resources. She says she does Google her crossword clues on occasion, but generally the Internet is superfluous for her.

I hope Jackie rubs off on me this semester.

Remember Uncle Louie’s polka party?

I came out to Pittsburgh last Monday in my family’s new standard transmission car. I don’t especially enjoy driving: it's an area where my "Space Cadet" reputation can kill people. I also do not learn quickly with most things mechanical. So even after three stick shift lessons over a year, I still lacked the ability, one week prior, to consistently start on the smallest of hills. I'd never driven in traffic. But I am pleased to report that following an intensive week of training, I successfully drove alone to Pittsburgh. (My area’s not called South Hills for nothing!) Let me define success: No mechanics were involved. I have since upgraded the definition to “no tears,” and “no honking” is coming soon. By December, I might get to “no stalling.”

Tuesday, I drove (again successfully) to Penn State McKeesport for the orientation with other student teachers and our supervisor. It confirmed my initial impressions in two ways: this will be a tough semester, and my supervisor seems excellent. Supportive and competent – what a combination! I also learned that my school starts a week later than anyone else’s. I’m not even meeting my mentor teachers for In-Service days until after Labor Day; everyone else starts this Monday or sooner with In-Service.

During our lunch break, I walked down to the PSU library and was surprised to hear a band playing nearby. My first thought was marching band practice, but I realized it was all polka music. I was further confused because the sound seemed to be simultaneously coming from an empty field, two different classroom buildings, and a nearby church. They even played the “Pennsylvania Polka,” which you might remember from “Groundhog Day.” As I drove away hours later, strains of the “Pennsylvania Polka” further baffled me until I finally spotted a hill above campus, covered with colorful tents. If anyone knows more about McKeesport’s Annual Polka Festival or whatever it was, please share, because it seemed to be an impressive production. Maybe even the top polka scene in Western Pennsylvania.

P.S. I figured Penn State McKeesport was diverse, but I was taken aback when a campus map showed “White Student Lot,” “Brown Student Lot,” and “Yellow Student Lot.” A green one proved that race wasn’t meant here, but you’d think they could choose better colors with this phrasing.

What happens to a memory deferred?

(Warning: This entry contains serious quantities of navel-gazing. If you want to cut to the chase, skip down to the bottom.)

This summer, especially in Munich, I was more alone than ever in my life. In the twenty years since learning to talk, I’ve grown accustomed to telling at least one person about events in my life each day. Sometimes the main purpose in talking is to stay close to those people. Other times, it’s an important way for me to process what has occurred. In France, for example, I came to value my friendships with Americans because we drew conclusions together about differences between US and French culture. They could tell me, for example, whether something about my host family was typical in theirs as well, or whether something I’d never seen in the US actually existed there.

I missed that in Munich. There were no Americans sharing my experiences, and other foreigners were surprised by different aspects of German culture. My infrequent e-mails and phone calls home weren’t nearly enough to describe half of the events that had puzzled, delighted, or irritated me. And while I sometimes asked Germans about phenomena I had noticed, much more went unsaid. Journaling helped me keep track a bit, but much remained merely an internal monologue.

Now I’m wondering how that affects my memories from this summer. Explaining something to other people demands that I reconstruct the details in a way that emphasizes the aspects that I see as important. This moves me toward a conclusion about the event, whether or not it’s an accurate one, and makes me remember the story in a certain way. With many puzzling events that I never discussed, I wasn’t sure what conclusion to draw, so I never decided anything about them. Now I’ve either forgotten they ever happened or lost too many details to make them worth discussing.

In June and July, I felt as though I was bursting with stories to tell, and it was frustrating to remain silent. Now that I’m in the US, I wonder where these stories went. Some of them seem too insignificant to mention six weeks later. Others seem a bit hazy and hard to describe. Still others come to mind at unexpected times, startling me after lying dormant for months. I think I need to keep processing them in order to learn from them.

The moral of my woeful tale? If you want to do me a favor, ask me about this summer, and wait for me to unfold some good stories! I’ll do my best to make it interesting and/or educational. But you’ll actually help me to grow from my overseas experience. If you want ideas, here are some topics that I haven’t gotten to share much about:

Austrian culture
-differences between my time in Innsbruck and Munich
-importance of Austria and Germany to each other
-why World War II affected Austria and Germany very differently

German culture
-adventures in grocery shopping
-an impromptu sleepover with neighbors I'd never met
-influence of the English language

International culture (with my classmates at the Goethe-Institut)
-life in former Communist countries
-norms for guy-girl interactions
-income disparities

With a laughing and a crying eye

I came home recently. In some ways, I'm delighted to be back. Honestly, it was hard sometimes to have so little consistency - there were only one or two people that I was around longer than three weeks. It's given me a new appreciation for the relationships I've built here, which have had time to mature. But my 10 weeks overseas were filled with so many interesting events, opportunities for growth, and intriguing people that I think back wistfully on my experiences. I would be thrilled to return. My co-worker used the perfect idiom (seen here in the title) to describe how I'm leaving.

Like I learned after my semester in France last year, the language follows you long after your immersion in it ends. A few times, I've been irritated that I had to stick to English, because the perfect German phrase was on the tip of my tongue. I love that my family knows German, so I can get away with a lot of it. In case I slip up and use them by mistake, see if you can figure out these German compound words and expressions:

German expressions with literal English translations
1. der Ohrwurm (ear worm, earwig)
2. langsam auf die Socken gehen (go slowly onto the socks)
3. nicht alle Tassen im Schrank haben (to not have all the cups in the cupboard)
4. da liegt der Hase im Pfeffer (the rabbit lies in pepper there)
5. der Hammer (hammer)
6. durcheinander (through each other)
7. Urlaub in Balkonien machen (to make a vacation in Balconia)
8. Sauerstoff (sour stuff)

Figurative English meanings
a. that's the root of the problem
b. to get going, to head out
c. the limit, a doozie
d. oxygen
e. to be crazy
f. catchy song, song stuck in one's head
g. to stay at home
h. jumbled, mixed-up, chaotic

Answers
1.f 2.b 3.e 4.a 5.c 6.h 7.g 8.d

How I Know I'm American #3: Numbers

Among all the tangled ways of German that I knew would trip me up this summer, I never expected so much trouble from stuff I learned in German 1. Namely, the numbers. Somehow after spending a third of my life practicing, I still get confused by the idea that Germans say "fourandseventy" instead of "seventy-four." It's not a problem when I'm speaking, but it definitely comes up when I'm listening to something fast enough to prevent reflection. I'm really a major fan of processing numbers left-to-right.

One area where I notice it all the time is at work. Since I'm constantly typing numbers in one place that I saw in another, it makes it easier if I say the number in my head. But if I say it in German, I have to treat it as a list of one-digit numbers. (ex. one-three-nine-eight vs. one thousand, three hundred eight and ninety.) Otherwise it takes me about three times as long. Even with the one-digit method, saying it in English is definitely faster, even though I've known German numbers since early childhood. This observation ties in nicely with linguists' findings that second-language use takes up a lot of short-term memory: even when you know the words well, you're still more likely to forget the content that they expressed.

Of course, another major reason for aggravation with numbers has to do with units. Much of it could have been avoided if the US had shown common sense a few decades back and switched to the metric system. As it is, I haven't dealt with it much in the US since 11th-grade chemistry class. I'm now quite comfortable with Celsius temperatures (in the range I've experienced), and I'm OK with kilometers and increasingly with grams. But when people compare their height in centimeters, or apartment area in square meters, or monthly salaries in Euros, it takes me a little while to catch up. At least metric is logical - I pity the poor internationals who come to the US and have to tackle the English system. (Side bar: it was an odd feeling with my international classmates when I translated a dollar amount to Euros, only to realize that they were more familiar with dollars. Only two of them, among 14, use Euros at home.) Even when the German is not an issue, I'm working on a new language.

How I Know I'm American #2: Transportation

In Doylestown my life is in the car; at Penn State I always went by foot; Montpellier's trams saw a lot of me; and in Innsbruck I biked everywhere. But here in Munich, it's all about the Bahn.

It took me a while to associate the German terms with English equivalents instead of just the actual objects. Technically, I suppose the U-Bahn is a subway, S-Bahn is a regional train, and the Straßenbahn is a trolley. But since I haven't had much experience with those in the US, I've been like a little kid this summer. I'm flabbergasted by the swarms of people moving on, off, and around the U-Bahn at each stop. I'm chilled catching glimpses in the darkness of the cavernous tunnels in between stations and fascinated when we zoom by another U-Bahn full of people heading the other direction. I'm tickled by the drivers' voices muttering station names in thick Bavarian accents and their million variations on the requisite "Zurückhalten, bitte." I'm terrified, waiting outside for the S-Bahn, when the long-distance trains storm through and shake my bench just two meters away. I'm delighted when people break the routine of blank faces and non-descript actions, like the guy who brought in a lawn chair and promptly plopped down in it next to me.

My German course ended last week, but it was fun having a precise schedule every day during that time, because I started recognizing people. A co-worker was sometimes on my morning U-Bahn, so we could walk together to work. On the way from work to the station, I always passed the same 2 or 3 people from another company, napping in the car during their lunch break. Where I got out for class, a nasal male voice always filled the corridor, trying to sell a magazine called Biss. And right before the Goethe-Institut building, I was always confronted by the entreating face of an old lady begging. OK, so fun's not the word for that part - more like troubling. (I've seen fewer immigrants begging here than in France, but each makes me wonder a lot about my role in poverty.)

Munich's Bahn system has a couple of neat features, like the news updates and 1-minute cartoons playing on the TVs at every station. But from what I've heard, it can't touch the Moscow metro. A Russian classmate gave a German presentation on it, in which I learned:
-It's the second most-used system worldwide, with around 7 million riders daily.
-It's renowned for the artwork and architecture in most stations: the most famous painting requires the constant vigil of 2 guards.
-It's considered a tourist attraction, with guided tours and even a special dinner car that meanders through.
-There's apparently a hidden Stalin-era line, Metro 2, connecting several key government buildings to an underground town. Buried deep underground, it may be even longer than the regular Metro. Rumors fly around about kids and teens stumbling onto it, then never being heard from again. My Russian classmates wouldn't put it past their government.

My new friends Mascha, Dascha, and Natascha

It's been over a week since my latest transition, but I wasn't sure at first how I felt about it. Last Monday, I started my 4-week course at the Goethe-Institut and moved downtown with a German woman named Dorothee (housing arranged by the Goethe-Institut). I had been super-excited to meet her, get to know some international students, and finally have formal instruction to complement my day-to-day practice. The thing was, Dorothee was gone all last week, chaperoning her elementary school class on a field trip. And I was miserable in class because I was slightly better than my classmates and the lessons largely consisted of things I already knew. This was not what I had signed up for.

Now I can say, though, that I am delighted with my new situation. I switched to a higher level mid-week, and my new class is very stimulating. I haven't had such a language-oriented German class since high school, and it's great. (My PSU courses were more content-based, so I never had to memorize lists of words, as long as I could express ideas about the literature or history we were studying.) It's good for me to work on my weakness: German verbs and their dizzying combinations with prepositions and nouns. Since I got here, my philosophy in speaking German has been "fake it till you make it:" say things in a way that makes sense to me, and hope others figure out my meaning. But the daily structure of homework and being called on in class is a powerful motivator. Plus, the teacher makes it really fun, with lots of discussions and comparisons to our own cultures and languages.

There's quite a mix of people, though most are college-aged and about half hail from Eastern Europe. Among my classmates and others I've met are an Egyptian mother of two, an Italian monk, a Peruvian architect, and a Mongolian college professor. 7 of my 14 classmates speak Russian (1 from Tajikistan, 1 from Ukraine, 1 from Kazakhstan, and 4 from Russia, including the rhyming ones in the title). In their honor, with Ukrainian Katerina's painstaking translation and constant laughter, I joined the Cyrillic-alphabet equivalent of Facebook. I love the fact that I've only met 2 other Americans here and nobody tries to speak English with me.

After a week alone in her apartment, I finally met Dorothee on Sunday. As I had suspected from her furnishings, we had more in common than teaching: she loves French language and culture as well as classical music, and walks around singing fragments from Johann Strauss' opera "Die Fledermaus." What I hadn't guessed was pretty fascinating: she spent twelve years in the theatre, released a CD, and founded a Montessori school (!) before planting herself in a roomful of seven-year-olds the last several years. Her daughter is following in her footsteps: she's studying modern dance and theatre, and has won several German film awards. I have the impression that Dorothee knows how to thoroughly enjoy life, and it seems contagious.

Europa Meister der Herzen

Well, the EM hubbub is over and the last few straggling flags have been taken down from cars and balconies. Those of you who paid attention on Sunday will know that Germany fans came away less than elated. Everyone concedes that Spain simply played better and deserves its new title as "Europa Meister." (As one kid put it, Germany's just the "Europe Champion of our hearts.")

For Germany's match against Turkey, my co-workers and I sat in the cafeteria and watched it projected on a screen. Technical difficulties interrupted the program a few times, causing groans(stupid Swiss technology, as everyone muttered!) but overall, the mood was pretty low-key. It was fun having 2 enthusiastic Turkey fans there, including Ebru, who oversees most of my work. She promised to root for whichever team was losing, since she likes Germany too. She started out in a Turkey T-shirt and jumped and yelled with Hassad when Turkey scored early on. (We all clapped and were happy for them too - Turkey didn't seem like a real threat, so nobody minded that they scored first.) Then she ran to change into her Germany jersey, maintaining her promise to support the underdogs. When Germany scored later, she switched back to the Turkey T-shirt, knowing they'd have a tough time getting ahead again. Overall, nobody was impressed by Germany's playing, but the last 5 minutes provided some serious drama - Turkey scored to tie, but Germany scored again with barely a minute left.

For the Finale, I went to a barbeque hosted by the same students that joined me on the Isar. I expected the normal 15 to 20 students, but instead there were over 100 - I guess everyone brought a lot of friends! It was a very fun atmosphere...a little more enthusiastic than my sleep-deprived co-workers after 12 hours in the office. They taught me the cheers and songs with gusto, which I much prefer over Germany's cheesy official EM 2008 Theme Song. I found myself surprisingly engaged in the actual game toward the end, and I was genuinely sad when Germany lost. Still, we were proud of our boys for making it this far.

More Photos!

I spent several hours yesterday and today staring at a spreadsheet that needed to be filled in. Out of 2741 rows, probably 800 contain the word "dummy." I think it's subliminal messaging from my employer. Should I be offended?

In other news, photos of Munich are now available to the public.

A Dream Come True

I finally met her!

Since writing about my neighbor on June 14, I've been working too late to see her on her porch when I go for walks. I gave up on the idea of actually chatting with her instead of just smiling and saying hello.

But yesterday, I came home early and saw her coming outside. As soon as we exchanged complete sentences, she noticed my accent and asked where I was from. Before I knew it, I was going in through the gate and she was asking if I wouldn't be bored talking to someone her age. Bored? Are you kidding? I've been dying to meet people in Neufahrn and I had a feeling somehow that she'd be a good one to talk to. Was I ever right.

Frau Martini grew up a farmer's daughter several hours away. She and her two older sisters spent their whole adult lives in Munich; her brother was killed in World War II, fighting for the Nazis. (Hearing that reminded me of a memorial in Neufahrn to fallen WWII soldiers. I've learned about the enormous burden of guilt that Germany has carried the past several decades. But I'd never thought about how they'd remember fallen soldiers. What a bitter sorrow, knowing your loved one's life was lost in the name of Adolf Hitler!) She described shopping at the butcher's and baker's years ago in her job as a school cook in downtown Munich. Only in recent years has she moved here to Neufahrn, next door to her only child and three grandchildren.

We made a good pair. Neither of us had anywhere to be, so an hour and a half went by before I left to make dinner. And we both appreciate a slower-paced conversation - I due to my lacking German skills, and she because breathing is somewhat laborious. Frau Martini has had several surgeries to combat her cancer, but at this point, she's nearly done fighting. I was amazed by her sense of peace - she says she has no fear of death - and thankfulness for the full life she's led in her eighty-odd years. We talked a lot about our mutual faith and the assurance that God's plan is a good one.

I'm leaving Neufahrn on Monday to spend most of July downtown for my German course. (I'm excited to meet my new hostess, Frau Dorothea Rogall.) Hopefully Frau Martini and I can chat more when I return to Neufahrn for my last few weeks. In the meantime, I'm hoping to bring her some cookies this afternoon. Our conversation inspired me, and I'd love a repeat or two in my limited time here.

How I Know I’m American #1: The Dress Code

While in Austria and Germany, I’m really enjoying the chance to blend in with the crowd. In France, I always felt a little too tall, too blonde, and too not French. And I expect to stick out even more in future travels abroad, since I’m hoping to be around non-Caucasians. Here, not only are my hair color and height somewhat typical, but I even have multiple outfits that look similar to what I’ve seen other people wear. Amazing!

On the other hand, I’ve noticed a difference in the social norms surrounding clothing. One minor difference is the tendency to take off shoes indoors. On my first day at the Montessori school, they asked if I’d brought Hausschuhe (literally “house shoes”) with me to school. (It’s not a house, I wanted to retort. And no, my slippers are in the US.) I ended up going around in my socks, like most of the kids. This is apparently common at public schools too.

I noticed when the kids were about to play sports, they would change into shorts right in the hallway, in front of everyone. This is normal in German-speaking culture: the theory is that your underwear is no more revealing than a swimsuit, so it’s not a big deal. People also change into their swimsuits outdoors sometimes. It doesn’t really bother me, though I wouldn’t do so unless I really had to. But what does get to me, reminding me I’m not from here, is the nudity on the beaches.

It was pretty hard to avoid during the boat trip on Sunday. The German students even commented on it: “That’s so German! Why is it always the older and heavier people who feel the need to strip?” It was true: among those over 40 on the riverbanks, about half were nude, versus maybe 10% of younger beachgoers. Apparently you don’t have to pretend not to see them – my friends still waved and called hello to them. At first I just tried to avert my eyes, not really wanting the view. But later, it began to irritate me, because they were in the way of the photos I wanted to take. I’m glad you feel comfortable in your birthday suit, but I don’t think it improves the scenery... At one point, 2 people from my group (out of 17) briefly ditched their clothes, and I was glad that I hadn’t ever talked to them, because I felt pretty awkward about it.

Every culture defines modesty a little bit differently. Despite Germans’ laid-back attitudes toward covering up at the beach, nobody here wears the short shorts that are typical among young American girls. On my way home, I passed a Muslim woman wearing long sleeves and a flowing skirt despite the 80+ temperature. For an instant, I was indignant. It seemed unfair that such extreme modesty was required of her. Then I realized…maybe she can’t imagine wearing my T-shirt and capris any more than I can imagine joining the skinny dippers. I resolved to let her make her own decision about the clothing that’s comfortable for her. And to be thankful that she’s wearing clothes at all!

Adventures on the High Seas

On Sunday, my band of comrades and I were attacked by pirates.

They were rather jovial, though. In fact, I had chatted with a few of them earlier that day. I was with student members of the CVJM (Germany's YMCA), which is explicitly Christian, unlike the Y in the US. (Lisi, my friend in Innsbruck, connected me with her friend Claudi, who attends the group.) They had invited me to join them on the Isar River in several inflatable boats.

A few people took a smaller boat, while the two big boats had 7 people each. It's a pretty tame river and the boats are nearly impossible to tip. The scenery was really cool - in only 20 km, it seemed reminiscent of Canada's pines and Spain's Mediterranean scrub brush before switching back to typical German forests. Coupled with the gorgeous weather, it could have been a very mellow day.

But the Pirate Boat wouldn't have it. They started off the day by sneaking up behind us and drenching us by flinging water with their paddles. After a few successes and our best attempts at retaliation, they upped the ante. We were ready for more splashing, but instead they cruised by us and stole paddles out of two of my comrades' hands, leaving us defenseless and slow. A while after regaining our paddles, we managed to grab a few of theirs. They sent over Wolfi (short for Wolfgang) on a Search and Rescue mission. That's when things got interesting.

Wolfi jumped into our boat and played tug-of-war with a few of us for his boat's missing paddles, but we held on tightly. In the process, two of my loyal comrades fell out. "My sunglasses!" yelped Nina. Sure enough, while we recovered a hat, her Armani shades were nowhere in sight. Friedemann, the other victim, began searching in the swirling waste-deep waters of the Isar. Wolfi (filled with remorse?) got out and tried to anchor our boat, but the current was pulling hard. He decided to stay and keep an eye on Friedemann while we floated down a bit and found a spot to pull over on the opposite bank, which had a shore instead of a steep forested hill.

A minute later, Friedemann emerged empty-handed and swam over to us. Where was Wolfi? "I thought he was back in the boat already..." We yelled his name, peered in the shadows of the far bank, and asked everyone on the little boat when they passed by. No sign of him. We grimly recalled the warnings of our faithful leader about hitting one's head and falling unconscious. After a few minutes, we were really concerned.

Finally five minutes later, Wolfi emerged from the forest. Unable to make it back to Friedemann, he had climbed out and walked along the trail along the river. But the thick trees had drowned out our voices.

The next time the Pirate Boat approached us, we braced ourselves. But nothing happened. No jumping, no stealing, no splashing. We tied the boats' ropes together and lazily floated down toward the bridge that marked our final destination. Even pirates like to be mellow every now and then.

Exploring the World...through Microsoft Excel

A couple of you (namely, my parents) have requested an update on my job. It’s continued to involve lots of “translation tables” (Excel spreadsheets) between the old program, ABAS, and the new program, SAP. It also continues to involve down time – I rely on my co-workers, primarily a girl named Ebru who’s super-outgoing, to give me assignments. These typically last between 5 minutes and a couple of hours. Then I have to wait while she thinks of something else for me to do and finds time to explain it. During this time, I do things like...well, writing this post, for example.

I understand what’s being accomplished in a very broad sense, but I usually have only a faint idea of how my specific tasks fit into the plan. For example, I spent hours on Monday reformatting spreadsheets so that all the columns became rows. On Tuesday, it made more sense: I spent 8 straight hours (a record-long assignment!) printing out the hundreds of spreadsheets and putting them into binders. Since then, the temporary workers here this week have been poring over them and typing them into the new system. (Some are from other departments; others are from another German branch; others are college-age children of employees.) Ebru’s in charge of all of them, so I’m currently one of about 20 people competing to ask her questions. The system has to be in place by Monday, so it’s really crunch time.

I’ve learned some nifty tricks in Excel, like how to use formulas to fill in entire columns or how to search spreadsheets. (I hadn’t used Excel since 10th grade computer class, so it’s all new for me.) Another cool thing about all these spreadsheets is that I get a good sense of the company. I’ve seen lists of Suss' employees, their customers worldwide, the machines being sold, etc. This is more fun than you might think, because there’s a lot of “scope for the imagination.” A few of the gems I’ve found:

Vocabulary I’d like to start using:
Materialbelegnummerermittlung. Like all long German words, it’s made up of a bunch of smaller ones: Material is obvious, Beleg means “record,” Nummer means number, and Ermittlung is the noun form of “to determine.” All together, I’m not sure what it means. But I probably wouldn’t quite understand it in English, either. And it's a proven fact that using big words makes you sound smart.

Where I’d like to work:
Cheerful Technologies, Hong Kong. If I ever settle for an ordinary white-collar career, I’d like to know that I’m spreading joy in the world by selling happy machines.

Where I’d like to move:
Avenue des Anenomes, France. It sounds like an address out of “Finding Nemo.”
Snezhinsk, Russia. Gesundheit!

Where I’m getting my Master’s Degree:
Uppsala University, Sweden. This sounds a lot like what I’ve heard people say for “Oops” – a blend of the German word Hoppla and the newer word Ups borrowed from our word. I would love to have a diploma from here.
Institut sverhvysokochastotnoi, Russia. No explanation needed.

Mahlzeit!

There’s really only one German word you need to learn in order to work in a German company. Though I never speak English at work, everyone knows how to, and most have dealt with visiting co-workers and customers whose only common language is English. English also turns up in some random places at work: "Junk E-Mail" apparently has no translation, and titles of projects are often in English. (For example, I'm working on "Move Ahead," for SAP implementation.)

But regardless of your German skills, the word Mahlzeit (literally: “meal time”) is very important. At first I thought it was just a synonym for “bon appétit” (they also say Guten Appetit) – used when someone is beginning to eat. But it’s much more than that. Imagine it’s 11:30 and Georg is the first in line for lunch. He’ll exchange a “Mahlzeit” with the cook and the co-workers who first sit down with him, as well as those who come later on. They’ll all say it again when Georg leaves the Kantine, and he’ll continue to exchange it with people who see him coming back from lunch or with people on their way to lunch. In fact, he’ll say it to anyone he sees in the hallway for the next 2 hours, just in case they’re coming to or from lunch.

I've had to work on remembering to say "Mahlzeit" since noticing how frequently it's used. I see it as a challenge to try and tell someone "Mahlzeit" before they can say it to me. I want to expand it even more and say it to people who look hungry or as a subtle suggestion that someone should give me a snack. Any suggestions as to other relevant contexts would be much appreciated.

P.S. Another word I've heard a lot just made sense to me today: Feierabend (literally "celebration evening"). Feiertag means holiday, so I thought Feierabend meant taking the evening off, or leaving work early. This was confusing because co-workers would take about "doing a Feierabend" when someone left, even if it was already 7:30 or 8 PM. Wow, that's quite the evening off! How will you manage to fill up your remaining hour of daylight? But apparently it's more like "to be done for the day" or "to call it quits."

Germany vs. Turkey: Utter Madness

I wish I were a soccer fan.

I've never been good at watching or playing sports. In four seasons of PSU football, I made it to four games. I've been known to crochet, write letters, and play cards while I was supposed to be watching various games on TV. It's too much effort for me to simultaneously...
- find the ball,
- keep track of which direction everyone's traveling, and
- recall the few rules I've learned.
I rely on instant replay to show me when important things happen, because I never seem to catch them the first time. I have gained a lot of respect for people who can make intelligent comments about a game they've just seen.

At the same time, I've loved the non-technical aspects of being here for the EM, whose English name (as a helpful reader pointed out) is the Europe Cup. From the Montessori kids trading collectible stickers during recess...to the co-workers that come in wearing jerseys...to the kids on the street shouting "Tur-ki-ye"...to the instant conversation starters...it's a fun time. I may not know anything about the teams' strengths and weaknesses, but I know enough about their national identities to make me interested in the outcomes. And in this year's EM, the outcomes have been pretty interesting. Apparently, there's a good deal of variety in which teams do well each year. Italy, the 2006 World Cup champion, lost 3-0 to the Netherlands in a major upset. France, the 2nd place World Cup team and 2004 EM winner, didn't even make it to the quarter-finals.

Germany on the whole is strongly anti-patriotic. Given their history, they are wary of anyone who says they're proud of Germany or glad to be German. Schools don't have German flags or anything like the Pledge of Allegiance. The only context where Germans root for their country is in sporting events. 2006, when Germany hosted the World Cup, was a turning point: the first time in decades that people displayed little German flags. In the last few weeks, those flags have again been all over the place, namely on cars and hanging from balconies. My housemate Philipp warned me that the morning after Germany loses, all the flags will disappear. But Germany just played in the quarter-finals, and the ubiquitous flags show that it managed to advance.

Here's where things get extra interesting. The semi-finals have Germany playing against Turkey. Nobody expected Turkey to do well. My Turkish-German co-worker said she didn't care if they lost the quarter-finals; she was just delighted they'd made it this far. So it was a shock when they beat Croatia last night. (An amazing game, I'm told: Both teams scored their first point in the final seconds of double overtime.) The thing is, there are a lot of Turkish-origin people in Germany, including near me in Neufahrn. Many of them have been rooting for both teams (see above photo). Most have a conflicted relationship with their host country, complicated on both sides by dozens of factors. I am curious to observe how this tension plays out on the field. (In France, it would undoubtedly involve hundreds of cars on fire. Lacking citizenship, Germany's internationals avoid riots for fear of deportation, and Germans seem to prefer order more than the French do.) I'm not sure what to expect on June 25. But I'll do my best in watching it.

I'd love to learn why this is for sale...

A Twist in the Conversation

It’s usually a lot of fun realizing you have a connection to someone you’ve only just met. Yesterday, I visited an international church and went to a restaurant afterwards with a group of (mostly American) twentysomethings. While walking over, I chatted with a girl who said she had dated a guy who lived near Philly, and we realized he’s actually from my hometown. I’d never met him, but his last name sounded familiar. „His mom was a teacher,“ she told me. My heart sank. It was the same one I remembered from my middle school hallways.

I started to probe with more questions. She had dated him for four years and had been close with his family, but had stopped all contact with them since the breakup. So she didn’t know. Could I tell her? I had to. I fumbled for another minute or two, then spit it out: „Something really terrible happened with his mom this year...“ Is there any good way to tell a recent acquaintance that someone they care about has committed suicide? Her face crumpled. I felt as though I’d run her over with an SUV.

Since then, I’ve been angry with myself. How could I announce it so abruptly? Why hadn’t I waited to pull her aside when we got to the restaurant? Why hadn’t I just said that his mom had passed away, and waited for her to ask for details when she was ready, instead of mentioning suicide right away? Why hadn’t I sat down with her later on to pray for his family? It was the wrong place, the wrong time, and I was definitely the wrong person. I felt so clumsy and immature.

I’ve been interpreting my time abroad this summer as highly symbolic of my transition from college to whatever’s next. Each tiny victory here, from buying cell phone minutes to clearing up expectations with my boss, is exciting because it says, „I am a capable person. I can figure out life in a new situation.“ Yesterday illustrated that life isn’t always so manageable, even without grammar difficulties and cross-cultural confusion. I needed that jab to deflate my pride-filled bubble, and to remind me that my identity has nothing to do with my perceived success or failure. Since then, I've been holding on to what the apostle Paul writes to the Christians in Corinth:

„But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.“

Foolish? Weak? Those traits are more familiar than I’d like to admit...overwhelmingly so yesterday. I work hard to cover them up so people admire me and like me. But God’s not interested in me proving myself – my painfully obvious limitations accent his wisdom and strength. As I overanalyzed yesterday’s events, it was a relief to see things his way. There’s someone who embraces the real me, complete with my insufficiencies, poor choices, and all-around awkwardness. And despite everything, he's not afraid of me messing things up. He still wants me on his team, passing on the love that I've found in him.

Sit with me and tell me once again...

...Of the story that's been told us
Of the power that will hold us
Of the beauty, of the beauty
Why it matters
-Sara Groves

I knew before coming to Neufahrn that I wanted to remember what matters. Lacking pre-established friendships here, it would be easy for online reruns of "The Office" to become the highlight of my day. But I don't want to miss the richness in culture, the wonderful and quirky ways that God's children in Neufahrn differ from the ones I've already met. I've been fighting to enjoy the beauty that exists here, and to revel in the beauty of its Creator.

As evidenced by the photo, I really love the clouds in Neufahrn. I've never lived anywhere nearly so flat, and I'm usually passionate about my preference for mountains or even rolling hills. I don't like it when buildings are the biggest thing in sight. But here, the clouds dwarf my view everywhere I go...there's so much sky to see. It's an amazing sight every day.

I discovered a Turkish grocery store down the street. I get some weird looks when I go, and I might be the only one there who doesn't speak Turkish. But I'm having quite an adventure searching for food amidst labels I don't understand. (Somewhere on the package, the important details are always listed in multiple languages: often German, French, and English, among others. But Turkish is the one printed front and center.) Some of my finds so far include couscous, a mix for lamb soup, snap peas, and chocolate-filled cookies, all at low prices.

A related adventure is baking. The guest house supplies all kinds of tasty breakfast foods as well as some baking staples. But when I went to bake a cake this week, I realized there were no baking pans. I ended up baking the batter in a saucepan, praying that the handle wouldn't...
1. melt,
2. explode, or
3. emit toxic fumes, poisoning the cake.
It apparently worked, so I invited my housemates to join me, and the two who were still awake shared it with me. One of them looked utterly dumbfounded when I offered him some. I think it was the highlight of his week, poor guy. Since then, I have the feeling that he's on the lookout for me to do something else totally unexpected, like paint a mural in the dining room or bring home a stray kitten.

I'm curious about people in Neufahrn. When I get bored or lonely, I love watching people downtown. I went to a tiny park yesterday where some toddlers (probably Turkish - there's a large Turkish population here) were having a ball. Nearly every evening when I leave the house to go for a walk, an older neighbor is sitting on her front porch. Once she watched me pass her, turn around and go back in, then re-emerge with something I had forgotten. She smiled knowingly and told me, "What is it they say? What you don't have in your head, you have to have in your feet." If I get that woman to invite me over for tea, my life in Neufahrn will be unquestionably a success.

Working in the eye of the storm

I’ve been working all week at Suss Microtec, the company that has employed my dad for over 20 years. It’s a little bizarre: everyone knows about the tiny town of Waterbury, Vermont, and expects me to be from there, since that’s the location of Suss’ US factory. A number of people at the company know my dad due to business trips over the years; some even remember meeting me as a youngster. But most of the people I work with directly don’t quite know what to make of me. They’re used to interning college students, but not Americans with no technical experience or related studies. About 80% of the employees are male, so I stand out in that sense too. People are generally friendly and there's a positive atmosphere: they seem to enjoy each other.

Suss is preparing to switch to SAP on July 1^st, so it’s extremely hectic. I’m helping out with SAP stuff, and have learned enough this week to roughly describe its fundamentals. It’s a huge database system that streamlines all the company’s information, from employee contact info to machine serial numbers to delivery dates on orders. People in my department are so busy that they didn’t have time to prepare for me. My boss didn’t show up until I’d been at work for 5 hours on Monday. (He’d worked over the weekend.) I couldn’t do anything until I got my laptop Tuesday afternoon, and even since then, I’ve had significant lag times between getting assignments. It's good news for my newly purchased journal: I’ve written over 20 pages describing my time in Innsbruck. Things should pick up quite a bit: I'm going to start moving between a few groups, according to which one needs my help at the moment. All have plenty for me to do, it's just a matter of finding time to explain it to me.

When I actually had work to do, it involved staring at thousands of numbers, trying to either check them or create a new document summarizing them differently. I don’t mind it, as long as my eyes don’t start to hurt: repetitive, menial tasks usually don’t bother me. All I need is a little intrinsic motivation. In this case, it’s the knowledge that I’m reducing people’s stress and practicing my German whenever I chat with co-workers or get instructions. They're all doing more or less the same projects, which are really crucial to the company's success right now. Getting paid in Euros doesn’t hurt, either! Though things have been slow for me, I have to wait for one of my housemates to take me home, and they all work 9 or 10 hours a day. So I expect to earn some overtime pay. It's not a thrilling job, but I think it should be a good experience.

...Hello, Neufahrn?

I arrived in the greater Munich area Sunday and instantly realized I would need to readjust my vision of my time here. I knew I was staying in Neufahrn, a small community 12 miles from downtown Munich. I didn't realize that going downtown takes an hour each way (if you include the walk to the S-Bahn stop) and costs $19.50 USD round-trip. At first, I nearly panicked. What would I do to amuse myself if I couldn't wander all over town? Where would I find things like a cell phone and the government paperwork I need for my internship? How would I afford to do things like go to church or meet with friends, if every trip is so expensive?

I'm still not quite sure what to make of it, but I've accepted the fact that my life generally consists of whatever’s within walking distance. Neufahrn is a subdued town…even the thunder was understated in tonight’s storm. In contrast to Innsbruck’s exuberant mountains, Neufahrn is completely flat and surrounded by fields. Due to Germany’s rigid zoning laws, it’s quite compact: all the stores are within a mile of where I live, and the houses don’t extend much past them. When I go for walks, I feel as though everyone notices me and knows that I’m new in town.

I’m staying in the “guest house” for Suss Microtec (my employer here), which means my housemates are also my co-workers. One’s a student intern almost done with his six-month stay here; the others, between ages 30 and 50, are staying here to help with specific projects. All four are guys: two Germans, one from California (I think he grew up in an Asian country), and one from Thailand. They’re all helpful, polite, and relatively friendly, but they treat the guest house more like a hotel: when they’re not getting food in the kitchen, they mostly stay in their rooms. They may become my friends, but for now they're at least my allies, which is important.

I'll be posting further impressions: to me, life in Neufahrn seems like a completely blank slate. Sometimes, the blankness is overwhelming. Other times, it’s numbing. But I have a vision of making my life here memorable.

Goodbye, Innsbruck...

Here are some photos of my time in Innsbruck, which ended Sunday morning.

I expected to enjoy Innsbruck, but I've been taken aback by how much it felt like part of my heart. As in most situations, this has something to do with the city itself and quite a bit to do with the people and experiences that defined my time there. The Innsbruck residents I met blew me away with their warmth, wisdom, and penchant for fun.

As I mentioned earlier, Dani and Lydia Miner (my first hosts) are internationals studying in Innsbruck. I had some amazing conversations with them and Berndi (who just proposed to Lydia) as well as lots of fun moments cooking, playing with the (name-unknown) cat they were watching, and creating music together. I also got to tag along and meet many of their friends from the Christian student group where they're both involved. Probably the closest friend I made in this group is a German student named Lisi, who's in Innsbruck only for the semester. She's studying education too, and already wrote me to ask how I'm doing in Munich. I also really enjoyed Karma, a Jordanian girl who followed Dani and Lydia to Innsbruck. Her sister is studying at Gettysburg starting this fall, if anyone's near there! It's a great privilege discovering "kindred spirits" around the world - people with whom I instantly feel comfortable opening up. They can be few and far between.

Irene and Horst Oexle hosted me last week, when the Miners' new roommate moved in. They're at the same church and thus know all my mom's old friends from Innsbruck. I had fun playing Rummikub with them and exchanging interesting phrases and expressions in German and English. (Irene loves obscure and goofy phrases in English like "see you later, alligator.") They kept me laughing the whole week, and cooked delicious Tyrolean specialties for me.

I had the joy of babysitting Rebekka and Miriam - the pastor's little girls - several times. Their parents have their hands full preparing for several American groups coming to visit and help out. Julie, their mom, is from Minnesota and first came here on a Fulbright scholarship. She encouraged me to come back to Austria...as if I needed encouragement! Plug: if you're a Christian college student whose native language is English, they'd love to have you visit for a week near the end of August! You'd be helping with an English camp for Austrian teens. No German skills required.

Everywhere I was in Innsbruck, I felt so loved and so alive. That made it hard knowing I'd be leaving soon, but part of me knew it was time. I have a feeling I needed to come to Munich in order to grow more as a person. Innsbruck was a really nurturing environment that equipped me in some ways for Munich. I had some sweet goodbyes - the Montessori kids were crazy about the Big Red gum I gave to them and filled my arms with pictures they'd made for me. And on my last night, I baked chocolate chip cookies with Dani, Lisi, Karma, and her German roommate Anne. We spent hours singing songs together and talking. Innsbruck was perfect in just about every sense.

The Montessori School

I'm at a Montessori school last week and this week to observe and occasionally help out. It's been a fascinating experience! The school has about 70 students aged 7 to 15, divided into 3 classes. (Montessori classes usually have a range of at least 3 years per class.) I've learned many of the students' names and earned the privilege of playing volleyball with some while others invite me to sit with them at snack. The teachers too are warm and welcoming, and have mostly left me free to roam around and observe wherever I want.

My main role is that of an onlooker, but it's allowed me to get a thorough impression of the school. Each class starts the day with a morning circle, where students explain their plans for the morning. (Older students even have to write down what they expect to accomplish each day.) A key feature of the Montessori method is that instead of large-group instruction, students more often learn through individual or small-group work that tends to be more hands-on. A few examples: to learn to write, the youngest kids trace one letter at a time, first in sand, then on paper, going over the same giant letter in ten or so colors of crayon. Math uses lots of color-coding and involves a cool block puzzle that illustrates the Pythagorean theorum, as well as beads that work like an abacus. The oldest students formed their own political parties and are in the process of holding elections as a way to explore Austria's government. The only subjects that routinely involve formal group instruction are choir (optional) and English (required after age 12, but opted for by many or most younger students).

Even in assignments that involve more traditional practice problems or writing assignments, students have flexibility. During the free work periods that make up the bulk of each day, they can decide to work on only writing, or start with math and later move to science. Certain tasks (especially in math) have prerequisites that they must finish first. Over time, students put in roughly equal work on each subject, but they might focus more on one or two during a given week or even month. In others, they can design their own project: if they find themselves intrigued by rock formations or the ancient Egyptians or Chinese poetry, they are free to propose a way of studying it alone or with a friend. The result is that students enjoy school much more: not only being in the building, but also actually learning and working. It also makes them much more assertive than your typical Austrian student: they readily voice resistance to assignments they don't like and try to barter for what they want. But from what I've seen, the teachers are well-respected and know when to insist on a certain method, and the students don't generally try to evade work.

The few cases where I've actively helped or participated have been really neat. On Friday, I accompanied a group of younger kids to a local church, where they were preparing for First Communion. Since Austria is heavily Catholic but not especially religious, First Communion is typically the responsibility of the schools. Georg, the teacher who led the trip, taught me as much as any of the 7-year-olds about the physical layout of Catholic churches! Later that day, I helped Nina, a special education student, check her work on some math problems. It’s a good thing she was using such a good method, because my ability to explain math errors in German is pretty limited! The aforementioned color-coding simplified my explanations and facilitated her understanding. Today, I presented my “life story” to some of the teens in English, and we discussed the elements that surprised them or sounded familiar to them. They were, of course, shocked by college tuition rates. (Austrian public universities cost about $1000 per year.) Tonight, I’ve spent hours trying to prepare for tomorrow, when I’ll explain the US voting system…in German…to the teenagers. Oy. By far my favorite moment so far has been in the 7-year-olds' English class, when they got a chance to ask me to translate a word or two for them. Guess what word they wanted? "Cambrian." One of Montessori's features is a huge chain that teaches younger kids about pre-historic periods and gives them a sense of how comparatively brief human history is. They had apparently used this chain earlier in the week. That's Montessori for you in a nutshell...fostering curiosity in all kinds of topics!

Innsbruck

Since I'm only here one more week, I'd better hurry up and describe this amazing town!

Innsbruck might well be the prettiest place I've ever been. It's surrounded by dramatic mountains, so that there's really nowhere you can go that doesn't have a great view. The mountains also inspire lots of outdoors activities. For example, they force Innsbruck residents to live in a very compact area, so everywhere is easily bikeable. I've been lucky enough to borrow a bike so far, which is amazingly convenient given the bike lanes all over town. Even from Dani and Lydia's to their church, which are really on opposite ends of town, takes just over 30 minutes with a bike. (It keeps me in shape too!)

But Innsbruck residents go for much more extreme sports than a leisurely bike ride through town. People I've met are into rock climbing, mountain biking, horseback riding (very typical among kids at the Montessori school) and even paragliding. Hiking is almost the default social activity around here, and people are already swimming in all the mountain lakes, despite their frigid temperatures.

People here are very proud of their region, Tirol (Tyrol in English), which borders Germany, Switzerland, and Italy. It's the westernmost region and mostly rural; even Innsbruck has just over 100,000 residents. Tirol is known for its thick dialect...I studied up on Austrian German before I got here, and I can figure out a lot of things when they're slower, but the pronunciation really is quite different. One example:

English - I don't know either.
Standard German - Das weiss ich auch nicht.
Tiroler German - Des wuos i a nit.

Most differences are audible but spelled the same; there are also a number of Austrian expressions, as well as vocabulary words that are officially part of Austrian German, like the words for "apricot" and "January." Tirol's dialect is thicker than most; Bavaria, Germany (where Munich is located) is about as bad, but they at least share many of their eccentricities. People tease me about studying German in places where the language isn't really German. But I actually understand more than I expected, even when native speakers talk amongst themselves, which is really nice.

Tourists love Innsbruck, and so do foreign students: they recently instituted a rule that the at least 50% of the students enrolled in the medicine program at the university had to be Austrian. (Germans love the school of medicine because its admissions standards are lower than those at German med schools.) A lot of German students come for the mountains and the outdoors sports. I appreciate their presence, because it seems to be easier to understand students' conversations when not everyone is from Tirol.

Here I am!

I am delighted to announce that I arrived Tuesday night in Innsbruck, Austria. It was a relatively smooth trip, and I think I’ve conquered jet lag already. In my book, that marks it as a success, especially considering a third factor: the fascinating people I've already met. I will describe them in the order in which I met them.

1. The Dog Adopter sat next to me on my way to London (my layover between Newark and Munich). She has 12 canines, all of which were abandoned at the veterinary hospital where she works. She and her son were off to Normandy, France for her daughter's wedding. Though her children have lived in about 5 countries, she hates plane rides and generally sticks to the US. On her other side was a Malay businessman from Kuala Lumpur. His son, currently studying in Ukraine, can read and write in Malay, English, Russian, Arabic, and Japanese! No pressure for the son's two younger sisters...

2. The Train Station Loiterer, in Munich’s Hauptbahnhof, was the first person whose eye I caught in seeking help with the pay phone. A young guy with broken German, Mehdi helped me figure out how to dial the number, then accompanied me to my train. While he was quite the gentleman, I’m not sure I plan to call the number he wrote on my ticket. Incidentally, trains and train stations seem to be the location of choice for adolescent guys. Several got on and off the train to Innsbruck, and they waved and yelled enthusiastically to people at other stations.

3. The Rescuer was a huge help when my train to Innsbruck was so late that both of us missed our connection. I wish I could remember her name…something like Hishomi…but she’s a twentysomething Japanese who spent several years working in Germany and recently moved to Innsbruck. She helped me find the next train, get my luggage on board, and avoid #4. She also lent me her cell phone to call my friend waiting in Innsbruck, and provided some lively conversation to keep me awake on the train.

4. The Drunk was waiting for the same train as us, and I’m not sure how he was allowed onboard when he could barely stand up. He also tried to help me roll my suitcase through the train, but only succeeded in knocking it over once or twice. He followed us, but Hishomi and I were thankfully able to walk quickly enough to duck into a separate compartment where he didn’t see us.

5. The Best Hosts Yet are up for some stiff competition when I change locations next week. Dani (short for Daniel) and Lydia are siblings whose mom was friends with my mom years ago here in Innsbruck. Though both their parents are American, Dani and Lydia grew up in Jordan as missionary kids, and always came to Germany and Austria in between on furlough. They honestly seem more Austrian than American to me – even their accents, though they speak mostly English with each other. They’re super-fun! They both love the outdoors (like true Austrians), play all kinds of instruments, and are students here (in medicine and nursing, respectively).

6. The Friendly Neighbor came over yesterday waving a magazine full of soccer players. He, like everyone else I’ve met, is excited about the Europa Meisterschaft, a huge European soccer tournament taking place here in Innsbruck next month. Bilal is Turkish and probably about 7 years old. He, his mom, and 4 sisters (all younger?) live downstairs from Dani and Lydia’s apartment. Dani and Lydia have grown really close with him and the other kids, and often play ball outside, give them firecrackers, etc. Dani said he’s kind of the father role in their lives, since their no-good dad recently left. It was cool for me to meet Bilal, because I spent the whole semester studying Turkish families like his in Germany, and I think their situation is fairly analagous. As in many cases, his mom speaks almost no German…she has a tough road ahead of her.

7. The Swedish Baker had a good chat with me last night at the Christian student group that I attended with Lydia. Susanna is an exchange student who’s been here since January, and it was nice to spend some time with another foreigner who didn’t mind the slower-paced conversation. She baked an amazing chocolate dessert for Swedish Night, which happened to be the theme of last night’s meeting. We all went around waving Swedish flags and competed in small groups to pronounce a Swedish tongue-twister, produce an Ikea commercial, and pound down a box of Swedish candy.

8. The Blast from the Past was at this morning’s brunch, hosted by the same student group. As I chatted with people sitting near me, a girl on my left told me I looked familiar. We soon realized we had met before! Tini (short for Bettina) is best friends with Berit, whom I visited during my first trip at age 14. I remember having a lot of fun with Tini, but it never occurred to me I’d see her this time since Berit’s in Vienna. We’re hoping to hang out over the weekend. My mom spent 4 years here in Innsbruck after college, and it’s amazing to me how connected her friends have stayed to each other. Case in point: Tini’s brother Bernhardt is dating Lydia from #5.

Stay tuned...more noteworthy encounters are sure to follow...

The Far Country

"The settled happiness and security which we all desire, God withholds from us by the very nature of the world: but joy, merriment, and pleasure He has scattered broadcast. We are never safe, but we have plenty of fun, and some ecstasy. It is not hard to see why. The security which we crave would teach us to rest our hearts in this world and pose an obstacle to our return to God: a few minutes of happy love, a landscape, a symphony, a merry meeting with our friends, a bathe or a football match, have no such tendency. Our Father refreshes us on the journey with some pleasant inns, but will not encourage us to mistake them for home."

-C.S. Lewis

Of all the descriptions that come to mind about this trip, “settled happiness and security” is not one of them. I’ll be staying two different places while in Innsbruck – with family friends, the Granders, and their friends the Miners - and at least two in Munich: first in company housing, then in lodging provided by my course, then back to company housing. All this variety lends itself more to moments of “joy, merriment, and pleasure” than to a sense that I’m home. Even when I return, I’ll be moving to Pittsburgh and then on to more unknowns.

I think I am learning to accept this idea. I am determined to delight in the merry moments, even while I’m aware that they’ll soon give way to something new. I’ve had a tendency at times to remain distant and reserved when starting over seems to take too much effort. I love meeting new people, but sometimes I get tired of all the goodbyes. Despite this, I want to be fully present in Austria and Germany.

The truth is, in the big picture, everywhere I’ll ever live will be temporary. When I wish I could return to Doylestown or State College, I’m just trying to satisfy my homesickness with a different “pleasant inn.” But it would be a shame to forget about my real home. As Meister Eckhardt says, Gott ist zu Hause, wir sind in der Fremde. God is at home; we are in the far country.

P.S. Kudos to Kelly Kophazi, who first shared the C.S. Lewis quote with me, and to Andrew Peterson for the Meister Eckhardt quote. I owe some of these musings to his awesome album entitled "The Far Country."

Shipping Out

It’s hard to believe, but I’m leaving the country on Monday. I’m getting pretty excited, but it’s such a busy year that I feel like this transition has snuck up on me. (It's been just under a year since my return from France, May 23, 2007!) Here’s my lineup for 2008, for those who need a refresher:

January-May: State College, PA

• my final regular semester at Penn State

May 19-June 8: Innsbruck, Austria

• observing/volunteering at a Montessori school

June 8-August 11: Munich, Germany

• interning in SAP with Suss Microtec, the company my dad works for
• taking a 4-week German course at the local Goethe-Institut in July (afternoons only, so I can still work in the mornings)

August 19-December: Pittsburgh, PA

• student teaching at Baldwin High School in French and German
• graduating in December, job TBA

You can't ever be truly ready to move to a foreign country. But in some ways, this trip is decidedly less organized than I'd like it to be. Unlike last spring in Montpellier, France, I'm not going this summer through Penn State or another established program. Instead, I'm relying on my parents' connections to design my own trip. I love the flexibility this gives me, but at times, I'd love to be given a checklist or a reminder that something is overdue. Every day, new questions arise, and letting a few details slide by mistake has created a sense of teetering on the brink of chaos. A sampling from the past couple days:

• I never received an e-mail explaining how to pay for my course; in the meantime, the course looked like it had filled up. (Thankfully, it was a false alarm.)
  
• I didn't realize at first that a Gästehaus didn't imply Gastgeber, so now I'm wondering if I can still sign up for a host family during the course (instead of dorm-style housing)
• Family friends, the Granders, are arranging my housing in Innsbruck. But I didn’t realize that I needed to contact their friends on my own for the first week, so my e-mail to them was sent only this morning: 6 days before my planned arrival.

On the other hand, it helps that I've been to both cities and know a few people in both. Spending last spring in Montpellier, France has also prepared me somewhat by teaching me problem-solving. I’ve already dealt with things like finding a cell phone, navigating public transportation (including missing a train once), and planning sightseeing trips with near-strangers. I've learned to ask people for help when I need it and to be patient with myself.

I’m resigned to returning to life as an Ami. *French speakers, don't get confused: Ami in German doesn’t mean a friend, but an Amerikaner(in).* I remember what it felt like to be constantly reminded of my nationality, and for my every move to be interpreted as representing life in the US. I expect non-Americans to teach me about my own country’s politics and pop culture – including aspects I prefer to ignore - as well as theirs. I’m used to wading through conversations that would be a quick sprint in English. My awkwardness threshold has gone way up. So while I’m pretty sure things will rarely work out precisely the way I’d like them to, I’m all right with some chaos. In my experience, it's rarely fatal.