Blythe Spirit

Bits

-We spent Halloween night eating mini Kit-Kats on the couch. We thought we had trick-or-treaters when someone rang our doorbell and sang a festive jingle, but when Jeff buzzed them in, they never appeared at our door. A drunk neighbor? An early Christmas caroler? A jolly burglar that heard the two woofing dogs on the ground floor and left?

-Sad news that William Styron, author of one of my favorite books, Sophie’s Choice passed away. Sophie’s Choice was his final novel, completed over 30 years before he died. As I inch toward finishing my thesis, I think I understand why he might have needed that kind of a break from writing.

-Yesterday was a Bavarian holiday (All Saints’ Day) so Jeff had the day off and we drove to Wurzburg. They have a castle AND a palace there. And gusty winds that made me cranky. Remedied – the crankiness, not the winds – by a cup of creamy hot chocolate. See photos below.

-SCHNEE (snow, if you’ve just recently tuned in or you don’t speak German) on the rooftops this morning.

Mmm…Donuts…

I spent yesterday morning with two Franconian bodybuilders.

I live in Franconia, a proud and historic subsection of Bavaria, where people speak with a particular accent and eat a lot of bratwurst and gingerbread. I was invited to join a group of women to make a special Franconian pastry in preparation for upcoming church festivals. Of course I signed up immediately when I heard the word “pastry.” The item in question turned out to be a square yeast donut, deep fried in butterfat and sprinkled with powdered sugar. They’re even better than they sound; I devoured the half dozen that I brought home in less than 24 hours.

The best part of the outing, however, was spending time in a traditional German kitchen, with two seventy-year-old women. They kneaded a giant wad of dough with upper body strength that could qualify them for an Olympic berth. I just sat next to the floury table and sweated.

At least the moms at my local Starbucks don’t speak English.

I couldn’t have said it better myself. Though I think she, like me, has read one too many mommyblogs.

I read this post this morning, after visiting the maternity ward secretary at a local hospital. She also needed talk-fight. I am now angry like volcano. I’m going to talk to Jeff about moving to Japan.

Anniversary

Traveling from my isolated lifestyle in Deutschland to weeks of nonstop socializing in my former hometown was less of a shock that you might imagine. I had weeks of hugs and salmon dinners and giggling nephews and catching up and going out.

Friends and relatives and acquaintances asked me on a daily basis if I “like” living in Germany. I have a no-lying policy (just ask Jeff, we’re constantly debating the merits of little white lies), so while it was tempting to say it’s great to live the European lifestyle and lounge around in my jammies all day long, I had to admit that it’s been a difficult year.

When I returned to Nurnberg last weekend, dragging two enormous suitcases (don’t worry, pregnancy watchers, I had a luggage cart), I was struck with how much it felt like that day, almost exactly one year ago, when Jeff and I landed at the very same airport, hauling the same suitcases, to begin our European adventure. We had only a vague idea of the craziness ahead of us; we expected language barrier frustrations (check!), period of adjustment to new job/no job (double check!), and feelings of isolation (quadruple check). We did not anticipate the months of hotel living, the frustration with apartment hunting, the hostile feelings we would develop toward a culture that, some days, seemed like it was designed to make outsiders feel small and stupid. The good stuff – scenic travel, the chance to see Europe-dwelling family members, World Cup mayhem, new tastes and sounds and smells and immersion in a culture different than our own – was mixed in there too, and fortunately some great stuff – the sushi joint down the street, and the kind next-door neighbor, for example – was just as unexpected.

Throw all of that together, and it’s still hard to say I like living here. I like the amazing pastries at the bakery up the street. I like our modern, Ikea-style apartment. I like having time to write, and read interesting books, and try new recipes. I like visiting places I’ve seen on postcards, without the jetlag or the expense of transAtlantic travel. I like having an opportunity to re-evaluate my future – career, family, lifestyle. But there are days when I feel like that opportunity came at the high price of stripping away everything that made me feel like a confident and capable person, with an identity of my own. I imagine these feelings aren’t unusual for a so-called expat trailing spouse, and some days they’ve hit me like waves. When I learned I was pregnant, the joy and anticipation arrived along with the hormones and the difficulty in imagining yet another huge change in our lives. Fortunately, we rode that rollercoaster and arrived at a place where we can’t wait to meet our son (did I mention that it’s a boy?!) in person.

I was worried about returning to Germany, and though it’s been only a few days, things are going all right so far. It might just be the post-shopping high (imagine how many onesies and receiving blankets it takes to fill an entire extra suitcase), or the residual Slurpee syrup coursing through my digestive tract, but I’m optimistic. I think the coming year is going to be a good one. And while we are about to undertake another life change that will involve sleeplessness, a new language, and a change of identity, at least we have had some practice. Besides, the bakery opens in the darkest hours of the morning, and it’s just up the street.

Hasta la vista, Baby

For the past few weeks, I’ve been the Cranky Expatriate.

I’ve whined about everything from the language (who really cares about grammar anyway? oh wait, I do) to the weather (the heat, my god, the heat) to the food (don’t even get me started). In the middle of a country full of Germans celebrating their native land, I’ve been wallowing in homesickness. I’m tired of everything from paprika-flavored potato chips to the low customer service standard at my local grocery store. I’m tired of being barked at when someone doesn’t understand my German (really, man, I’m trying hard) and sick of being expected to keep a separate garbage can full of rotting food (don’t tell the Hausmeister, but I think we may start a boycott).

I realized yesterday that it’s been seven months since my last decent taco. Enough is enough. So I’m headed back to the USA for a few weeks. During my official Bratwurst Hiatus, this blog will take a hiatus too. I might post every now and then, but I might not. Since most of you, dear readers, will actually see me in person soon, you’ll just have to prepare yourselves for the real me. And the rest of you will, I hope, bear with me. You’ll be rewarded with a refreshed and salsa-filled virtual Blythe.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog

The World Cup is over. The Italians are still driving around honking their horns and waving Camoranesi’s sheared-off ponytail. The world is trying to read Zidane’s mind and Materazzi’s lips (except in my home country where people think Zizou is one of the Gabor sisters). Juergen Klinsmann, the German coach, is sleeping late before he considers the irony that the German citizenry is ready to erect a Rocky-type statue in his honor.

I was pulling for France, so I was disappointed, though fascinated, by the final result. For me, the story of the weekend was Germany’s classy display of passion in the third-place match. They played their best in a tribute to the new spirit of Deutsch pride. Oliver Kahn kind of scares me, but I guess that’s how you can tell I’m not German.

Update: For more about Zizou, Materazzi, and who said what, Kottke is keeping tabs on the latest developments.

Patriotic

Today is the day when all Americans wear red, white, and blue, sing the national anthem, parade down Main Street in a marching band, eat hot dogs, and sit around thinking about how nice it is to be able to shop on Sundays and enjoy air conditioning. Or, if I were in the States right now, that’s what I would be doing (well, maybe except the marching band part). Patriotism is a sentiment we take for granted; one that swelled strong after 9/11/01, and which, though sometimes controversial, is part of American culture. Those crazies we saw at the World Cup match who dressed up like Uncle Sam didn’t think twice about donning their proud-to-be-an-American attitudes and displaying them far and wide.

To Germans, patriotism is a much more nuanced and complicated concept. They’ve seen just how patriotism can seep into nationalism, which can lead to destructive group think and terrible consequences. Many of the Germans I’ve met feel conflicted about displaying national pride. Some feel that their country still has too much to answer for. Others believe that waving the flag too enthusiastically might remind the world of a difficult past. There are those who refuse to sing the national anthem, because of how its first verses (they sing only the third verse now) were once used to rally the crowds. Some of them just think that screaming and shouting about how great life is in your home country is kind of tacky.

The World Cup seems to have inspired a groundswell of German enthusiasm that, according to friends who have lived here much longer than I have, hasn’t been seen here in years. Tonight, the German football team will play in the World Cup semifinal match, and I would be surprised to hear that less than 80% of this country’s citizens will be watching. Today, there are German flags hanging from every apartment building, flying from car windows and out sun roofs, and painted on children’s faces. The flagmakers are running out of inventory, and the sense of excitement is palpable.

I’ve never been a big sports enthusiast, as a player or a spectator, but I have to admit that football has had a healing effect around here. Win or lose, Ballack and company have helped to lighten the burden of history just a little. Now, if we could just tone down those Uncle Sams a hair, maybe everyone will have learned something.

Take this cheesteak and shove it

When I was in Montana over the holidays, I heard the local morning radio goofballs bantering about a trip they had taken to southern California. They were ruminating on the reasons that most public signage there was printed in both English and Spanish. This isn’t a topic I had spent much time considering, and in the past I could see both sides of the argument – on one hand, English is the language I’ve always heard spoken around me in the USA and I could see why the appearance of Spanish might be unexpected and deemed excessive. On the other hand, it was no skin off my nose if Spanish signage made it easier for someone else to get around. The DJs played the roles of down-home hicks from the sticks, glad to be back in the land where everybody spoke their language (though I could have shared a few stories about trying to explain a rodeo to some of my college classmates freshman year, all in our supposedly shared mother tongue).

I had just spent three months attempting to navigate life in a country where I could not read a menu, ask for directions, or find health care on my own. Each time I happened upon a directional sign or a set of instructions printed in English, it raised my spirits during a time when I experienced some tough days. When I realized I could switch my mobile phone language to English, it meant I could actually communicate with my family, and they could leave messages that I could actually retrieve. To me, the issue had less to do with immigration or race, and more to do with making human beings comfortable. And if we’re just too busy to make each other more comfortable, we should consider the time and resources saved when we don’t have to follow a car whose driver can’t figure out where he is going, or the food saved at a restaurant when a customer doesn’t accidentally order a dish she is allergic to.

I was reminded of these thoughts a couple of weeks ago when I read about this insensitive restrauteur in Philadelphia. I can still understand his basic sentiment, but after the past nine months, it is hard for me to imagine that it’s OK for his policy to stand. I know there is plenty of debate about immigration and language in the USA right now, and though I don’t feel well enough informed to make an intelligent comment on the larger picture, I can tell my story. I am still trying to learn German, but it’s slow going, and though I can read a menu now, I am not adept enough to decipher the instructions to my German washing machine. I’ve definitely received the cold shoulder from a (very) few service providers here, and I’ve fielded pointed questions regarding why I haven’t learned German yet, so I know what it feels like to be reminded that I’m an outsider. Language acquisiton isn’t instantaneous, but that shouldn’t prevent us from traveling, from considering the adventure of living abroad, and from welcoming those who are courageous enough to try it.

Don’t be looking for me around Joey Vento’s cheesteak joint anytime soon. Instead, I’ll be at my local Turkish kebab house, where they are more than happy to walk me through the menu.

You were expecting another Britney post?

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Italy did their job on Thursday night, but the USA couldn’t manage the victory. Unfortunate, because we had pretty good seats. The match was played here in Nurnberg, so it was nice to cheer on our home team in our new hometown. Too bad about the result. In the end, it was hard not to be a little excited for Ghana – they deserved to win, and their fans were exultant.

Now, we’re down to the business of rooting for England.

And, no, I’m not going to make any further commentary on Britney, her new dye job, or how much she “like(s) money.”

Guest post: Jeff breaks down USA vs. Italy

All right, I am going to temporarily take over ‘The Blythe Spirit’ with a little soccer info….it was terrific to be at the WC. The game itself was a bit ugly but the result was important for the U.S. and the atmosphere was terrific. It was an emotional roller coaster for both U.S. and Italians, goal, own goal, goal disallowed (Italy), red card, red card, red card, goal disallowed (U.S.)…very exciting.

I have to say I have always thought Claudio Reyna was the best all-around player on the team but in the back of my mind always wondered a little if there was truth in “he stifles the team” theory. Having seen the game in person, I can safely say Reyna was the only player who had the quality to be on the pitch with Italy for 90 minutes. Other players had their moments, but Reyna does play at a level much closer to the best Europeans. Donovan was so over-matched it was not even funny. I am afraid people might say he had a good match because he made a couple of direct runs at the Italians and set up McBride, but other than that, his possession and defense (esp when the U.S. went down to 8 men) sucked. With all that said, the U.S. makes up for their lack of creativity (and talent if truth be told) with hard work and tenacity and on that front they taught the Italians a thing or two. McBride worked hard as usual but in the second half he had no one to hold the ball up for, should have been substituted for EJ. The ref did ruin the game and I did not see him once seriously warn the Italians about diving, but at the same time (in seeing the replays on TV) he was right on with the de Rossi red card, the red for Pablo (although could have been a yellow), the two yellows (red) for Eddie P and the offsides call on the U.S. goal. As for the U.S. cards, when you are up a man against a world power, you can’t give the ref any excuses to even things up, the U.S. needed to be more disciplined. Lastly (for now until I need to vent some more) I have to question Bruce’s subs, why not use all three, why not bring McBride off in the last 20 minutes and go with defense or bring fresh legs on in EJ or even Ching, and lastly Donovan should have come off (for the reasons mentioned above).

More venting……
One additional point – OFFSIDES – we had 0 against Czech and 1 against Italy (ironically disallowing Beasley’s goal). Obviously the lack of goals and lack of shots on target show the ineptitude of our offense, but our lack of offsides I think is even more representative. This is not the result of the superior timing of U.S. runs but instead the result of a lack of U.S. runs. I realize the offense is predicated more on possession, pushing it wide and service into McBride and less on
through balls, but I think I would rather have more “going forward” and 6-7 offsides a game than our inability to even challenge our opponents back line. Eurosport.com has interesting and detailed data on each player’s performance for each game. Don’t know how accurate it is but, as I suspected it seems to me CR did about twice as much work as LD.

With all that said, the U.S. still has life…as Blythe said, we now have to root the U.S. on to victory on Thursday right here in Nurnberg and then (despite any comments I made on Saturday) we are now big fans of Italy as long as they beat the Czech Republic (if not, we are back to hating them). Viva la Copa Mundial!

P.S.
I want to share a few songs sung during and after the game. If you are familiar with soccer songs, these aren’t new but they are still amusing. It is hard to convey the right feeling with just the lyrics as so much comes from the way they are sung but
you will get the idea…

(sung to the tune of “She’ll be Coming Round the Mountain”)
You can buy a referee in Italeeeeee,
You can buy a referee in Italeeeeee,
You can buy a referee, you buy a referee, you can buy a referee in Italeeeeeeeee.

The next one is amusing because it was being chanted by drunk English fans, who will take any opportunity to take a shot at other European rivals; also because the Italian soccer world has been consumed by scandal in the last several months (even more than usual) with allegations of players gambling, teams wiretapping
phones, and club officials ‘arranging’ referee selections for games.

Just like I – TIE, always cheating, (I – TIE, English fan colloquillism for Italian footballers)
Just like I – TIE, always cheating