Alice in Germanland

Just 1 more week...

2008-10-15T23:50:00.007+02:00

And we'll be back. Finished that incredible year in America's West.

I'll miss the sun shine, the be-whomever-you-want-to-be attitude and even the unreal American smiles. I'll miss the humming birds flying around my head and I'll miss definitely the cheese cake at Barnes and Nobles.

We'll be settling now. My own German and I. Buying a house in the green heart of Germany. We're getting a dog. And maybe even some babies. I'll need to speak German accent-less now.

And you know what? I also look so much forward to that. I'll finally travel to Berlin (Shame on me - I have never been there) and learn to eat bratwurst without mayo. I' ll write travel stories now on hidden secrets in Germanland. And will join the local I-don't-know-what-yet Club to meet some people. I might even go to school and finally learn what all this dativ and genetiv is about. And tell my own German - cause he has no clue.

Yeah. Even without sunshine - I'll be all right.

Alice goes West

2007-11-21T18:11:00.000+01:00

I have kept it quite for a while. But there comes a moment where you just can't hide it...

We're moving.

Again.

Not sure for how long yet. Months? A year? Years?

Alice goes West.

Fortunately, living with an own German will give me enough material to discover Germanland. It's culture. And it's people. But maybe not as intensive anymore as before... I'll just have one German now to watch.

You were many lately to join me. In discovering Germany. And I loved you for that. Feels a bit less lonely. When being a foreigner.

I can only hope you'll join me again.

The blog is ready. I'm there.

Read Alice goes West. Don't forget to put flowers in your hair.
You find the blog at http://alicegoeswest.blogspot.com

About a Porsche in the garden house

2007-11-17T19:01:00.000+01:00

When blogging on the German culture, there are things that are unavoidable.

Bratwurst. Beer. Lederhosen. And Porsche.

The great example of German engineering. Part of a culture. A summum of national pride. No, there's just no way of denying Porsche.

People in my home country are keen on having their own house. With an own garden. And an own garden house. We put money in the earth, said my father always. Germans put the money in their car. And it is true...

Germans just want their own Porsche.

No matter how your house looks like. Or your garden. It all looks good with a Porsche in front of the door.

So, here I go. Testing all elements of German culture.

I drive the Porsche.

And today, I am proud to be - a little bit - part of that German culture. Cause when it comes to Porsche, there is just nothing to say against it. It has a figure as one seldom sees. A style what makes everyone turning it's head. A speed that graps you by the throat. It's fast. It's sexy.

But most of all...It changes the human being. When holding that German steering wheel in your hands, you "feel" like having a figure one seldom sees, like turning heads around. You start slow. Changes gears quickly. To a speed that graps you by the throat.

Germans don't want a garden house.

They want to be fast.

And sexy.

Hmmm.... Germans...

What you pay is what you know!

2007-11-15T10:50:00.000+01:00

When living abroad there are some things you just don't understand. No matter how you try.

Take the train.

As an example, I mean.

While the rest of Europe is trying to push down prices for public transport, a German train ticket is extremely expensive. And you don't even get a cup of coffee for it...

Why?

It's not because Germans drive faster on the highway, that you pay more for even faster trains. No... the train to Paris is just as fast. And cheaper.

It's not because you have nicer seats. Or not because you get something to drink. Or to eat. No. I must say the French do better again... A free meal in first class when travelling to Paris.

So, why do you pay - much, much - more for a German train?
It's probably because they claim they are never too late.
Germans are always in time.

And when they are not - like yesterday - you get every itty bitty nitty detail about why you will arrive 1 minute and 40 seconds late.

And because no other Europe culture know why they're late, you pay more in Germany for a ticket. What you pay is what you know!

That's it. I suppose.

A museum for your wallpaper...

2007-11-12T20:21:00.000+01:00

When you're living abroad, you enjoy discovering so much more...

It rains. And we have tickets for the Kassel Museum of Wallpaper.

I just never realised you can have a museum on wallpaper. I even never realised it is a business. I mean, there are people really writing a businessplan to sell wallpaper. There are actually people thinking about wallpaper design. About the color that will be "in" next season. And the texture.

You just never realise that when looking at a wall, do you?

Tss...I just love discoveries!

After the museum - in the rain- I even decided what I want to do in a next life.

But it won't be wallpaper design...

Deutsche gründlichkeit - what it means...

2007-11-11T19:27:00.000+01:00

That's then what I call "Deutsche gründlichkeit".

You get to the movies. Pick out your film. And buy your ticket.

The ticket-counter-German:"And where do you want to sit?"

Me:"Excuse me? I already told you which film."

The ticket-counter-German: "No, where do you want to sit?"

Me: "Eeeuh?"

The ticket-counter-German:""Ok - do you want to sit in the front, the middle, or the back?"

Me: "Oh, the middle, please."

The ticket-counter-German: "Ok - at the right, the left or the middle seats of the middle row?"

Me: "Eeeuh..the middle seats of the middle row."

The ticket-counter-German: "Row 10, Seats 10 and 11"

And then I walk into a movie theatre for more than 200 persons. With tickets number 10 and 11.

The theatre is empty. Or better - almost. There are about 15 others. But vou hardly see them in the open space. It's dark. And finding my seats is a hard job to do. But I did not dare to take any other place than my own.

Deutsche gründlichkeit.

Row number 10. Seats 10 and 11.

DON'T be funny on the radio!

2007-11-10T11:44:00.000+01:00

There's something Germans just can't do. They are a complete disaster in it.

They just don't know how to make good radio.

Sitting in my car for hours, I just want some good music. No talking. Sing-along-songs-for-the-car. But trying to find the right music on the German radio, I get talking... And they won't stop...

It even gets worse when they start joking.

Already getting itchy from it too? Some bloke at the radio talking for hours. About absolutely nothing. In a foreign language. Then starts joking. And the only one really having a laugh with this stupid I-love-listening-to-myself-guy, is the I-love-listening-to-myself-guy. And he laughs out loud!

I even noticed it's not only me. When, in the morning, some bloke starts pretending he's Bruce Willis at the radio, even My Own German puts the radio off... I-love-listening-to-myself-guy can't even make his own people laugh.

No, Germies, if it comes to radio...please take some lessons from other European stations, or ... Just put some music on. Sing-along-songs. For the car.

Happy Birthday to all my friends!

2007-11-09T11:18:00.000+01:00

Talking about cultural differences, there's another one I discovered! And I just love it!

Germans never forget birthdays.

Where I come from it's "normal" to forget birthdays. And I suppose I'm pretty normal.

My own birthday is still doable. I can remember that one.

My parents get their birthday wished in the evening. Or the very next day.

My sis -fortunately- lives abroad. No need to wish her "happy birthday" untill the next visit to the country.

And my friends... ai, my friends... I just can't remember it. Or way to late.

But they know I'm "normal". And so are they.

Germans never forget birthdays.

Jihaaa! My own German has daily phone calls to make. To other Germans. On their birthday. He's an amazing database of birth dates. And congratulations.

I can't wait untill my birthday. Having new German friends who all remember my birthday. I'll get SMS. And e-mail. Digital birtday cards. Maybe even flowers. A whole day long.

So, I have been deciding to be German. At least, when it comes to birthdays.

Dear friends - I will not forget your birthday anymore.

Well... I'll try to. Oke?

Rrrrrrring - The alarm clock

2007-11-05T20:59:00.000+01:00

I move the last boxed from my old house in my home country. And every box I take down from the attick weighs heavier and heavier. On my mood.

Is it not amazing how memories start crossing your mind the minute you cross the border?

As if crossing that borderline to my hometown, is the alarm clock to memories.

Rrrrrrring.

And every step closer to the house, closer to the boxes at the attick...is another rrrrrring.

It makes me sad. The alarm clock for memories.

It irritates me. But I suppose that's what alarm clocks or made for. At least, they also irritate me in the morning.

I drive back in some days..to the new country.

And I hope crossing the border, will ring my alarm.

The soft version.

The one where you wake up on a sunny autumn day.

Looking out the window to a bright blue sky.

Smiling.

Because it all starts...

German Indians

2007-11-01T15:31:00.000+01:00

And I sit in my car. With open mouth.

Germany is not green.

It's red. And yellow.

It's orange. And gold.

Indian Summer has arrived in my new country.

And I love it.

Pictures made out of the car in Nord-Hessen, on a beautiful autumn day.

The next big German Superstar

2007-10-31T14:51:00.000+01:00

You probably have them too. These television or radio programs to find the next super star. To catch a talent. To discover the next super model.

So, I'm listening to this new German version. And I tell you, it is hilarious. I just like the German version more than any other one.

Bürgermeister-Karaoke. Karaoke for Mayors.

Who does invent this?

Your own mayor. A bit big. With his best suit on. And dancing shoes. Shaking away on some rock 'n roll dance music. Thinking he's Elvis Presley. Don't you just love it?

I can not wait untill it starts. And I definitly want to meet the winner. Cause I am convinced that man will make me smile. Will make the world smile...

Just wait...The next big super star is from Germany.

It's the Karaoke-singing-Bürgermeister.

Kiss the frog - or how to learn German

2007-10-29T12:21:00.000+01:00

Der. Die. Das. And Dem. Den. I have put them in the list "things I can't remember".

It's a long list in meantime. The things I can't remember. Learning a new language just really seems to be linked to a whole long list of these. I do my best. Really. But there are these things your head just does not want to accept.

Fortunately, there is also a list "Things I like to remember". And they just stick. In that little head of mine. No matter how I try, I can not get rid of these phrases. Not that they mean anything smart. Or that it makes me speak better German.

I put them in the list because I like them. Because they are funny. So beautiful to listen to. And to say out loud for myself. When I sit in the car. Or they are impolite - I learn them from My Own German - and prefer not to repeat them. Or at least - not out loud. Or it's phrases from songs. Which I can sing along for a single second.

So, I speak a German today assembled with words of my "I like to remember"-list. It's a German about prosecco. (Das alles wär nie passiert ohne prosecco.) And a German about frogs. And a prince. (Meist muss man mehrere Frösche küssen, bevor man einen Prinzen findet.)

And I believe it's a German beautiful to listen to. And it's understandable. For myself. When sitting in the car.

The world through my eyes. Funny and akward.

2007-10-28T19:52:00.000+01:00

My Own German and I are a weekend in my hometown. And suddenly it's My Own German pointing out the funny and strange behaviour of my culture. And I can't get what is funny about it.

"Look at them", he whispers. "They all drink. Beer."

I look at him. Puzzled.

I mean, if there is anyone who can not find it strange that people drink beer, he must be German?! No?

"It's 11.30", he whispers again.

"Ja!?" , I still look puzzled.

"Can't you see this? All of them are drinking! In the morning!"

"It's lunch time", I try to explain.

"Yes!" he says. "Did you ever see Germans drinking beer at lunch? "

"Eeeeeuh..." I think I did. I really don't know.

But to me drinking beer at lunch is perfectly normal.

In the same bar a foreign couple looks curious into my hometown dish.

They giggle. I try to see what they see. What's so akward. And funny.

And I understand for the first time that the way I look at Germany is "my way". As no one else can do it. Cause I look at the culture with my own little habits. And they are akward. And funny. For others at least.

France vs. Germany: The part where I have to leave my car behind

2007-10-24T20:46:00.002+02:00

I'm in love again. In love with a new German. I'll keep My Own German. But wonder if I should not go for a second one.

Karmann Ghia.

As a woman, you're convinced that doesn't sound German.

As a man, bells start ringing.

Indeed. Karmann Ghia is a car. A German car.

There goes my belief in my fancy French cabriolet.

Cause eye in eye with Karmann Ghia, I got swept of my feet. Small and stylish. Can't be German. But it is. A Volkswagen. Designed by Italians, I read later - what does not suprise me.

But still. German.

I have to admit... It's the second German I fall for.

And there is still no French men to see...

I'm loosing track of the score...

It's cold, cold - sauerkraut!

2007-10-23T23:07:00.000+02:00

You don't move to Germany for the climate, that's sure!

But when it's cold, really cold - like now - it gives meat. With sauerkraut.

And even when it tastes a little strange.

Hmmmmm.... that warms you!

Logics for drunk Germans

2007-10-22T22:46:00.000+02:00

Ha! I know why Germans are so structured they even organise their key chains! My own German father-in-law whispered me the reason in the ears...

It's the beer!

Germans found a way to open the front door even when they are so drunk that they can hardly find the way home.... They just number their key chain.

He does it too, by the way...

The Germans really, really, really ARE structured!

2007-10-21T12:28:00.000+02:00

It is no spurise to you that Germans are structured. But I'll tell you a story that will even suprise the most structured foreigner amongst us.

Germans structure their key chains.

Or at least My Own German does.

It is not that I am not structured. The keys from the house belong together, as do the keys from the office.

But a German NUMBERS his keys. First, I open the garage door of the office. Key number 1. Then I open the outer door. Key number 2. And finally, I open the inner door. Key number 3.

Same procedure at home. First, open the garage door. Key number 1. Then take the post out. Key number 2. And finally, open the door - I am freezing by that time - key number 3.

Can you imagine? Structuring your key chain by numbering your keys? In line with how you use them?

I borrowed a key. And he - no way of putting that back where I want. I have to run through a structured timeline of structured activities to structure the key chain.

There's no doubt. The topic is not open for discussion.

Germans ARE structured.

Don't you just love the Old German?!

2007-10-19T15:27:00.000+02:00

It started with a poem. A small poem. A poem somewhere on an old wall. In Harleshauzen.

I thought it would be good for my German. To learn small poems. New words. In correct phrases. But My Own German sighs. Cause this one small poem on the wall... I just don't get it.

It all started with spatzmausen. Or spazmausen.

I like the word. And remember well.

I can imagine what it means.

But when I look at the world wide web. I find Spatzmausen. And Spazmausen.

Without a meaning. Not in the dictionary.

And written in two different ways.

Because it's an old word! Fantastic!

I like antique. I love old things. I think it's soooo rrrromantic!

An old word...

I am so convinced that it gives me an impressive vocabulary. Knowing the old words. I only would like to know what it means. Literally means. And where it comes from.

I get so concentrated on spatzmausen that I can't remember the rest of the poem. Which drives my Own german m-e-n-t-a-l. What makes me smile.

Cause he...Dear Own German, what about your knowledge of my language?

Any words from anno 1604? Hmmmm... I thought so.

Alice

Anno 1604 ging ein Urochs spazmausen

von Wilhelmshöhe nach Harleshausen.

Und als er kam ins Lückenroth,

schlugen ihn die Harleshäuser tot.

Seitdem ein jedes Kind

die Harleshäuser 'Ossen' nennt.

A beer for the Americans and the little blond one!

2007-10-16T18:53:00.000+02:00

I am always happy if my status as a foreigner in Germany permits me to ask stupid questions.

My Own German and hiw German friends are having the time of their life with an American documentary questioning why the German Oktoberfeste takes place in September.

I'm blond if it comes to the answer on the question. I have no clue. So, I try to explain them that the question really is not that stupid. More laughing. But no answer. It makes me wondering why this is so hilarious. Looks as if Germans and their friends don't know themselves.

We're in October now. And the Oktoberfeste are over. Except the ones in America. They continue stubborn organising their Oktoberfeste in October. Giving the Germans a laugh. While the foreigners in Germany understand the logics.

Especially me. Still waiting for that good-looking German man in lederhosen. No better place and time than Oktoberfeste in October.

So, dear Mr.-German-reading-this, is there any good reason for not re-organising the Oktoberfeste now? In October? Just for us? The blond foreigner and the Americans?

Blog Action Day - Don't let the wind mills trouble your view!

2007-10-15T10:52:00.000+02:00

One of the things My Own German and I don't agree upon is the modern wind mill. The wind turbine.

Germany has the largest number of wind farms in the world. Drive on the German highway, and you're surrounded by futuristic white mills. Turning their wheels in the wind.

I always relax. By seeing them. They remember me of lazy chairs in the South of France. A fresh breeze of air playing with your hair. Bringing some freshness in a warm and lazy day. White wind mills on the background. Playing their wheels.

I look at them with admiration. The story of clean energy in a modern, stylish dress. A story of how natural elements will keep on carrying our future. Wind energy used in the 1st century AC. And still there. Still turning.

But Germans seem not to agree. At least, My Own German doesn't. To him, the futuristic wind mills disturbs the landscape. Disturb the view on Germany's nature. On green. White futuristic skelets.

Bizar, no? How the use of natural elements can disturb our nature?

Germans, don't mind the view. What I have seen and learned from your green culture is astonishing.

Recycling. Solar energy. Wind Parks.

You're a culture that understands better than whomever that the world is there to last. Even when we don't.

Last.

Teach us. Teach it to all of us. And don't let the wind mills disturb your view.

Alice.

Why Germans love their road works...

2007-10-14T00:28:00.000+02:00

Says my own German father-in-law to me:
"Alice, you don't need lights on the highway in Germany. We have road works for that."

That's the German way of seeing it, I suppose.

About city girls and boy scouts...

2007-10-13T00:07:00.001+02:00

City girls become boy scouts in Germany. With the forests around you, there is just no escape of putting on these hiking boots - which I have after multiple warnings always in the trunk of the car - and to get out there.

Tonight, we went looking for the deers. Out just before the night fell. In dark woods. Kind of scary for the city girl.

But we're walking through the mud. And in the light of our lamp we see the first fresh signs of deers that have passed. I find that already waaaaaw.

We know we are late. Too late for the breeding period.

But then it comes. I thought it was a dog. Barking. Far from us.

Then it came closer. Louder. And it sounded like a dinosaur roaring his way to us. Scary. But also fascinating.

We stood still. I did not dare to move. Did not even dear to chew the gum in my mouth. Stopped breathing to hear them roaring. Calling the females.

And there...at that moment...surrounded by the sound of roaring deers, I became a boy scout again.

Who the **** is Alice?

2007-10-11T17:37:00.000+02:00

I don't believe in cultural differences, says this guy to me. Young, I think. And definitly unexperienced. Not a traveller. Seemed to be true. He did not go far.

Women visiting this site think I am French. Men hope I'm Swedish. I suppose I'm a nomad. Lived in Paris, Brussels, Belfast and shortly in Madrid. Germany. And I put the States on my list for the future. And Italy. And Asia.

But there's one thing I learned. Being a nomad. Cultural differences DO exist.

Off course you can not generalise. Off course you have exceptions. And off course I point out really the platonic ones. But they do exist.

I have breakfast with French bread and jam in Paris. Dinner with french fries and mussles in Belgium. And I do lunch with bratwurst and beer these days.

Germans do fort. And they can be loud. But the French are arrogant. And the Irish swear.

Not all of them. Off course. Fort. Or swear.

But anyway, I don't mind being called French. Cause they have a beautiful language. And they claim French women stay slim. I don't mind if you call me German. Belgian. Or Swedish.

As long as I can learn from all these cultural differences, I'll be me.

Alice

No beer for real German men

2007-10-10T17:20:00.000+02:00

You know what I think is really funny about German men?

They're real men. Beer and bratwurst.

But when you sit with them in a pub, they order appel juice with water.

Tsss....

Busy at the bakery

2007-10-09T20:25:00.000+02:00

You know what I miss most when I am not in Germany these days? Backer Becker. A local bakery. With so many different kinds of bread and pastries that you don't know what to choose.

It's one of these things I did not expect. Germans are bratwurst lovers. And being a foreigner, you just do not expect much more on the table than sausages and sauerkraut.

But the German bakery counts up to 300 different kinds of bread. And 1200 different pastries. Or at least, that's what the Ministry of German Agriculture wants you to believe. Just as Backer Becker.

They claim it's the enormous variety of wheats and grains that makes every German baking bread. And pastries. Or eating bread. And pastries.

Gives me a feeling I should stay at home and make cake. To try it for myself. But seen that cooking is not really my kind of thing - I don't even know where the oven is - I started at Backer Becker.

I try them out now. 300 kinds of bread and 1200 kinds of pastries. I am at 3. For the bread. And 7. For the pastries. They were so good, I kept on trying them.

Still a long time to go for me in Germany...

Leave Germany and it feels like Africa.

2007-10-08T22:02:00.000+02:00

I'm sitting in a cab of a Congolese cab driver. I am always suprised how much there is to learn from the person in the front seat during a 10 minute cab drive.

Today I learned about borders. A Congolese cab driver fleeing Congo to find better luck in Europe. I am not so sure if he found it. He misses Congo. For twenty years now.

He started in Wuppertal. In Germany. And he loved it. He loved Wuppertal. But he did not find good luck. Economically seen.

So, today he moved to Brussels. Just a border away. We think. I think. But to a Congolese cab driver it felt like moving back to Congo.

Everything in Germany was structured. He says. Everything. The streets. The office hours. And if they say they open at 9, they really do open at 9. If they say they'll help you, they do. If you choose a government, you get one.

He misses the structure. Cause at least coming from the chaos in Congo, Europe - or better Germany - brought him structure. And now he's back to off...It did not take more than crossing one European border in a cab...

And it feels like Africa.

Waaaaw. And we wonder if we'll loose our cultural identity in Europe? The differences are as big from one country to the other as from Europe to Africa. Says the Congolese cab driver.

Chiquita, Chiquita and the German Unity

2007-10-06T09:26:00.000+02:00

My own German promised me a present for October 3rd. Tag van die Deutsche Einheit.

No flowers. No ring.

Chiquitas I get.

Bananas for the German Unity. Bananas to remember a wall. Or better, bananas for a falling wall.

Cause when the wall was put down in 1989, Germans from the West had a present for Germans in the East.

Chiquita. Bananas.

Cause that's what they missed in the East. Import products. Like bananas.

What a pity that these stories are not told at school. To students in foreign countries. In history class.

It would have made it so much easier to understand the German Unity. The impact of the Wall. And the impact of a fallen wall. A monument of history. Too ennoying to learn in a little foreign class.

History could have been so easy.

As a banana.

Bankrupcy for hairdressers

2007-10-05T19:15:00.000+02:00

Is it not suprising that German hairdressers survive? I always wonder what they do. To earn their money. Cause if you look around in Germany, everyone seems to have long, blond hair. No hairdresser needed for a fresh, short "coupe". No fancy coloring. So, no work... and no money, I would say.

My own German did not believe me when I said this. So I took him into town for breakfast. On a terrace. In that last bit of sunshine before the winter cold steps into the day. And we count.

We opt for the young ladies. One. Long, blond hair. Two. Long, blond hair. Three. Long, blond hair. By nine out of ten, my own German falls from his chair. Indeed. Young, German women have long, blond hair. He never noticed.

So, now we wonder both. Over breakfast. How do German hairdressers survive?

Alice

PS: Maybe it's a marketing issue. With a name as "Hairkiller", I would also be carefull getting my hair done.

http://www.hairkiller.com/

Home-made trips for Germans

2007-10-02T19:02:00.001+02:00

Is it not suprisingly how you don't know your own country untill you move abroad?

Can you name 5 famous people out of your country, Alice? No, I can't.

Can you tell me where to go when travelling to this city, Alice? No, not really.

With red cheecks. But I can't. My home country was just never "interesting". I like Asia with a backpack. Or New Zealand for months. I like to speak Spanish in Cuba. Or learn Khmer on a market. But home?

Well, it's all going to change. I have a sudden interest in the secret spots of my capital city. In the history of some great home country architecture. And I try to be able to name at least 5 famous people out of my country. Which is hard to do.

One day, after reading all the history books and discovering all the secret spots when being over for a weekend, I'll organise trips. For Germans. To my country. And I will answer all your questions.

Cause when you're away, home can be "interesting".

The basic necessities when dating a German...

2007-09-30T07:07:00.000+02:00

We're on vacation. Yipie Yeah.

Says my own German to me: "What about wine tasting today?". So I put on my white trousers and fine shoes. Cause wine tasting sounds "chique".

But on the road to wine tasting, it says "hiking track". Oh, oh, oh, oh. And off he goes, my own German. "Come one, honey, just this little track."

Well, we got to wine tasting. Three hours, black trousers and painfull feet later. But a German keeps his promise. We got to wine tasting.

And I learned my lesson. There are some basic necessities in the trunk of the car when you date a German. Hiking boots is one of them.

Time to get German police to Brussels. Or any police that does react without a secretary...

2007-09-29T21:31:00.000+02:00

I walk around in the underground. In Brussels. On my way for a customer. And while I walk down the metro, a guy steals my purse. Or better, tries. I see it. I scream. And 15 running men later, my purse is back in my bag. The bad guy escaped. But I have my purse back.

I call my own German. And tell him proud my story. About how I caught the bad guy. And got, with the help of 15 others, my purse back.

There's silence on the phone. And then a German upset. Stay away from the underground. And from Brussels. Time to come home to Germany. Where it's safe.

I tell him I am safe. Nothing happened to me. Only my purse was scared for a moment. But he claims my "values" have changed. My values of what danger and criminality really is.

Can that be? Can you have been so often in contact with small crime that you have another perception of what danger is? Or is it a different cultural perception to danger?

In Brussels, the police does not react to my story. The thief has probably left the underground, and I have my purse back. Do I really want to put down a complaint? Then I can come back tomorrow at 9 when the secretary is there. But they don't see why I would complain if I have not been hit.

I hope - really, really hope - it is a cultural difference. I hope Germans have a different perception to danger because they don't allow it. Because their police does react to crime. No matter how small it is.

And I hope others will learn from them. So that no woman has to complain. Because she was hit.

My fashionable aha-erlebnis

2007-09-26T14:00:00.000+02:00

Wandering from shop to shop in trendy Paris. And going through the aha-erlebnis of my life!

Me to a friend: Is this in fashion?! Aaaaah...

Me again: This also? Ahaaa....

Me once more: Can you explain me how to wear this?!! Noooo....really??

My friends: Girl, where have you been?!?

Germany, girls. Germany.

But hé, girls, I got new hiking boots.

Thank you for Paris

2007-09-25T21:02:00.000+02:00

Some people think I'm French. Are convinced I'm French. I won't tell you. But get this ... The city of lights is my favourite place in the world. I absolutely adore Paris.

So, here I am. Wandering around in the rain. But smiling. Streets surrounded by history. Balconies having a story.

It is said that in World War II Hitler ordered to destroy Paris. But Dietrich von Choltitz, the general to whom the orders were given, stood on one of these balconies. Talking to the mayor of Paris. A girl on her bike in the Rue de Rivoli. Children playing by the bridges of the Seine. The Eiffel Tower glittering in the light.

"Image that one day it may be given to you to stand on this balcony again. As a tourist. To look once more on these monuments and be able to say 'I could have destroyed this, but I preserved it as a gift to humanity'.

Waaaw. And Dietrich von Choltitz decided to save Paris.

Thank you, Dietrich.

PS: Interested in some history? Click here.

Job interview with a dictionary

2007-09-24T10:33:00.000+02:00

If there's one thing about foreigners in Germany I have no clue about, then it's about work. I can only imaging it must be hard. Looking for a job when you don't speak the language. Or hardly speak the language.

No. When you work on the world wide web, there's no need to sit in painful job interviews. Not being able to express yourself in German. Concentrate on what the other says. In a dreadfull accent. No. Not me.

Or that's what I thought. I start speaking "understandable" German. I understand them. And they understand me. Enough for a German company to search for help. Going international. Can do that. No problem. It's in English.

Again. That's what I thought. Says the German customer on Friday night: "Can you do this also in German. By Monday morning?".

Aiaiaiaia...My own German not around. Translation software. Grammatical books. Dictionaries...

Really, my weekend was a 48-hour-nervous-job-interview-where-you-do-not-understand-why-these-words-are-just-not-in-the-dictionary. Vacation, please!

Sexy Mama

2007-09-22T21:23:00.000+02:00

If you're a German mum, this blog is not for you. Or maybe it is. Especially for you. It can save your marriage.

My own German and I don't agree on kids. Or better, on mums. Cause my own German thinks women change after a child. They become big. And not sexy.

I don't agree. Oke, without a child it's easy to say you like to look sexy. But so do all the mums around me. My girlfriends at home are super mums. Careers. High heels. And lipstick. Big? Slim jeans is in fashion, man! And so they wear it. Big?!

But there's something right in his arguments...It is the German mum. I look around when walking in the city. Jogging trousers. Sport shoes. T-shirts. No make-up. And big. The number of tiny, sexy mamas is definitly smaller than in my home country.

So, I tried to understand. And I think I found it. It's all the mistake of the German politician.

The German governement takes too well care of their families. Garantueed jobs by law, a good amount of money and a very, very, very long birth vacation - does it really runs up to three years?!

So why would you starve yourself, get high heels on and put lipstick on your face?! You do not need to go to work, and the only person you see all day is a baby?!

Oke, the government takes good care of you. But dear German politician, it's time to tell your mums to go on a diet. Put high heels on. And lipstick. I bet the number of divorces will go down.

And I can finally convince my own German that the tiny, sexy mama exist!

Beat the Frenchies with a fairy tale

2007-09-21T00:38:00.000+02:00

Germany definitly has something to do with Eurodisney. I proofed it before. And I'll proof it again. With postcards this time. Old postcards.

Cause when you have an own German, you also get an own German father-in-law. I like them, the own German fathers-in-law.

As a real German, he likes history. Or some parts of it. My own German father-in-law gathers history on old postcards. Fairytales. Of the brothers Grimm. Because they were German.

The Grimm brothers started to put folk tales on paper. Not only German ones. They found some Frenchies too. But they put them on paper. Not the Frenchies. And German history was made. From Little Red Riding Hood to the Frog King. From Cinderella to Hans and Gretel. They're all Germans. Or French Germans.

And because Germans like history so much, they made a trip of it. Travelling through 60 German towns. A fairytale in every town. The Deutsche Märchenstrasse. Or again - Eurodisney for Germans.

Anyway, I like it. I'll garantuee you, I'll make the trip. And the pictures.

And I'll soon gather old postcards too. Of German history.

http://www.deutsche-maerchenstrasse.de/

Structured dirt

2007-09-20T06:56:00.000+02:00

My own German recycles. And how. With German gründlichkeit. Seriously, in other worths.

Everything seems to have its own place. Even dirt. You have no idea in how many different categories dirt can be categorised. And about twice a day he runs to the compost in the garden. To structure dirt.

Off course I am impressed. I recycled too. But in a small flat in the heart of a large town. No compost. No garden. And only two categories for dirt.

Three maybe - when it does not take the trash truck for that additional categorie to long to pass. Or the flat becomes too small. With all the categories.

My own German says it has to do with education. Germans recycle since 20 years. With German gründlichkeit. Dirt in many different categories.

What a pity. Will it really take the rest of the world twenty years of education to structure their dirt?

Wanted: Men in Lederhosen

2007-09-19T10:15:00.001+02:00

My own Germany and I leave for vacation. Decided last night. Yihaa!

But then I discover that we go during the Octoberfeste in Munich. The Octoberfeste. I have heard so much about it. Saw all these pictures. Men in lederhosen. Very. Very. Very.

I have made it my personal mission in this country to put that man on picture. It 'll be my proof to other cultures that he does exist. The German in lederhosen.

Damn! This is a difficult decision... Cause what if this is my one and only change to see men in lederhosen?! Then I need to wait another year?!

Pleeeeeease, can anyone tell me where else in Germany I can find them? Men in lederhosen?

Alice

PS: Noooo... don't send any pictures from yourself!

The German Italians - Part II

2007-09-18T00:00:00.000+02:00

Is it not absolutely remarckable that in a country of bratwurst and beer kitchen design became big?

You really start wondering how Martin Bulthaup came up with the idea to develop fashionable and trendy kitchen design.

He put a bratwurst in a small sandwich with sauerkraut-on-the-go. And decided it tasted better when made in a design kitchen.

Could be. I can also not cook. And I like design kitchens. Still. I can not imagine that's the reason why Germans are almost Italian if it comes to kitchen design.

No. I believe more in the following scenario... You want to get that bratwurst ready. But there is no frying pan close to the fire. Cut the sandwich. But your knife is not around. Open your sauerkraut-on-the-go package. No scissors. So the Germans started to structure their kitchen. Cause they like structure. A lot. And before you know the Italians call it fashionable. Trendy. To have your kitchen structured.

No. You do not have to be a good cook to be a specialist in kitchen design.

Alice

PS for the Italians: Click for some German kitchen design on http://www.bulthaup.com/ and http://www.siematic.com/

About Germans, beer and water

2007-09-17T22:48:00.000+02:00

Germans like beer. They get confused about water.

Take the sea. Germans make it very complicated. They call the sea das Meer. While the English call it the sea. The Dutch call it the zee. The Swedish talk about the sjö. All sounds pretty similar, no? Except than for the Germans.

But it even gets more confusing. Cause there are also the lakes. That's what the Germans then call der See. So you have the Bodensee. In the South of Germany. And that's than a lake.

Are you still with me?

Wait. They made it even more complicated. Cause they have also their Ostsee. And that's a sea. And a Nortsee. They just call it das Meer. Except when they have a proper conversation - cause then it becomes the Nortsee and the Ostsee.

Even my own German got confused by it today. Cause try to explain why the Northsee is a sea, while the Bodensee is a lake. He even had to conclude that there is a lake at Hannover with the wrong name - das Steinhudermeer. A lake with the name of a sea.

Yep. That's what you get when you want to make it complicated. Now you just don't know yourself anymore.

Germans... Stay with the beer. Oke?

Eurodisney for Germans

2007-09-16T19:28:00.000+02:00

The Germans are proud on what's left of their history. In terms of "what's left of their history after the war". And that's not so much.

But when something's left, they take good care of it. Build new streets. Put the right lighting. Shops. Beer garten. And some music.

For one little moment I doubted. Is this Main Street in Eurodisney? Disneyland for Germans? Or is this one of these romantic, old left-overs in Germany? History that was not troubled by war. And definitly not troubled by the after-war architecture.

I let you decide for yourself. Are these photos made in historical Hann. Münden? Or Germany's Disneyland?

German Breakfast for 2

2007-09-16T19:06:00.000+02:00

German Breakfast for 2.

11 AM this morning, Hann. Münden, Hessen

And you thought English breakfast is heavy? Eat this!

Never lonely for dinner with a German man

2007-09-15T22:53:00.000+02:00

I am with my own German in town. At 12 he points out we're having dinner at 6. With friends. We need to speed up.

Hello?! Speed up?! Where I come from six hours is a day. Even two if you count you'll be late. Shopping can't be over yet!

But shopping really is over with an own German at my side. At 12 you start looking every 10 minutes at your watch. Ensuring that you are not late. At 6.

I always believed it was charming for a woman to come too late. Having a man waiting for you on a table is so much nicer than waiting on your own. But for one reason or the other it just does not work in Germany.

I came late once. After that one -very stressfull occasion for my own German- things changed. Says we need to be there by 6, while dinner is in-real-time at 7. Or stresses me at 12. For dinner at 6. No matter how hard I try. There is no way of coming too late these days.

But there's one good thing about this all...

I never arrive at an empty table. There's just always a German in time.

Would the whole world not know?

2007-09-13T00:56:00.000+02:00

An evening trip to Melsungen in Hessen. A bit too much wine. And a philosophy.

I wonder...If you would take a photo like the one here, and you would survey all over the world what people answer when asking them where to find these houses.

Would the whole world not know it must be Germany?

Live in the fast lane

2007-09-12T00:54:00.000+02:00

My own German smiles when he passes the border back into Germany. He claims that driving as fast as you want frees the mind. Frees people. Yeah. It definitly frees male testosteron.

But my own German didn't take into account the road works. Baustelle. No country in the world with more road works than Germany. From 220 kilometers an hour to 60.

My own German thinks it is because they are a big country. That's why they have many road works. I think it has to do with freedom and men.

Give them a little. But not too much.

Let them drive 220. But not too long.

Italian Germans

2007-09-11T17:32:00.000+02:00

This one's for the ladies. The ones that like shopping.

I discover this real great German designer. Pay a fortune on a new outfit. And read then on the website they find themselves "Italian".

Can you imagine? You're German. Trustworthy. Solid. A rock. And then you present yourself as a fast Italian. Loud. Macho. And Not trustworthy.

It is not that I don't like machos. I only don't understand why you would be a German rock presenting yourself as a macho Italian.

Maybe it does have to do with the lederhosen. And the beer. Maybe a designer does not want to link to anything German. Lederhosen for people with a beer belly. Maybe you prefer to have that macho image. Loud. And fast. Even when designing for women.

Well...I also present myself as a dark-haired beauty with more than a handfull.

Maybe I am.
Maybe I am not.

Alice

PS for the ladies: The Italian German designer can be found at http://www.marccain.com/

Castle for Sale

2007-09-10T20:20:00.001+02:00

Let's be clear, I am the type of woman who means what she says. If I say moving to Germany, I mean it. My own German gets it now. I am looking for a house. In Germany.

You think the Internet is the right tool. We discuss a budget. And off I go. Nights sitting in front of a screen looking for that one house.

Untill I discover the button "specials". Spezial-Angebote.

If the Germans say special, they also mean it. They sell a whole patrimonium of castles over the Internet. And they are not even that expensive. Well, if we increase the budget a bit. A good bit.

I agree. Fully. The German patrimonium is solid. And traditional. Should-be-maintained. With butler if possible. And housekeeping. But without is also acceptable. As long as we go for a traditional, German solid house.

A castle. I want a castle.
I mean it.

Alice

PS: You're looking for a house in Germany? Try the "specials" - click here

Deers, salamanders and a gold fish

2007-09-09T23:42:00.000+02:00

I told you that Germany is green. And that one day I would take out my hiking boots and that I would walk. Hiking even. In the green.

So, that's what I did. My own German and me. Hiking in the German green.

First stop with my own German guide. Ants. Thousands. They live in an enormous hill. And they itch. Very. Very. Very. Itchy.

Second stop. A mouse. Well, I am not afraid of mouses and this one clearly is not afraid of me. I sit down and watch it's activities. Without being itchy.

Third stop. A black and yellow fire salamander. Now, this is interesting. I have never seen a black and yellow striped shiny salamander before. We just don't have them in my home town.

The hike stops with my own German promising we go searching for deers next time. I like deers. I don't have them in my home town. And they are not itchy.

So, I am into green now. And into animals. For days I am asking my own German for my own German animal.

It's decided. I get... a gold fish.
At least they are not itchy.

Lazy mornings

2007-09-08T11:07:00.000+02:00

I would not mind reading a German newspaper. Get to the daily facts of the country. But who feels like reading a German newspaper at 8 in the morning?! I mean, it is in German.

So, this is the plan. Translated German newspapers for foreigners like me. I bet we are many in Germany. 6.75 million with a foreign passport. Maybe not all like me. But at least we have one common problem. German.

We learn to speak the language. Well. A little. And not. But no matter how. We just don't feel like reading a German newspaper at 8 in the morning. And don't come with English. I'm just out of bed!

Any rich investors reading this? I have a market of 6.75 million readers. Of German newspapers. In foreign languages.

Dangerous Germans

2007-09-07T22:37:00.000+02:00

I am reading this English book. Says the woman to the man: "Seen that German? So dangerous. Germans always are."

Every culture seems to have their little "typical particularities". But I need some help on understanding this one. Maybe I have just not been here long enough. There was no time yet to meet the dangerous German. Not that I really want to. I am fine with the nice Germans around me.

My home town is rewarded with the title "most dangerous city of Europe". As a woman on her own, I got in the statistics. Every six months. I saw thiefs in house, in the car and in my handbag. I never saw an agent. Not before I cried. And not afterwards.

Not that there is no crime in Germany. Read the newspaper. And I don't live in Frankfurt, Munchen or Berlin. I just live too much in "the middle of nowhere".

Maybe a dangerous German is one like my own German?

One who looks you deep in the eyes and smiles. I feel in danger then.

Sauerkraut-to-go

2007-09-05T10:40:00.001+02:00

I am not a good cook. And I am even convinced most of you reading this blog already understood so.

But when I cook, I do my best. There is a -limited- number of recipes in my head. And ... well, that can be eaten.

Off course, I need the right ingredients. The ingredients I am used to. Cause every time the package looks different, I am not so sure anymore if it is the right stuff. And if dinner will be eatable.

And that's where the problem lies. Moving to Germany, no supermarket looks like home. They sell sauerkraut in ready-to-go packages (aiaiaiai). They have a whole rack of ketchup for bratwurst. And only two different kinds of mayonaise.

Two. The supermarket at home counts -at least- fifty different kinds of mayonaise.

Dear own German, you cook. I moved.

Learn the language. But keep it basic.

2007-09-04T11:53:00.000+02:00

I am lucky. At least, that's what I realise now.

As a child I hated sitting next to daddy watching ZDF or ARTE because of their valuable history programs. In German. For one reason or the other, daddy always loved German. I didn't.

But today I am lucky. Because there is a button in my head I just needed to switch on. And there it came. The German language.

First, I was suprised about how easy it is to understand the language. Then, I realised that after some beer -or wine, I stick to my roots- also speaking is not such a problem anymore. I can make full phrases in German. Waaw.

But I decided not to be too quick. There are still things I better don't understand. And there are still occasions where I better don't speak the language. I am Selective German Speaking.

And you know what I discovered? Germans looove it. You try, but not too hard. So, there is this little accent that sticks around. How sweet is that? And she doesn't understand everything.

As you can imagine, it is mainly the German man who gets impressed. If I can repeat it? One more time?

So, dear women-friends, listen to me.
Learn the language. But keep it basic.

Robin Hood in Germany

2007-09-03T15:15:00.000+02:00

My own German found a new hobby. He runs like Robin Hood through the woods, and follows a course in archery. And he's really good at it.

It's strange. Even though I know Robin Hood wasn't German, archery fits in the category "particularities of the German culture".

I can not really say why. It must have to do with the woods here. The green. It just fits to run around there with an arc and arrows.

Or maybe it is that famous lederhosen again. Men like Robin Hood wear short trousers. Maybe leather. Maybe not.

My own German doesn't. But he does run around like Robin Hood. Well, you have to start somewhere...

Dancing school girls

2007-09-02T16:05:00.000+02:00

I join a little German friend of 6 to his first school day. Or better, school party.

The older girls - read: little girls of 7 - dancing up and down for him. On stage. He's fascinated. And if that's not enough yet. There's presents at your first school day. A cone full of sweets.

German Tradition. Dancing girls and sweets. First school day ends here.

But the party continues. Cause at home your family, friends and even the goodlooking, blond kindergarten teacher come to congratulate you. And give you cones. Full of sweets. No, the first school day in Germany is definitly fun.

Different than my home country. Or at least what I remember. A class room. 8 hours. Sitting still. And extra homework because I was too loud.

My little German friend looks forward to day 2. He secretely hopes the dancing girls give another show tomorrow. As every little man in the worldwide world would...

Big Brother on his Tee Vau

2007-09-01T15:53:00.000+02:00

The whole world watches TV. Tee Vee.

And I listen to this guy talking about his Tee Vau and I have no idea what he is talking about. He has presenters, Big Brother, shows - all on his Tee Vau. And now he wants it digital.

When did they decide a Tee Vee in Germany is a Tee Vau?! And how did Big Brother got into that?

Anyway, if they are going to make it this difficult to learn German, it'll take me a while!

Rocking schlager music

2007-08-31T19:34:00.000+02:00

I'm driving in my car. Turning on the radio. And there is this real hot song making me dancing in a traffic jam. I'm in my own country. We have a lot of traffic jams.

It takes me a minute or two to realise this is German. I am dancing on a real, hot German song. There goes my belief in German schlager music. Cause this is really good. It's really rocking.

I learn afterwards the band is hot for years. In Germany at least. The rest of the world only discovers them now. Cause, just as me, was the rest of the world convinced Germans sing schlagers.

And schlagers don't rock.

Well, they still do it. Singing schlagers that don't rock. I have seen them doing it. But... we need to give them a little credit. Cause this band is really, really good.

Watch my words. Before you know there is German music on your radio. And you'll be shaking on -very- rocking schlager music.

Alice

PS: You can hear my new favourite German clicking here. And he, it's not schlager music.

Complications

2007-08-30T09:29:00.000+02:00

My father thinks I have a complicated life. Balancing between two countries. Two cultures. Three languages. German. English. And my mother tongue.

Complicated? I find it challenging. True, there are days I do not want to travel from one place to the other. And there are days I do not understand what my own German wants. Or what the Germans mean in general. Days that I do not understand why they don't want to put mayonaise on my bratwurst.

But there are so many days that I wake up enjoying the green around me. A bunny in the garden. (And one in my bed). Making terrible language mistakes while everyone thinks that is sweet. Discovering tiny little things that people do different, and giggling secretly about them. Testing new food. And some new words.

Complicated. No. Getting mayonaise on your bratwurst. That is complicated.

The Modern Art Show

2007-08-29T10:38:00.000+02:00

Guided tour through Documenta. The worldwide respected Modern Art Show.

My own German is not so impressed. Well, he is the son of an art teacher. I think he has had enough of it.

But I am enthusiastic. And let me tell you, I can be very. Very. Very. Enthusiastic. So I convince him to take the invitation and guide me through the most famous Modern Art exhibition of Germany.

He warns me over and over. It is no fun. It is boring. And Modern Art is supposed to be not understandable. Kassel can be proud to have the event. But it's not for him. Surely also not for me.

And you know what? I loved it!

I don't know what the guide was talking about. She was Swiss. Let that be my excuse. But some things just speak for themselves. My own German does. Documenta too.

http://www.documenta.de/

Green

2007-08-28T17:22:00.000+02:00

You know what Germany does to me? It makes me green...
No, not money-wise. Really green.

I feel like putting on my hiking boots and walking. Forests. Fields. Lakes.

I really did not expect this. But Germany is green.
Nature-wise then.

Light, please?

2007-08-27T12:01:00.000+02:00

I drive regularly home. To my own country, I mean. It takes some patience and navigation skills -for a woman-, but the Germans allow a quite nice speed on their highways. So it moves.

At least, if you don't drive at night. You see, my home country has never heard about energy savings. We put the light on at night. In your house. And on the highway. It does not matter of anyone uses the streets or not. There-will-be-light.

So I try to find my way on the German highways. No light. And even though I like the environment and all the energy saving discussions, black is black. Without light I can not see. And as soon as I use the full lights of my car, someone at the other site of the highway flashes back to say I can't.

Can someone put the light on, pleeeeease?

Club Med Germany

2007-08-26T19:09:00.000+02:00

One claims they're a cold culture. The Germans. Not heartly to newcomers. But arriving in summer time, I can not agree with that.

I arrive in an almost Mediteranean atmosphere. Club Med Germany.

People sitting arm in arm on a table. Shaking from left to right on the bench. Singing German schlager music. Drinking wine - no, no beer - under the trees. Sharing their food on one large table.

And they don't care I am a foreigner. They talk. And laugh. Share their food. And wine. Every weekend again. In another town.

My own German says it has something to do with the wine. Beer makes agressive. Wine makes people smile.

Well, I can't speak for them all... But Germans drinking wine are definitly not cold. They talk. And laugh. Out of their heart.

P.S.: Still no lederhosen!

France versus Germany: Part I

2007-08-25T15:25:00.000+02:00

There is something about France and Germany. Something historical, and I don't even know about it. Just don't mention the French.

When choosing my new car, there is a limited number of dealers when you're dating a German.

There's Porsche, Mercedes and BMW - all out of budget.
There is Audi - where's the family?
And there's Volkswagen - simply German engineering.

You can't blame them. German engineering is known. Worldwide. Is there anyone making better cars than the Germans?

So what... I am an independent woman who can choose for herself, no? So I drive a slim, black convertable on the ramp in front of the house. French.

He looks. Tries. Tries again. German grundlichkeit. And... today he even asked if he can borrow my car.

France - Germany: 1 - 0

Well, it does get wet when it rains, and the alarm goes off while I drive. But I do drive a slim, black convertable. French. In Germany.

Lingerie shop

2007-08-24T18:37:00.001+02:00

I am a woman. So, first thing to do when entering a new city is checking out the shops. My own German, who has definitly not my patience if it comes to shopping, is volunteering. Not suprising. Today, we're lingerie shopping.

Let's just say it's my nature. My culture. When I say lingerie, I mean sexy. Very. For a handfull. Got your attention?

My German and I in the city. Shopping lingerie. It takes me about half an hour to explain I want the sexy stuff. No sporty stuff. Different shop.

Let's just say a German man is not the kind who buys lingerie for his wife. At least not mine. Three shops later I have also explained I have not an XXL size - he should have known - and purple is not my color. I even explained it does not have to be cheap. I pay.

But there is no return. The only bra a woman can get in Germany is sporty. XXL size. Purple. And cheap.

You're wondering if the breasts on the right are mine? Could be. Definitly not German. Too sexy.

Beer Garten

2007-08-23T18:40:00.000+02:00

So then I met him. And he convinces me it is not true. Germans don't wear lederhosen. They don't just eat bratwurst. No. There as normal as any other European. No particularities.

Yeah. Off course. On a trip to Munchen, I am invited to "discover" the local culture. A beer garten. And don't tell me the man at the counter has not been doubting this morning about that lederhosen...

Anyway, a beer garten was new. We do not have it where I come from - and let me tell you, with the amount of beer we drink that is really suprising. I just loved sharing my table with other people and discover what they take on their bratwurst. It is not mayonaise!

What does a German look like?

2007-08-23T08:42:00.000+02:00

They wear lederhosen. And drink beer. They eat bratwurst and sing German schlager music. No. You could definitly not say I have been searching for it. Even in my wildest fantasy, a German was not on the list.

And here I am now. Not just on a vacation in the country. But moving everything I have to the very green heart of Germany. Living together with a German. I am even supposed to speak the language know.

You can not imagine how happy I felt discovering there were no lederhosen in the closet.