Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Moving on
I had advised any placement firm to respond this morning before 10:00 if they wanted me to consider their room or apartment. At 10:00 I called the pension that I would be there before noon. A little after 10:00 one of the services called me to say that they had an apartment for about 540 Euros for 2 weeks in the Stadtmitte, close to Tucholskystr., where there is a synagogue and where there are many nice things to do. That's a pretty good price. After thinking it over, I decided to stay with my arrangement with the pension.
The pension is located close to the school and sort of halfway between two synagogues. It is any easy walk to the Tiergarten and right off the Kurfurstendamm. You may see the location on this map: http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&source=s_q&hl=en&geocode=&q=Uhlandstra%C3%9Fe+33,+10719+Berlin,+Germany&sll=37.996163,-95.712891&sspn=29.646073,60.820313&ie=UTF8&ll=52.502456,13.324914&spn=0.011233,0.029697&t=h&z=15&iwloc=A .
I hauled my suitcase, backpack, and computer satchel to the streetcar, then another streetcar, then the S-Bahn. From the S-Bahn it was about a half km. And by noon I was at the pension. They gave me a double room for the same price as the single room, but the room is at the farthest end of the hotel.
By the time I was finished checking in, it was very late, and I would not be able to stop for lunch before class. I asked the lady in charge if I could take a piece of bread leftover from breakfast with me. She said that would be OK, and took out a container of bread for me to choose what I'd like. Then she brought out several cheeses and butter and offered me that. Then she started making me a nice sandwich. When she finished the sandwich, she put it in a paper back and then in a plastic bag and sent me off to class.
School today was difficult. I still have considerable trouble understanding the other foreign students. Other than that, my weakness seems to be vocabulary, probably the most difficult thing for an older person to remedy, as it takes skills that get weaker with age.
After class, I came back to the room to update my email and blog. The hotel has a wireless network, and it reaches to my room, even though the desk told me that I would probably have to come down to the breakfast area. I worked for several hours.
I decided to go to mincha at the synagogue today. I arrived with plenty of time, and walked in right in front of the rabbi. The security was about to grill me, when the rabbi, who remembered me from Shabbat, told him that I was OK.
I introduced myself to several people, one of whom, Bendt, was one of, apparently, many conversion prospects who attend services at this shul. He thought it a great coincident that I am from
Atlanta, as the only other American that he has talked to was an Atlanta woman in the American Army, whose car broke down on the highway; as he was a truck driver, he had stopped to help. Another was Michael (pronounce that in German or Hebrew, not English). After mincha (at 7:30) the rabbi taught a little Talmud about the omer. Then we had maariv and the minyan broke up.
I walked out of the shul with Bendt and Michael, who suggested we go together to get something to eat or drink. We walked a few blocks and Michael said, “This is my restaurant.” It turns out that he owns one of the 3 or 4 kosher restaurants in town. We were drinking a beer when Michael's wife, Manuela came and eventually sat down with us. They are in the neighborhood of 55 years old, I guess.
They own a 3-room B&B, about which I was unaware. I had written to the Jewish Community probably 8 weeks before leaving Atlanta, asking if there was any sort of Jewish accommodation. I never received an answer. That's now even more annoying than it was before.
We talked about Jews in Atlanta and those in Berlin and about kosher markets and restaurants. We exchanged information about children and grandchildren. His son is a musician that travels with an orchestra that plays in a musical.
Michael is Berlin-born of Polish parents. Manuela's parents are from the part of Germany that was handed over to Poland after the war. That makes her entirely German. These are the people I wanted to get to know. So many Jews in Germany are immigrants from the former Soviet republics and eastern European countries, and speak broken German. When I wanted to pay for my beer, Michael said that it was on him.
Back at my room, I had an opportunity to watch TV news on several stations. At Martins, TV is not watched. I'm understanding more and more.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
An uneventful day
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Search for Digs
Having mooched off Martin and Corinna too long, I searched for a place to which I could move, closer to town. I had wanted to stay with a family so that I could get a lot of practice in conversation, and I began looking well before I arrived, but had no success. I figured that I could continue looking during my first few days here.
I tried a number of services, and I even visited the Jűdische Gemeinde (Jewish Community). Nothing useful showed up. Then I started looking for pensions and apartments.
I think I have settled on one of two locations: a pension just off the Kurfurstendamm and near the school and several synagogues or an apartment near the Museuminsel (Museum Island) directly in the center of town, but far from synagogues and the school. I must decide by 10:00 tomorrow morning.
Class today was routine, but had one aspect that was noteworthy. I take it that the study material is written, in part, for people who are immigrating into Germany. Some of that stuff is not interesting to me.
As my hosts would be returning home late, I decided to eat in town tonight.
When everyone got home, very tired, Martin opened a bottle of wine and we talked about music and then ventured again into politics. When he gets into that subject, Martin forgets that he is tired and becomes very expressive. Today the topic was the failure of democracies. Martin is such a cynic.
His premise tonight was that democracies, and especially that of the USA, are all failing because people don't vote with their brains but with their feelings. Indeed, how can anyone disagree with that contention? But much of the rest of the discussion was about how, or even whether, such a dysfunction could be resolved.
By the time the bottle of wine was done, we had again ended in a vague disagreement. I think that sometimes he plays the devil's advocate, just to make the discussion lively. We wished each other einen guten Schlaf (sleep well).
Spending the next hour catching up with my blogs, I finally went to bed at 12:30.
Search for Digs
Having mooched off Martin and Corinna too long, I searched for a place to which I could move, closer to town. I had wanted to stay with a family so that I could get a lot of practice in conversation, and I began looking well before I arrived, but had no success. I figured that I could continue looking during my first few days here.
I tried a number of services, and I even visited the Jűdische Gemeinde (Jewish Community). Nothing useful showed up. Then I started looking for pensions and apartments.
I think I have settled on one of two locations: a pension just off the Kurfurstendamm and near the school and several synagogues or an apartment near the Museuminsel (Museum Island) directly in the center of town, but far from synagogues and the school. I must decide by 10:00 tomorrow morning.
Class today was routine, but had one aspect that was noteworthy. I take it that the study material is written, in part, for people who are immigrating into Germany. Some of that stuff is not interesting to me.
As my hosts would be returning home late, I decided to eat in town tonight.
When everyone got home, very tired, Martin opened a bottle of wine and we talked about music and then ventured again into politics. When he gets into that subject, Martin forgets that he is tired and becomes very expressive. Today the topic was the failure of democracies. Martin is such a cynic.
His premise tonight was that democracies, and especially that of the USA, are all failing because people don't vote with their brains but with their feelings. Indeed, how can anyone disagree with that contention? But much of the rest of the discussion was about how, or even whether, such a dysfunction could be resolved.
By the time the bottle of wine was done, we had again ended in a vague disagreement. I think that sometimes he plays the devil's advocate, just to make the discussion lively. We wished each other einen guten Schlaf (sleep well).
Spending the next hour catching up with my blogs, I finally went to bed at 12:30.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Going back to school
Monday, April 27, 2009
School starts
Breakfast this morning was something special. The asparagus that Martin had picked yesterday became the focus of a delicious omelette. I don't think I have ever eaten asparagus so tasty and tender.
We all had to get up early, since he had to go into the office, and I had to be in town for my first day of language class at 9:00. It takes about an hour to get into town from here. I walk several hundred meters to the streetcar, which takes about 40 minutes to get to Alexanderplatz, where I transfer to the S-Bahn. After 10 minutes on the S-Bahn, I have to walk a few blocks to the school.
Berlin has a great public transportation system, which is always in heavy use. There are several types of transport:
If one does not have a monthly pass or similar, then one buys one or more (then discounted) tickets, each of which is good for up to two hours, including transfers, as long as you continue going in the same general direction. That is, they are not good for round trips. There are no turnstiles, ticket-takers or similar. One simply walks into the station or onto the streetcar. One is simply obligated to validate one's ticket at the beginning of the first ride. I suppose that there are random checks, but I haven't seen one yet.
It took about an hour to learn that, although everyone without exception had told me how well I speak German, I was not good enough to be in the class they had assigned me. I had taken an entrance exam and had gotten 56 out of 60 right. In the class I could understand the teacher well enough, but I don't think I had sufficient working vocabulary to make a go of it. In addition, the class had several other nationalities (Russian, French, Chinese, Italian), and I couldn't understand a word they said in German.
So I changed to the next lower class, which meets in the afternoon. I came back at 12:45 to find that I fit in quite well with that class. There are two native Spanish speakers, a Russian, a Moldavan, another American and me. The oldest, besides me, is a 28-year-old physician who is immigrating from Russia. All of them speak sufficiently clearly.
Tonight for dinner, Martin started the meal with cucumbers in a yogurt-dill dressing that was delicious. Then he made a chicken dish in a sauce with side dishes of potatoes and some of the vegetables we had gotten in Poland. I had never had parsley root before, and found it to be exceptionally tasty. I understand that it's not available in German markets, and that is why they were so eager to buy it on Sunday.
Martin and Corinna always have wine after dinner while they listen to music. They have a huge CD collection. For example, he had something like 8 different recordings of Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier, and similar comparative recordings of other pieces. He likes to have listened to them one after another to see which one he likes and why.
Tonight we reviewed all the places I should be sure to visit in the Stadtmitte (downtown), including several cafes and record/music stores.
School starts
Breakfast this morning was something special. The asparagus that Martin had picked yesterday became the focus of a delicious omelette. I don't think I have ever eaten asparagus so tasty and tender.
We all had to get up early, since he had to go into the office, and I had to be in town for my first day of language class at 9:00. It takes about an hour to get into town from here. I walk several hundred meters to the streetcar, which takes about 40 minutes to get to Alexanderplatz, where I transfer to the S-Bahn. After 10 minutes on the S-Bahn, I have to walk a few blocks to the school.
Berlin has a great public transportation system, which is always in heavy use. There are several types of transport:
- Bus: practically every street that doesn't have one of the other modes, has a bus.
- Tram: These are streetcars, and not substantively different from the next item in this list, but they usually are connector or feeder lines. They look like streetcars, they run on the street or in the center island of streets, but they are called trams.
- Streetcars: usually these are the main trunk lines that bring people into the city from the farther neighborhoods. Most of the streetcars as well as the Trams are found in the erstwhile East Berlin neighborhoods. New lines are being built in the West.
- U-Bahns: Subways, or undergrounds, run in a net, mostly in the West, providing the same function as the streetcars in the East. They are pretty modern for the most part.
- S-Bahn: I think this stands for “schnell” (fast). These are primarily elevated trains with relatively longer distances between stations. They are very similar to the MARTA trains in Atlanta, except that there are about 30 separate lines, the important ones running every 5 minutes or so during the day.
- Suburban trains: these trains come into the many Bahnhof (train station) locations in the city. The S-Bahn usually goes through those same stations so that riders can transfer.
If one does not have a monthly pass or similar, then one buys one or more (then discounted) tickets, each of which is good for up to two hours, including transfers, as long as you continue going in the same general direction. That is, they are not good for round trips. There are no turnstiles, ticket-takers or similar. One simply walks into the station or onto the streetcar. One is simply obligated to validate one's ticket at the beginning of the first ride. I suppose that there are random checks, but I haven't seen one yet.
It took about an hour to learn that, although everyone without exception had told me how well I speak German, I was not good enough to be in the class they had assigned me. I had taken an entrance exam and had gotten 56 out of 60 right. In the class I could understand the teacher well enough, but I don't think I had sufficient working vocabulary to make a go of it. In addition, the class had several other nationalities (Russian, French, Chinese, Italian), and I couldn't understand a word they said in German.
So I changed to the next lower class, which meets in the afternoon. I came back at 12:45 to find that I fit in quite well with that class. There are two native Spanish speakers, a Russian, a Moldavan, another American and me. The oldest, besides me, is a 28-year-old physician who is immigrating from Russia. All of them speak sufficiently clearly.
Tonight for dinner, Martin started the meal with cucumbers in a yogurt-dill dressing that was delicious. Then he made a chicken dish in a sauce with side dishes of potatoes and some of the vegetables we had gotten in Poland. I had never had parsley root before, and found it to be exceptionally tasty. I understand that it's not available in German markets, and that is why they were so eager to buy it on Sunday.
Martin and Corinna always have wine after dinner while they listen to music. They have a huge CD collection. For example, he had something like 8 different recordings of Bach's Well-Tempered Clavier, and similar comparative recordings of other pieces. He likes to have listened to them one after another to see which one he likes and why.
Tonight we reviewed all the places I should be sure to visit in the Stadtmitte (downtown), including several cafes and record/music stores.
Country life
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Auf dem Land
Today was to be a clean-up day on their farm. It has been very, very dry in April, and none of the planted seeds are germinating. They spent some time watering and mowing the grass. As soon as breakfast was over, the neighbors started to come by.
We sat and had coffee or sparkling wine or torte with everyone who visited. The people in the village speak with a distinctive accent, and it was a challenge to understand them.
Before we left, we harvested some things to take back to town. They have several each of apple trees, sweet cherry, plum, pear, and quince. They have an asparagus bed that produces every year. They plant potatoes, tomatoes, rhubarb, herbs, flowers, celeriac, carrots, squash, radishes, etc. They don't seem interested in peppers or eggplants. Only some greens and the rhubarb was ready for harvest.
Their across-the-street neighbor, Sascho, and his wife Regina had invited us for late lunch. When we got back from the countryside, we went directly to their house, where they served us all manner of central European food: a fish soup, a soup made from stinging nettle, some chopped fish, pickled vegetables, stewed rhubarb with redcurrents for dessert.
After lunch Sascho (By the way, that's his nickname; his name is Alexander) gave us a tour of his garden, with numerous grape arbors, fruit trees, raspberry bushes, vegetables, and flowers.
Sascho is in an unusual employment situation now that there is no communist East Germany. Throughout the communist bloc, and particularly in the so-called German Democratic Republic (DDR), the state supported the arts, including painters and artists. When the communist government went away, so did the support. Thus, such artists, who had no relevant job-search experience were in a precarious position. Sascho has jobs and commissions, and, luckily, Germany has a good social welfare system, so that health care and so forth are not a problem.
When we got back to Martin's house, we opened a bottle of wine and managed to discuss politics until 11:00. The primary subject, towards which I sort of steered the conversation, was the Middle East.
It was a challenge to follow the discussion, as it seemed like each of us was discussing a different subject. You see, Martin is an uncompromising pacifist. He had even gotten in trouble in the old DDR for his views. He believes that there is no reason for war. I'm not sure if he would go this far, since we haven't discussed it, but I get the impression that he would not justify any type of violence. He frequently cites Ghandi.
As a result, even if you believe that Israel, for the most part, acts in self-defense, as I do, that assumption doesn't tip the scales. Of course, the actions of the Palestinians are equally deplorable in his eyes. So we talked and talked, and I got some really good practice time speaking German, but we were as far apart at the end as we were at the beginning.
Collapsing from fatigue, we all went to bed, pretty tipsy on my part.
Auf dem Land
Today was to be a clean-up day on their farm. It has been very, very dry in April, and none of the planted seeds are germinating. They spent some time watering and mowing the grass. As soon as breakfast was over, the neighbors started to come by.
We sat and had coffee or sparkling wine or torte with everyone who visited. The people in the village speak with a distinctive accent, and it was a challenge to understand them.
Before we left, we harvested some things to take back to town. They have several each of apple trees, sweet cherry, plum, pear, and quince. They have an asparagus bed that produces every year. They plant potatoes, tomatoes, rhubarb, herbs, flowers, celeriac, carrots, squash, radishes, etc. They don't seem interested in peppers or eggplants. Only some greens and the rhubarb was ready for harvest.
Their across-the-street neighbor, Sascho, and his wife Regina had invited us for late lunch. When we got back from the countryside, we went directly to their house, where they served us all manner of central European food: a fish soup, a soup made from stinging nettle, some chopped fish, pickled vegetables, stewed rhubarb with redcurrents for dessert.
After lunch Sascho (By the way, that's his nickname; his name is Alexander) gave us a tour of his garden, with numerous grape arbors, fruit trees, raspberry bushes, vegetables, and flowers.
Sascho is in an unusual employment situation now that there is no communist East Germany. Throughout the communist bloc, and particularly in the so-called German Democratic Republic (DDR), the state supported the arts, including painters and artists. When the communist government went away, so did the support. Thus, such artists, who had no relevant job-search experience were in a precarious position. Sascho has jobs and commissions, and, luckily, Germany has a good social welfare system, so that health care and so forth are not a problem.
When we got back to Martin's house, we opened a bottle of wine and managed to discuss politics until 11:00. The primary subject, towards which I sort of steered the conversation, was the Middle East.
It was a challenge to follow the discussion, as it seemed like each of us was discussing a different subject. You see, Martin is an uncompromising pacifist. He had even gotten in trouble in the old DDR for his views. He believes that there is no reason for war. I'm not sure if he would go this far, since we haven't discussed it, but I get the impression that he would not justify any type of violence. He frequently cites Ghandi.
As a result, even if you believe that Israel, for the most part, acts in self-defense, as I do, that assumption doesn't tip the scales. Of course, the actions of the Palestinians are equally deplorable in his eyes. So we talked and talked, and I got some really good practice time speaking German, but we were as far apart at the end as we were at the beginning.
Collapsing from fatigue, we all went to bed, pretty tipsy on my part.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Exploring
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Shabbat
Awake by 7:00 so that I could breakfast and get to the Straßenbahn (the “ß” is a double-S) (streetcar) by 8:10, I was on my way to the orthodox synagogue for morning services. Ironic, eh?
At the synagogue, easy to find on a main street, I was suspiciously greeted at the door by an Israeli equivalent of a Navy Seal or Green Beret. By the way, there's also a police station right next door, and steel and concrete barriers around the front. I don't think there has been an incident at a Jewish institution in Berlin since 1945, but you can't be too careful in any European city with a large number of unassimilated residents.
The actual synagogue building doesn't face the street, but the courtyard. The building was constructed in about 1902 as a B'nai B'rith lodge, but I wouldn't have known that if not told. It's a very pretty building interior and exterior.
As I arrived early, I joined a talmud lesson in progress. The older rabbi, from Israel, had a group of 15 men and about 7 women learning separately but together. The service was then under way at 9:30. Two people asked me if I were a Kohen or Levi. Eventually, I was offered an aliyah, but I decided to decline. Anim Zmirot was led by one of the children so enthusiastically that his out-of-tune singing didn't even bother me much.
In my row was a gentleman who had a beautiful singing voice. I told him so and he said that he would be giving a concert the next day at the Jewish center. As we talked more, I learned that he “comes from America, too.” He had immigrated to the US from Israel, where he had gone sometime during the communist period in Poland. He showed himself to be somewhat intolerant of people he defined as insincere. I decided I would forego his concert.
After services was a very nice sit-down, served kiddush, with various types of salads, herring, bread, nuts, fruits, and a thick cholent, full of huge pieces of meat.
Most of the people in the congregation were older with a few in their 30's and 40's. There were only 2 people that appeared to be in their 20's or younger, except for the small children of some of the attendees. Many were Russian – probably a majority. Several were American and other foreign nationalities, but all spoke German.
I was back at Martin's by about 3:00. Shortly we were off to the countryside.
We would drive about 40 or so kilometers towards the East. That's about how far it is to Alpharetta. We passed through several small towns, some of them charming, and some of them very plain. As we wound through the streets of one particular Dorf (town/village), we saw a “Ritterfest” (a knight's festival) at the local Schloß. A Schloß can be a king's palace or it can be a lowly gentle-family's estate. This was apparently owned by some Ritter (knight).
We soon arrived at their “farm,” a couple of acres in the village of Wölsikendorf, with a very old stone house, which they had to rehabilitate to make it liveable. The walls are 2 feet thick, and they live there on many weekends of the growing season. Apparently, the place was falling down when they bought it (for a song?), and they paid about 50,000 Euros to rehab the house, including reinforcement of the foundation, supports for the walls, finishing the upstairs, new wiring, heating, and water lines. Just about the only thing that's original are the exterior walls.
The plan for today is to drive across the Oder River and into Poland, where they know of a nice place to have dinner. The Polish border is about 30 km farther towards the East. During the time of Bismarck, the Polish border was significantly farther to the East. Only after the War did the Oder become the border.
On the way, we visited the towns where Martin grew up and then went to high school. In one of the towns there was a memorial on the "Jewish Steps" that used to pass the no-longer-extant synagogue. In the town where he spent his childhood, we stopped to look at the Ginko tree that he liked so much. When I was taking his picture in front of the house and the tree, the resident in the house came to greet us. She was a minister in training. Since Martin's father had been a minister, and Martin had also studied, they chatted a while about the itinerant ministry in the small towns in the area.
Since Poland is part of the European Union, we didn't even have to slow down as we entered the country. The only evidence that we were in a different country is that many of the signs are in Polish – but not all signs. German customers cross the border to buy food, cigarettes, and gasoline; therefore, many of the signs are in German.
We stopped at a grocery to stock up, where all products were identified by their Polish-language packaging or by signs. We bought fresh vegetables, pickled herring and mackarel, yogurt, and so forth. I forced them to let me pay for the 15 Euro purchase, but they still managed to force the cashier to take their money for part of the payment. The change was in Złoty, since the Euro has not been put into place in Poland yet.
Martin filled up the car with gasoline that was 25 Euro Cents cheaper per liter than in Germany.
We went to dinner in an old monastery that was founded in 1299. The menu of the establishment said that it was 1266, but Martin assured me that it was not that old – only 1299. The food was quite good. Two of us had Butterfish, which might be pompano among us, with sugar peas. It was very nice. Dessert was apple strudel, but not rolled up; it was more like apples laid upon a crust with ice cream and whipped cream.
The drive back to Wölsikendorf was uneventful.
Shabbat
Awake by 7:00 so that I could breakfast and get to the Straßenbahn (the “ß” is a double-S) (streetcar) by 8:10, I was on my way to the orthodox synagogue for morning services. Ironic, eh?
At the synagogue, easy to find on a main street, I was suspiciously greeted at the door by an Israeli equivalent of a Navy Seal or Green Beret. By the way, there's also a police station right next door, and steel and concrete barriers around the front. I don't think there has been an incident at a Jewish institution in Berlin since 1945, but you can't be too careful in any European city with a large number of unassimilated residents.
The actual synagogue building doesn't face the street, but the courtyard. The building was constructed in about 1902 as a B'nai B'rith lodge, but I wouldn't have known that if not told. It's a very pretty building interior and exterior.
As I arrived early, I joined a talmud lesson in progress. The older rabbi, from Israel, had a group of 15 men and about 7 women learning separately but together. The service was then under way at 9:30. Two people asked me if I were a Kohen or Levi. Eventually, I was offered an aliyah, but I decided to decline. Anim Zmirot was led by one of the children so enthusiastically that his out-of-tune singing didn't even bother me much.
In my row was a gentleman who had a beautiful singing voice. I told him so and he said that he would be giving a concert the next day at the Jewish center. As we talked more, I learned that he “comes from America, too.” He had immigrated to the US from Israel, where he had gone sometime during the communist period in Poland. He showed himself to be somewhat intolerant of people he defined as insincere. I decided I would forego his concert.
After services was a very nice sit-down, served kiddush, with various types of salads, herring, bread, nuts, fruits, and a thick cholent, full of huge pieces of meat.
Most of the people in the congregation were older with a few in their 30's and 40's. There were only 2 people that appeared to be in their 20's or younger, except for the small children of some of the attendees. Many were Russian – probably a majority. Several were American and other foreign nationalities, but all spoke German.
I was back at Martin's by about 3:00. Shortly we were off to the countryside.
We would drive about 40 or so kilometers towards the East. That's about how far it is to Alpharetta. We passed through several small towns, some of them charming, and some of them very plain. As we wound through the streets of one particular Dorf (town/village), we saw a “Ritterfest” (a knight's festival) at the local Schloß. A Schloß can be a king's palace or it can be a lowly gentle-family's estate. This was apparently owned by some Ritter (knight).
We soon arrived at their “farm,” a couple of acres in the village of Wölsikendorf, with a very old stone house, which they had to rehabilitate to make it liveable. The walls are 2 feet thick, and they live there on many weekends of the growing season. Apparently, the place was falling down when they bought it (for a song?), and they paid about 50,000 Euros to rehab the house, including reinforcement of the foundation, supports for the walls, finishing the upstairs, new wiring, heating, and water lines. Just about the only thing that's original are the exterior walls.
The plan for today is to drive across the Oder River and into Poland, where they know of a nice place to have dinner. The Polish border is about 30 km farther towards the East. During the time of Bismarck, the Polish border was significantly farther to the East. Only after the War did the Oder become the border.
On the way, we visited the towns where Martin grew up and then went to high school. In one of the towns there was a memorial on the "Jewish Steps" that used to pass the no-longer-extant synagogue. In the town where he spent his childhood, we stopped to look at the Ginko tree that he liked so much. When I was taking his picture in front of the house and the tree, the resident in the house came to greet us. She was a minister in training. Since Martin's father had been a minister, and Martin had also studied, they chatted a while about the itinerant ministry in the small towns in the area.
Since Poland is part of the European Union, we didn't even have to slow down as we entered the country. The only evidence that we were in a different country is that many of the signs are in Polish – but not all signs. German customers cross the border to buy food, cigarettes, and gasoline; therefore, many of the signs are in German.
We stopped at a grocery to stock up, where all products were identified by their Polish-language packaging or by signs. We bought fresh vegetables, pickled herring and mackarel, yogurt, and so forth. I forced them to let me pay for the 15 Euro purchase, but they still managed to force the cashier to take their money for part of the payment. The change was in Złoty, since the Euro has not been put into place in Poland yet.
Martin filled up the car with gasoline that was 25 Euro Cents cheaper per liter than in Germany.
We went to dinner in an old monastery that was founded in 1299. The menu of the establishment said that it was 1266, but Martin assured me that it was not that old – only 1299. The food was quite good. Two of us had Butterfish, which might be pompano among us, with sugar peas. It was very nice. Dessert was apple strudel, but not rolled up; it was more like apples laid upon a crust with ice cream and whipped cream.
The drive back to Wölsikendorf was uneventful.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Arrived, safe and sound
Friday, April 24, 2009
Arrival and Re-acquaintance
I found my seat on the completely full flight to Berlin, and sat next to an obviously German lady about my age. I addressed her in German, and excused myself as I stumbled into my window seat. It wasn't long before I discovered that my impeccable talent for identifying nationalities was flawed, and that the lady was a very American housewife from Minnesota. She and her husband were vacationing, but couldn't get two seats together. He was sitting in business class.
When he came back to visit her before takeoff, I graciously offered to swap seats with him so that he could sit next to his wife. But he declined my offer. Finally, they decided that he would sit in coach and the wife would travel in business class. He was a very interesting travel companion, and the time passed relatively comfortably. I managed to sleep a little more than 2 hours – unusual in my experience.
At the Berlin-Tegel airport, the luggage conveyor wasn't working properly – a real embarrassment for a German organization. But shortly we had our bags and exited through the Zoll/Customs. As far as I could tell, the only official in the customs area was a young fellow talking on the phone, so I walked straight through without even making eye contact, not that I had anything to declare, anyhow. What a lost opportunity!
Martin and Corinna were waiting for me; Martin is my friend from the time that I was an exchange student in West Berlin, and he was a political activist and student in East Berlin. (The stories about going through the border crossing at the Berlin Wall in those days will wait for another time.) We all hugged and made our way to their car. In less than an hour we were at their home on the east side – formerly East Berlin – of the city.
They are extremely gracious hosts. We had a re-orientation of the house and the yard, talked briefly about family, and Corinna brought brunch out onto the patio. Their son had moved to Sweden with his family (including 3 children), and their daughter works for Motorola in Chicago. Corinna would leave on May 7 to attend the daughter's graduation from her master degree program in design management. Martin could not go, as he had taken upon himself to cover for a sick colleague; he now works 4 days a week, about 3½ more than he wants to work, given that he is retired.
We talked a lot about what plants, animals, and birds we have in common and those with which we are, respectively, unfamiliar. For example, their mint plants look completely different; they have no cardinals and no robins; they have no hickory/pecan trees or tall pine trees, but plenty of other types of evergreens. These are, of course, not scientific findings but casual observations.
I was surprised at how warm it is. They are only about 3 weeks behind Atlanta in their spring: Tulips are at their height (and they don't have to plant anew every couple of years); the forsythia is blooming, and the cherries, apples, pears, and plums are all in full blossom. This afternoon it was 21ºC.
As usually, as we sat together, the conversation became more and more political, until I was beginning to have trouble keeping up with the concepts. Nevertheless, they complimented me on how well I was speaking and understanding. It's an advantage for an American studying German to have “east German” friends, because, as school children, they were never taught English, but Russian. It's almost never feasible accidentally to revert to English on the (false) assumption that it would be easier.
Their hospitality went into overdrive in the afternoon. They just happened to have a cell phone SIM card, and all it needed was activation. Corinna got onto the web page and activated it for my phone over my objections. Next thing I knew, an hour later, she presented me 8 fare cards for public transport, and with a BerlinWelcome Card, which gives discounted admission to museums and tourist sites, and two days of unlimited public transportation usage. Public transport here is even better than that in New York.
They had invited their across-the-street neighbors, Sascho and Regina, for dinner. Bela and I had met them on our last trip to Berlin, about five years ago. Sascho is a Bulgarian artist, about my age, and Regina is German. They met in college and stayed in East Berlin.
Sascho always brings Bulgarian wine, and today was no different, although wine is generally plentiful and very reasonably priced. I was in the supermarket and noticed that a Cabernet imported from Chile was about 1.60 Euros (about $2.35 today), including tax. Very few wines were more expensive.
Again we talked about politics over dinner, and we had a great time. It's so much easier to speak and understand German with a few glasses of wine behind me.
In consideration of my condition, we broke up early so that I could get to sleep a little early. But I was already past sleepy and well into my second wind.
Arrival and Re-acquaintance
I found my seat on the completely full flight to Berlin, and sat next to an obviously German lady about my age. I addressed her in German, and excused myself as I stumbled into my window seat. It wasn't long before I discovered that my impeccable talent for identifying nationalities was flawed, and that the lady was a very American housewife from Minnesota. She and her husband were vacationing, but couldn't get two seats together. He was sitting in business class.
When he came back to visit her before takeoff, I graciously offered to swap seats with him so that he could sit next to his wife. But he declined my offer. Finally, they decided that he would sit in coach and the wife would travel in business class. He was a very interesting travel companion, and the time passed relatively comfortably. I managed to sleep a little more than 2 hours – unusual in my experience.
At the Berlin-Tegel airport, the luggage conveyor wasn't working properly – a real embarrassment for a German organization. But shortly we had our bags and exited through the Zoll/Customs. As far as I could tell, the only official in the customs area was a young fellow talking on the phone, so I walked straight through without even making eye contact, not that I had anything to declare, anyhow. What a lost opportunity!
Martin and Corinna were waiting for me; Martin is my friend from the time that I was an exchange student in West Berlin, and he was a political activist and student in East Berlin. (The stories about going through the border crossing at the Berlin Wall in those days will wait for another time.) We all hugged and made our way to their car. In less than an hour we were at their home on the east side – formerly East Berlin – of the city.
They are extremely gracious hosts. We had a re-orientation of the house and the yard, talked briefly about family, and Corinna brought brunch out onto the patio. Their son had moved to Sweden with his family (including 3 children), and their daughter works for Motorola in Chicago. Corinna would leave on May 7 to attend the daughter's graduation from her master degree program in design management. Martin could not go, as he had taken upon himself to cover for a sick colleague; he now works 4 days a week, about 3½ more than he wants to work, given that he is retired.
We talked a lot about what plants, animals, and birds we have in common and those with which we are, respectively, unfamiliar. For example, their mint plants look completely different; they have no cardinals and no robins; they have no hickory/pecan trees or tall pine trees, but plenty of other types of evergreens. These are, of course, not scientific findings but casual observations.
I was surprised at how warm it is. They are only about 3 weeks behind Atlanta in their spring: Tulips are at their height (and they don't have to plant anew every couple of years); the forsythia is blooming, and the cherries, apples, pears, and plums are all in full blossom. This afternoon it was 21ºC.
As usually, as we sat together, the conversation became more and more political, until I was beginning to have trouble keeping up with the concepts. Nevertheless, they complimented me on how well I was speaking and understanding. It's an advantage for an American studying German to have “east German” friends, because, as school children, they were never taught English, but Russian. It's almost never feasible accidentally to revert to English on the (false) assumption that it would be easier.
Their hospitality went into overdrive in the afternoon. They just happened to have a cell phone SIM card, and all it needed was activation. Corinna got onto the web page and activated it for my phone over my objections. Next thing I knew, an hour later, she presented me 8 fare cards for public transport, and with a BerlinWelcome Card, which gives discounted admission to museums and tourist sites, and two days of unlimited public transportation usage. Public transport here is even better than that in New York.
They had invited their across-the-street neighbors, Sascho and Regina, for dinner. Bela and I had met them on our last trip to Berlin, about five years ago. Sascho is a Bulgarian artist, about my age, and Regina is German. They met in college and stayed in East Berlin.
Sascho always brings Bulgarian wine, and today was no different, although wine is generally plentiful and very reasonably priced. I was in the supermarket and noticed that a Cabernet imported from Chile was about 1.60 Euros (about $2.35 today), including tax. Very few wines were more expensive.
Again we talked about politics over dinner, and we had a great time. It's so much easier to speak and understand German with a few glasses of wine behind me.
In consideration of my condition, we broke up early so that I could get to sleep a little early. But I was already past sleepy and well into my second wind.
Making my way to Berlin
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Traveling
When I found a great fare, I decided that it's time to visit Berlin. I may have decided, but I wasn't decisive. As I am wont to do, I thought out all the pros and cons until a couple of important pros sold out.
Whereas, if I had booked on the day I discovered the fare, I would have had a 50 minute layover at JFK, I managed to wait until the best connections I could find forced me to languish at JFK from 11:00 am until 7:00 pm.
A couple of days ago I prepared a hospitality gift of Georgia-made products, and other typical American fare: Girl Scout cookies, pop corn, peanuts in the shell, pecans, peach preserves, fig preserves. Where am I going to put all this stuff?
Showing up at the Atlanta airport at 7:10 for my 8:30 flight to JFK should have provided me with plenty of time. I could have breakfast at the airport, thought I. I went straight to the automated check-in and it showed only the ATL-JFK leg of my trip. Thus, I couldn't check my bag through to Berlin. So I stood in line for about a half hour to talk to an agent. Luckily, I had a nice conversation with the lady behind me in line, who was going to Shanghai on business. “After I get out of this job,” she said, “I'm not going anywhere any more!”
I finally got to the agent's desk at about 7:50 and asked to check my bags through to Berlin. The agent said, “But it's too late to get your bags on your flight to JFK.” I calmly asked her to try hard, and she checked my bag. Now rush to the gate.
At security, carrying my laptop bag, my backpack, my camera and phone on my belt, and wearing my jacket (it's going to be cool in Berlin at this time of year), I took off my shoes, followed some of the security instructions, and forgot to follow others. I beeped at the scanner, so I removed my belt and the change from my pockets. Although I traversed the body scanner successfully, the TSA inspector said that she would have to look more closely at my backpack.
I put on my shoes and reassemble my belongings, from 4 bins, and went to the inspection station to supervise the search. Turns out that my peach preserves, made in Georgia from Georgia Peaches, were too dangerous to take on board. Likewise my fig preserves. The hospitality gift I had assembled for my German hosts will be a little more meager than planned.
Down the escalator to board the train for concourse B, and about to board the train, I somehow noticed that I was missing my jacket. The only way back up to the security area was to use the elevator, which seemed to take forever. The agent at the conveyor belts suggested that I try the lost and found, where my jacket was, indeed waiting for me.
By the time I was on B concourse I was hearing the “Last call for passengers on flight 1834 to JFK; all passengers should be on board at this time.” I hurried through the boarding gate to stand in line in the jetway for 5 minutes. Then the plane was on the various taxiways, making its way to the farthest runway until it finally took off about a half hour late.
So far I was not having fun on this trip. No time for breakfast, of course
I squeezed onto the flight and into my seat. The man on the aisle and the woman in the middle seat let me into my window seat, and then returned to their conversation. Shortly, however, they brought me into the conversation, and I had a very pleasant flight chatting with them. The man is a decorator in suburban NY, but has a graduate degree in medieval history. The woman is a retail manager for a small chain in Augusta, but had been a cryptographer previously; fluent in Russian, she is married to another linguist who speaks Polish and Arabic.
JFK is a sprawling campus of multiple terminals. We disembarked in Terminal 4 at about 11:00, and I thought that I should find out where I would have to check in later in the afternoon. The helpful employees in the airport directed me to Terminal 3, and the “Airtrain” that would take me there. The train follows a circular route, counterclockwise. Terminal 3 is the first terminal in a clockwise direction from 4; therefore it's the last in a counterclockwise direction.
When I got to 3, I asked where one could get something to eat. “Terminal 4,” I was told. “No place else?” I asked. “After you go through security, there are restaurants in this terminal. You may check in after about 1:00 (that is, in 2 hours) for your 7:00 flight.”
Back to Terminal 4 for something to eat, finally.
I had thought that I might venture into The City during my layover. By the time I finished eating something, it was 1:00. According to my seat-mate on the previous flight, it takes almost an hour to get into Manhattan. I was told by the agent in Terminal 3 that I should check in 2 – 3 hours before my flight. 1:00 + 2 hrs for transport + 2 hours for check in would leave me 2 hours in Manhattan. Is it worth it? I don't think so.
Writing a blog entry seemed much more realistic.
I'm not much for starting a conversation, but I thought it would be helpful if I were to engage some German-speakers in preparation for taking on the streets of Berlin. Sitting across from me in the waiting area were two middle-aged ladies whom I addressed. We had a nice long chat about the son in San Diego that they visited and Indian villages, and so forth. All in all, I was satisfied that I'd at least be able to ask directions if need be.
The flight has been seriously overbooked, and they are asking for volunteers to give up their seats. They are offering business class to Frankfurt with a connection to Berlin + $200 in Delta vouchers. If it weren't the middle off the night in Berlin, I would call Martin and change my arrival plans. What a deal.
As it gets closer to flight time, they are offering a connection through Paris + $600. Yikes.
Finally, it's 6:30 and we are boarding. Next time you hear from me it will be from Berlin.
Traveling
When I found a great fare, I decided that it's time to visit Berlin. I may have decided, but I wasn't decisive. As I am wont to do, I thought out all the pros and cons until a couple of important pros sold out.
Whereas, if I had booked on the day I discovered the fare, I would have had a 50 minute layover at JFK, I managed to wait until the best connections I could find forced me to languish at JFK from 11:00 am until 7:00 pm.
A couple of days ago I prepared a hospitality gift of Georgia-made products, and other typical American fare: Girl Scout cookies, pop corn, peanuts in the shell, pecans, peach preserves, fig preserves. Where am I going to put all this stuff?
Showing up at the Atlanta airport at 7:10 for my 8:30 flight to JFK should have provided me with plenty of time. I could have breakfast at the airport, thought I. I went straight to the automated check-in and it showed only the ATL-JFK leg of my trip. Thus, I couldn't check my bag through to Berlin. So I stood in line for about a half hour to talk to an agent. Luckily, I had a nice conversation with the lady behind me in line, who was going to Shanghai on business. “After I get out of this job,” she said, “I'm not going anywhere any more!”
I finally got to the agent's desk at about 7:50 and asked to check my bags through to Berlin. The agent said, “But it's too late to get your bags on your flight to JFK.” I calmly asked her to try hard, and she checked my bag. Now rush to the gate.
At security, carrying my laptop bag, my backpack, my camera and phone on my belt, and wearing my jacket (it's going to be cool in Berlin at this time of year), I took off my shoes, followed some of the security instructions, and forgot to follow others. I beeped at the scanner, so I removed my belt and the change from my pockets. Although I traversed the body scanner successfully, the TSA inspector said that she would have to look more closely at my backpack.
I put on my shoes and reassemble my belongings, from 4 bins, and went to the inspection station to supervise the search. Turns out that my peach preserves, made in Georgia from Georgia Peaches, were too dangerous to take on board. Likewise my fig preserves. The hospitality gift I had assembled for my German hosts will be a little more meager than planned.
Down the escalator to board the train for concourse B, and about to board the train, I somehow noticed that I was missing my jacket. The only way back up to the security area was to use the elevator, which seemed to take forever. The agent at the conveyor belts suggested that I try the lost and found, where my jacket was, indeed waiting for me.
By the time I was on B concourse I was hearing the “Last call for passengers on flight 1834 to JFK; all passengers should be on board at this time.” I hurried through the boarding gate to stand in line in the jetway for 5 minutes. Then the plane was on the various taxiways, making its way to the farthest runway until it finally took off about a half hour late.
So far I was not having fun on this trip. No time for breakfast, of course
I squeezed onto the flight and into my seat. The man on the aisle and the woman in the middle seat let me into my window seat, and then returned to their conversation. Shortly, however, they brought me into the conversation, and I had a very pleasant flight chatting with them. The man is a decorator in suburban NY, but has a graduate degree in medieval history. The woman is a retail manager for a small chain in Augusta, but had been a cryptographer previously; fluent in Russian, she is married to another linguist who speaks Polish and Arabic.
JFK is a sprawling campus of multiple terminals. We disembarked in Terminal 4 at about 11:00, and I thought that I should find out where I would have to check in later in the afternoon. The helpful employees in the airport directed me to Terminal 3, and the “Airtrain” that would take me there. The train follows a circular route, counterclockwise. Terminal 3 is the first terminal in a clockwise direction from 4; therefore it's the last in a counterclockwise direction.
When I got to 3, I asked where one could get something to eat. “Terminal 4,” I was told. “No place else?” I asked. “After you go through security, there are restaurants in this terminal. You may check in after about 1:00 (that is, in 2 hours) for your 7:00 flight.”
Back to Terminal 4 for something to eat, finally.
I had thought that I might venture into The City during my layover. By the time I finished eating something, it was 1:00. According to my seat-mate on the previous flight, it takes almost an hour to get into Manhattan. I was told by the agent in Terminal 3 that I should check in 2 – 3 hours before my flight. 1:00 + 2 hrs for transport + 2 hours for check in would leave me 2 hours in Manhattan. Is it worth it? I don't think so.
Writing a blog entry seemed much more realistic.
I'm not much for starting a conversation, but I thought it would be helpful if I were to engage some German-speakers in preparation for taking on the streets of Berlin. Sitting across from me in the waiting area were two middle-aged ladies whom I addressed. We had a nice long chat about the son in San Diego that they visited and Indian villages, and so forth. All in all, I was satisfied that I'd at least be able to ask directions if need be.
The flight has been seriously overbooked, and they are asking for volunteers to give up their seats. They are offering business class to Frankfurt with a connection to Berlin + $200 in Delta vouchers. If it weren't the middle off the night in Berlin, I would call Martin and change my arrival plans. What a deal.
As it gets closer to flight time, they are offering a connection through Paris + $600. Yikes.
Finally, it's 6:30 and we are boarding. Next time you hear from me it will be from Berlin.
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