So, what have I been up to lately? Gosh, what a nice and considerate question. Well, since you asked, I guess I could share with the adoring public a few of my most recent adventures. Or you can wait for the book, "Does That Come with Potatoes?: Obvious Questions About Living In Germany And Their Even More Obvious Answers" (Hardcover, 24.95).
It was cold last week. Very cold. With ice. And snow. And a lot of it. By Wednesday, we had gotten snow for three days straight, and although I was enjoying the "Will I Fall On My Ass Today" game, I was really starting to crave some warm sitting down time, so I shuffled into "Mien Bäcker," a small backery and coffee shop, on the way back from school for a bit of hot chocolate and a nice view of the snow on the Main Street. I sat myself at a table looked out across the street toward the Rathaus (Town Hall) and busied myself poking the ice berg of cream that floated in airy bliss over my piping hot glass mug of endorphin-inducing goodness.
Which brings me to a note: People in Northern Germany aren't what you would call talkative. On the scale of everyday conversations, the average person ranks somewhere just below a step ladder, but that isn't to say that they don't WANT to talk to you. It's just that it's a population of people kind of like that kid in class who would always walk up to you while you were having a conversation with someone else, only to stand six inches behind you and never say a word. You knew he wanted to join in, and he knew it too, but neither of you could quite figure out how to make it work. Well, the people on Fehmarn get around that with what I like to call "The Fehmarn Flirt."
It works like this: You're at a table eating or drinking. You're minding your own business, which means people start staring at you. A lot. It's usually cloak and dagger stuff, a look over the shoulder, leaning back in their chairs, staring directly into your eyes without blinking until you avert your eyes and start staring at the table cloth, stuff like that. You hardly even notice. Anyway, if they really want to talk to you, they just repeat the procedure, making it slightly more obvious each time that they think you're just SO interesting.
At this point, your job is to think of some lame reason to start talking to them: "Gee, that sure is a swell sweater you've got there," or "Boy, it sure is nippy outside, isn't it" at which point that might respond with: "And how!" and by the time the conversations over, you know all about that toe nail that's growing the wrong way on their left foot. Congratulations: you've got youself a new conversation partner.
Anyway, this old lady started giving me the eye and smiling, so I started smiling back. Naturally. We did that for about twenty minutes, then she said something about needing sugar in her coffee, which then blossomed into a full-blown conversation.
FRAU: Ugh. We've had too much snow. Awful. Everything is so slick. It's so hard to walk.
ME: Yeah, I know. I got stuck sliding a ramp the other day, and a taxi driver got out of his car to help me down. (That's true, by the way. See, Germans are friendly)
FRAU: It's awful. Too much snow. I say we've had too much snow.
ME: Yeah.
FRAU: When I was young, we'd used to have so much snow, you couldn't open the door to go outside. The weather's awful here. Ugh. And the people are so nosey, always wanting to know what you're up to. I hate it here.
ME: Really? Where are you from?
FRAU: Fehmarn. There's an old saying: Fehmarn is flat as a table and the people are proud of it, but that's not true. I hate it. I used to live in Hamburg, but it's full of thieves now. It's not safe to use the U Bahn (subway); you have to watch your bag.
ME: Uh huh.
FRAU: And these kids! They get so fresh when they get around fifteen and you have to crack them on the shins with your stick every now and then. Isn't that right?
ME: Uh....sure.
FRAU: Do you know that song "Mein Vater war ein Wandersmann (My father was a wanderer)?"
ME: Yeah.
FRAU: I love that song.
ME: Me too.
FRAU (singing): Mein Vater war ein Wandersmann\Es liegt mir auch im Blut (My father was a wanderer and it's in my blood too). We've had way too much snow this year, you know.
That's basically it. It's compressed, of course, and I left out the boring parts that make her sound sane in favor of this shorter, much more interesting, version. Isn't it fun how I can warp someone's personality for narrative purposes! It's so much....POWER. Muahahahahahaha!
Oh, I did have a nice encounter with Plattdeutsch, or should I say, Plattdüütsch, talking with her. If I haven't said already, it's the local dialect. Here's a nice little bit to show you just how different it is.
The old lady said: I have my glasses on, it can't be snowing.
In High German (Standard German): Ich habe meine Brille auf der Nase. Es kann nicht sein, daß es da schneit.
In Plattdüütsch: I' hab' 'ne Brill auf de Nääs. I' kann ni' sään, daß es de schneit.
That's the only sentence in Platt I could understand. Good times.
Hamburg:
I also went to Hamburg over the weekend to walk around and look at stuff. Most of it was unremarkable, as are most of the times I hang out with people, but we did spice it up with a little REDLIGHT DISTRICT ACTION! Whoo! Yeah, OK, so it wasn't anything like that; we just watched everyone else walk into sex clubs while staring at the all the neon lights that advertised things I haven't really discussed since sixth grade biology. OK, that's a lie. But you'd be amazed how much more "open" the world feels bathed in red, green, and pink light and driven by techno remixes of Madonna songs.
There are times in your life, though, when you wish you had your camera with you, and this was one of them. We were looking down a side street that was stuffed with sex shops, sleazy looking gay theaters (would you like burning, itching, or swelling with your popcorn) and other "places," and right in the middle was a sign that said: "Jesus Lives." Damn. Maybe next time.
Anyway, we were walking down the street back to the train station when these two people walked past laughing, and stuck something on my head. Hmmmm. I reached up and pulled down....red and green felt antlers with bells glued on. I was confused and hoping it was dirt that gave the end of the left antler a beautiful gray highlight. The woman who put them on my head looked back over her shoulder when I asked what they were, and shouted: "Ich mag das, ich mag das (I like it, I like it), as she walked off into the buzzing light of the Reeperbahn.
Who was that masked stranger?
It was cold last week. Very cold. With ice. And snow. And a lot of it. By Wednesday, we had gotten snow for three days straight, and although I was enjoying the "Will I Fall On My Ass Today" game, I was really starting to crave some warm sitting down time, so I shuffled into "Mien Bäcker," a small backery and coffee shop, on the way back from school for a bit of hot chocolate and a nice view of the snow on the Main Street. I sat myself at a table looked out across the street toward the Rathaus (Town Hall) and busied myself poking the ice berg of cream that floated in airy bliss over my piping hot glass mug of endorphin-inducing goodness.
Which brings me to a note: People in Northern Germany aren't what you would call talkative. On the scale of everyday conversations, the average person ranks somewhere just below a step ladder, but that isn't to say that they don't WANT to talk to you. It's just that it's a population of people kind of like that kid in class who would always walk up to you while you were having a conversation with someone else, only to stand six inches behind you and never say a word. You knew he wanted to join in, and he knew it too, but neither of you could quite figure out how to make it work. Well, the people on Fehmarn get around that with what I like to call "The Fehmarn Flirt."
It works like this: You're at a table eating or drinking. You're minding your own business, which means people start staring at you. A lot. It's usually cloak and dagger stuff, a look over the shoulder, leaning back in their chairs, staring directly into your eyes without blinking until you avert your eyes and start staring at the table cloth, stuff like that. You hardly even notice. Anyway, if they really want to talk to you, they just repeat the procedure, making it slightly more obvious each time that they think you're just SO interesting.
At this point, your job is to think of some lame reason to start talking to them: "Gee, that sure is a swell sweater you've got there," or "Boy, it sure is nippy outside, isn't it" at which point that might respond with: "And how!" and by the time the conversations over, you know all about that toe nail that's growing the wrong way on their left foot. Congratulations: you've got youself a new conversation partner.
Anyway, this old lady started giving me the eye and smiling, so I started smiling back. Naturally. We did that for about twenty minutes, then she said something about needing sugar in her coffee, which then blossomed into a full-blown conversation.
FRAU: Ugh. We've had too much snow. Awful. Everything is so slick. It's so hard to walk.
ME: Yeah, I know. I got stuck sliding a ramp the other day, and a taxi driver got out of his car to help me down. (That's true, by the way. See, Germans are friendly)
FRAU: It's awful. Too much snow. I say we've had too much snow.
ME: Yeah.
FRAU: When I was young, we'd used to have so much snow, you couldn't open the door to go outside. The weather's awful here. Ugh. And the people are so nosey, always wanting to know what you're up to. I hate it here.
ME: Really? Where are you from?
FRAU: Fehmarn. There's an old saying: Fehmarn is flat as a table and the people are proud of it, but that's not true. I hate it. I used to live in Hamburg, but it's full of thieves now. It's not safe to use the U Bahn (subway); you have to watch your bag.
ME: Uh huh.
FRAU: And these kids! They get so fresh when they get around fifteen and you have to crack them on the shins with your stick every now and then. Isn't that right?
ME: Uh....sure.
FRAU: Do you know that song "Mein Vater war ein Wandersmann (My father was a wanderer)?"
ME: Yeah.
FRAU: I love that song.
ME: Me too.
FRAU (singing): Mein Vater war ein Wandersmann\Es liegt mir auch im Blut (My father was a wanderer and it's in my blood too). We've had way too much snow this year, you know.
That's basically it. It's compressed, of course, and I left out the boring parts that make her sound sane in favor of this shorter, much more interesting, version. Isn't it fun how I can warp someone's personality for narrative purposes! It's so much....POWER. Muahahahahahaha!
Oh, I did have a nice encounter with Plattdeutsch, or should I say, Plattdüütsch, talking with her. If I haven't said already, it's the local dialect. Here's a nice little bit to show you just how different it is.
The old lady said: I have my glasses on, it can't be snowing.
In High German (Standard German): Ich habe meine Brille auf der Nase. Es kann nicht sein, daß es da schneit.
In Plattdüütsch: I' hab' 'ne Brill auf de Nääs. I' kann ni' sään, daß es de schneit.
That's the only sentence in Platt I could understand. Good times.
Hamburg:
I also went to Hamburg over the weekend to walk around and look at stuff. Most of it was unremarkable, as are most of the times I hang out with people, but we did spice it up with a little REDLIGHT DISTRICT ACTION! Whoo! Yeah, OK, so it wasn't anything like that; we just watched everyone else walk into sex clubs while staring at the all the neon lights that advertised things I haven't really discussed since sixth grade biology. OK, that's a lie. But you'd be amazed how much more "open" the world feels bathed in red, green, and pink light and driven by techno remixes of Madonna songs.
There are times in your life, though, when you wish you had your camera with you, and this was one of them. We were looking down a side street that was stuffed with sex shops, sleazy looking gay theaters (would you like burning, itching, or swelling with your popcorn) and other "places," and right in the middle was a sign that said: "Jesus Lives." Damn. Maybe next time.
Anyway, we were walking down the street back to the train station when these two people walked past laughing, and stuck something on my head. Hmmmm. I reached up and pulled down....red and green felt antlers with bells glued on. I was confused and hoping it was dirt that gave the end of the left antler a beautiful gray highlight. The woman who put them on my head looked back over her shoulder when I asked what they were, and shouted: "Ich mag das, ich mag das (I like it, I like it), as she walked off into the buzzing light of the Reeperbahn.
Who was that masked stranger?
posted by Der verwirrte Ausländer at 5:59 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home