A German Race

I ran a 10K today and two things stood out as particularly German. First, upon completion of the race, they were passing out in the refreshments area not only water, apple slices and bread, but beer on tap!  I could not believe it.  Who wants to drink beer after running 10 or 25 kilometers?  A lot of people, apparently…

Second, before starting the race I went to the bag-check area, but had not been given a plastic bag at registration the day before like, apparently, everyone else.  Although the man staffing bag check had extras, he had to give me a hard time about it.  “Where’s your bag?” he asked me. I explained that I had not been given one the day before, but he did not believe me. It was impossible, he said. Where was my bag? Everyone else had one, so where was mine?  We went over this at least three times before he agreed to give me a bag.

Why do Germans have to be such know-it-alls?  Wouldn’t I know whether I had received a bag or not? Did he really think I was lying about this? Started the race off on a bad note, but I was over it by the time I crossed the starting line.

How They Eat

I have been going almost every day to the enormous, modern cafeteria here at the Bundestag (German Parliament).  I have made a couple of observations about how most people here eat, compared to what you might expect back in the States:

1. Despite a sign advertising that all dishes are available zum mitnehmen (to go), I have not once seen anyone take food out of the cafeteria and back to their desks. Everyone sits down to eat. No surprise, this was not at all the case at my New York law firm cafeteria, nor (as I recall) when I interned in Congress. There are advantages each way, of course, but sitting and eating is definitely better for the environment.

2. Despite the availability of fountain sodas as well as bottled waters, juice drinks, etc., I would estimate that 3 out of every 4 diners do not drink anything at all with lunch. As I told a co-worker yesterday, in the States perhaps 9 out of every 10 people would have a drink on their tray. I found this especially interesting because my dad once told me that when he was a kid, the family would never drink anything with their meals (and therefore he still sometimes does not). His father came from Vienna, so maybe it’s an old European tradition. Although, when I asked my co-worker about it, he kind of shrugged it off and noted that the drinks in the cafeteria were relatively expensive.

3. The Germans eat fast. Not sure if I am just a slow eater these days or I just buy more to eat, but I am invariably the last person to be done at the table. I hate making the others wait so I always try to speed up, which I also hate.

4. Few people here seem to be watching their waists. The cafeteria offers a couple of healthy options–namely, a salad bad–but it is hardly touched compared with the four or five daily set plates, which are full of fat, salt and starch. (Typical daily plate: deep fried pork meatballs in gravy with fried potato balls and a heap of rich sauerkraut.) In the States, we love do-it-yourself or choose-your-own-adventure food stations (salad bar, sandwich bar, pasta bar), but here, people seem quite content with the pre-set daily specials, no matter how rich.

Top 10 German Names

My last post featuring my co-worker Hannelore reminded me that I wanted to write something about how crazy, old-fashioned and, one might argue, horrible many German names are. I don’t know what the 10 most common names are, but here is a list of 10 of the craziest/funniest/worst German names I have encountered.

10. Hannelore. Sounds like it comes out of a Harry Potter book.

9. Wolfgang. Incredibly common among men. I still find it scary and evocative of wolves every time I hear it.

8. Norbert. I really hope parents aren’t still naming their sons this.

7. Klaus. Scares and intimidates me, for some reason.

6. Winfried. Another name right out of the 19th Century, at the latest.

5. Gerlinde. Not even sure if this is a man’s or a woman’s name, but it reminds me of a character in Wicked.

4. Burkhardt. How is this not a last name?!

3. Hartmut/Hartfrid/Hartwig. Variations on the Insurance Capital of the World?

2. Waltraut. My very sweet and interesting upstairs neighbor at my fall sublet had this name, which sounds to me like a town in the Catskills. It is a woman’s name, btw.

1. Mechthild. I’ve only seen this name once–it’s also a woman’s name, if you can believe it! Sounds to me like a food additive you would rather not ingest.

For good measure–here a few common German names that I find actually quite pleasing: Johannes, Astrid, Coralie, Kerstin (an improvement over Kristen/-in, I think).

How They Talk

I started a “work phase” (fancy word for internship used by my program) in the German Parliament last week. On my first day I was introduced around to the other co-workers on my committee. Today, one of them came into my office to let me know that I should be checking the intern mailbox for invitations and the like. “It’s in the office with Hannelore, you know, the fat woman?” she said (in German)–completely matter-of-fact, not in any joking or mocking manner.

We would never say such an un-PC thing in the States! We might, if absolutely necessary, use a synonym such as “larger woman,” but would probably stay away from that kind of description at all costs. This is why, at least in part, the Germans consider Americans öberflachlich, or superficial. Sure, it can be taken too far, but I’d maintain there is great value in being sensitive in the workplace.

Better in Time

Do our impressions of cities change over time, as we visit other places and mull over our memories?

One of my least favorite trips of the year so far was my weekend in Stockholm last August. It was really, really expensive, my hotel was a disappointment, the city was not as walkable as I’d expected, and it rained half the time I was there. But in the last few weeks, I can’t stop thinking about all the things I loved about the city — the gorgeous setting on islands filled with parkland, the great design shops and smart little coffee shops all over the place, the clean air and efficient mass transit. In retrospect I’d say it’s one of my favorite European cities, and I’m eager to go back.

The strange thing is, I can’t pinpoint anything in particular that led me to rehabilitate my image of Stockholm. Was it all the 7-Elevens in Hong Kong, that reminded me of Stockholm and got me thinking about it once again? Or did the resemblance of Hamburg, where I was last week, to Scandinavian cities have something to do with it?

What Esperanto Was Supposed To Be?

I know I’ve written a lot about how pervasive English is around the world, enabling people of different backgrounds to communicate, and perhaps it’s not that interesting or new of a topic. But I keep coming across interesting situations where this theme stands out. Last night, for example, I was at a bagel cafe in central Berlin grabbing a snack. I overheard a conversation between the Turkish guy behind the counter and a couple of women seated at a table. The man started talking to the woman in (it turned out) Arabic, thinking she was from the Middle East. But she replied (in English) that she didn’t understand what he was saying. She and her friend were visiting from Brazil, and spoke only Portuguese and English. The woman’s father did, indeed, have Arab roots (I couldn’t make out which country she said), but she had grown up in Brazil and had never learned Arabic.

The women finished their bagels and said goodbye to the man. As they were leaving, a man the guy behind the counter knew came in. The man told him, in German, about this half-Arab woman who only spoke English and Portuguese. The world is a small place, and the universality of English is both cause and effect of that fact.

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One related point — as a native English speaker, I almost feel cheated. So many people here and elsewhere can speak quite good English when they want or need to, but they also have their mother tongue at hand. This makes them more skilled and, in a way, more interesting than us English speakers. Indeed, this all reminds me a little of the way I felt growing up in New York City. It’s an amazing place to be, and it’s great to be a native New Yorker, but I always was a bit jealous of my friends who came to New York later, and now make it their home, but who also have another home somewhere else to which they can return from time to time–another home that represents another side of themselves and that contributed in a special way to their development and personality.

In any event, we English speakers have had an advantage for a long while, but as the rest of the world catches up and learns English, too, we risk falling behind if we don’t learn their tongues, too.

German Double-Talk

Twice in the past week I’ve noticed a particularly strange German usage.  The word sofort literally translated means “immediately.”  But yesterday I went to a cute little Italian cafe on my block and ordered a latte macchiato.  The genial older man behind the counter replied, Es kommt sofort, or, “It comes immediately.”  Apparently what he actually meant, though, was that he was busy making a sandwich for another customer, and I’d have to wait about seven minutes before he started making my coffee.

I’d say this was a fluke, but a few days earlier, in Hamburg, a colleague of mine asked for more wine with dinner, and was assured, Es kommt sofort–and then had to wait at least five minutes while she took care of some other people.

Do the Germans just have a different idea of “immediately” (or “promptly,” as the word can also be translated)?  Possibly, but I suspect there’s actually some kind of strange mind game, or reverse psychology, going on here.  By saying it’s coming immediately, they somehow take themselves off the hook for actually serving you immediately, and buy themselves a few minutes.  After all, if the guy in the cafe were going to make my coffee right away, he probably wouldn’t have said much of anything at all.

Not So Tired of America, Anymore

I’ve been traveling around Germany with my program the last two weeks, and am in Hamburg tonight.  I saw the inauguration with my fellowship group on a CNN.com feed on a big screen, with a dinner buffet.  It was nice, but still, this has been one of the hardest days of my year abroad for me.  The feelings of excitement and euphoria I wanted to have were absent, replaced by a sadness (almost a numbness, actually) because I was not able to experience this historic moment in my country.

There’s that song by Rufus Wainwright (“Going to a Town”) in which he croons, “I’m so tired of America,” and, “I got a life to lead, America.”  I saw Rufus up close and personal in concert soon after I first got to Berlin.  I’d heard that song before, and it struck me when I heard it again that, indeed, these were the very reasons I came abroad.  I, too, was tired of America — tired of the crass consumer culture, of the lack of attention to and understanding of the rest of the world, and simply of the same way of life I had always known.  I, too, had a life to lead, and it seemed that moving abroad would help me lead it a bit better; moving to Europe (and to Berlin, which “Going to a Town” is in fact about) would give me the chance to see everything — my life, the world and America itself — from a new perspective.

But it feels like the America I was tired of is, as of today (if not as of Election Day), largely gone.  It may be a temporary illusion, but America at this moment seems like a new place — a land of new beginnings and new possibilities.  Watching today’s ceremonies on TV, I could see the resurgent patriotism, the pride and the enthusiasm for just being there, being together, being a part of this moment.  Washington, D.C., of all places, right now seems like the most exciting city on the planet — not only today, but in the coming months as the new government gets its footing and begins to change the country and the world.

It was George Bush’s America that drove me away, and Barack Obama’s that is pulling me back. But by the time I’m back at the end of May, what will Barack Obama’s America look like?  Will things have changed? Will there really be more people doing community service?  Will Americans really be more interested and involved in politics and policy?  Will the constant dull headache of the Bush years have wholly disappeared?

For the world’s sake, I hope the best part — the historic part, the fun part, the magical part — is only just beginning.

That Is Banana, Yes?

I spent a fascinating day in Macau earlier this week. The region is now the world’s busiest casino resort, but also has a very visible Portuguese heritage, despite a population that is 95 percent Chinese. For example, all the street signs are in both languages, and the local cuisine is heavily influenced by Portuguese tastes.

For whatever reason, I saw a lot of kids during my day in Macau. Wherever I went, it seemed, a school was on recess or getting out for the day, issuing scores of uniform-clad youngsters into the streets. On my way up to the fort in central Macau, I passed one such school. As I walked along, jacket and guidebook and map in hand, I heard, “Hello! Hello! Hello!”  It was coming from the open windows of a rickety old school minibus. Two young boys were waving at me and smiling. “Hello” was all they said, and it was as if it was the only English word they knew. But they seemed so happy, so proud of themselves, and so well-intentioned–all they wanted to do, I suspected, was practice a new word they had learned.

Twenty minutes later, atop the fort, I heard a young Chinese/Macau mother saying, slowly and repeatedly to her infant son, “beau-ti-ful” (which, indeed, the view was). I wonder how many other English words she knew, for she then continued speaking with her friend in Chinese. But clearly she wanted her little boy to know English. It was quite poignant. (Interestingly, I read that English skills in Hong Kong are actually waning. While English remains one of two official languages there, and is still the language of banking, young people are increasingly learning Mandarin as their second language–it’s not only easier for them to pick up, but perhaps more professionally useful than English in today’s world.)

These incidents reminded me of another sweet moment I had at the end of August in Jerusalem. I was walking alone atop the Temple Mount, which is revered in Islam as the location of Islamic prophet Muhammad’s journey to Jerusalem and ascent to heaven. Prayer services at the al-Aqsa Mosque were about to begin and I had only a few more minutes before being ushered away by guards. I wandered through a grove of trees and past what seemed to be an Islamic school. Dozens of young boys, also in uniform, were playing on the lawns. I was peeling open a banana as I walked, when suddenly a young Muslim boy came up to me, pointed, and said, “Banana, banana.  That is banana, yes?”

“Yes it is!” I said back, and the boy smiled and went back to play with his friends. Though he was a bit older than the young Chinese boys in Macau, much about this incident in Jerusalem felt similar. The boy seemed so proud to know a relevant English word–seemed to want to test out in real life, with a real English speaker, something he had perhaps learned in school or seen on television. And he seemed so innocent, so willing to reach out across boundaries of nationality, race, perhaps even religion–all these boys seemed so eager to make a simple little connection.

People may never all speak the same language, but it does seem like at least the next generation will be a little bit better able to communicate with one another than we are. Whether that will translate to increased peace and understanding once these kids grow up is, of course, another matter entirely.

From the Center of the (Post-American) World

I’ve been in a number of places this year that felt like, in one way or another, the center of the world. I commented in a previous post how London — with its multiplicity of tongues and immigrant communities — felt more like that place than New York. I haven’t yet written about Jerusalem, where I was last August, but with the unparalleled history of that city, and the sense that the eyes of the world are on it, it felt like the center of the world, too.

But all three of those cities right now seem to be topped for this mythical title by the international departure terminal at Istanbul’s Ataturk International Airport, from which I am writing this post. I’m here at 10 pm local time, waiting for a connection to Hong Kong, and planes are departing literally for all corners of the globe — Africa, Asia, the Middle East, Europe, the Americas. Istanbul is itself, of course, situated on the border of Europe and Asia, and itself has quite a good historical claim to that “world center” status. The people around me in the terminal probably come closer to a statistical representation of the human race than anywhere else I’ve been (minus much representation from Africa). Lots of Asians, lots of Europeans, some Americans, many from the Middle East. Most people in Western dress, some women in traditional Muslim attire. (When I was here a few years ago, I counted how many women walking in downtown Istanbul were wearing burkas, and it was about 50/50.)

So what’s it like being at the center of the world, thousands of miles from New York or London? To go all Tom Friedman for a minute, it at least feels like this is where the action is happening. Being here makes me think that we are living in a post-American world–where others have taken American inventions and done them better. The terminal is completely American-style, but also international, and also better. There are American elements — Starbucks, Burger King, Beyonce music blaring from a music and book store across the way. Everyone speaks English, without hesitation; it’s the lingua franca here, and everywhere. But then there are the shops selling Turkish Delight and boreks.

(I’m actually drinking a grounds-heavy Turkish coffee from Starbucks at the moment.) Stores accept U.S. dollars, Euros and New Turkish Lira, and duty-free prices are all in Euros.

And how is this airport better? Not only is it high-ceilinged, spotless and airy, but there’s free wireless internet, flat-screen computer displays all over the place and brisk moving walkways to get you from one place to another. My experience on Turkish Airlines from Berlin was also a cut above what American airlines offer. The plane was brand new, they served the best airline food I have had in memory (with real cutlery too), and the service was professional and efficient. By the look and feel of this place, America indeed has some catching up to do.

Next stop: Hong Kong. Perhaps it, too, will stake a claim to being the world center. But Ataturk Airport will be hard to beat.