Bleeding Orange and Blue

Ugh guys this blog post is SO overdue I almost tossed the idea entirely. Yall are lucky I'm not a quitter and I love my ideas too much. 

As many of you know, I was in the U.S. in May of this year to witness my baby sister graduate college  (A note to my sister: Yes, I'm about to make your college graduation about me. Yes, it is my right as your older sister. Yes, you can remind me of this when you make way more money next year than I ever will.) 

Alina decided they wanted to attend their official graduation ceremony at the Memorial Stadium, which I was stoked about, as I'd opted out of my own college stadium graduation back in my day. No regrets, but still. I was ready to numb my butt on metal bleachers and scream in the general direction of my sister for two and a half hours. As expected, the ceremony was very orange and very blue and very loud and very exciting.

Additionally, it was very U.S. American. 

I'm not just referring to the obvious - the fact that the ceremony was held in a football stadium and had a clear bag policy. What struck me as astoundingly U.S. American were the speeches given throughout the ceremony. About halfway through the first speech, I whipped out my phone and started taking notes, floored by how two years (!!) in Germany could so violently sensitize me to the language, metaphors, and sentiments expressed by UIUC faculty and staff members. To be clear, I'm certain that if I had attended my own college graduation ceremony at the Michigan Stadium, the speeches would've been very similar. I doubt I would've noticed how ludicrous they sounded though. 

Alright enough set-up. Let me walk you through my Germanized-brain reactions to various phrases proclaimed into a booming stadium microphone on my sister's graduation day. For the full effect, please read the following section while sitting on the world's most uncomfortable set of bleachers. Bonus points if it's windy as all hell and you're half-sitting on a Ziploc bag stuffed with your valuables. 

"Dedication and sacrifice!" Alright, dedication is something to acknowledge for sure, college isn't easy. Sacrifice feels like a little much, unless they're referring to sleep, in which case, sure. 

"Your degree carries the weight of excellence!" Sounds heavy and important. 

"You are the solution to the challenges we face!" Damn, no pressure. Also, thanks for all the challenges, old white guy currently speaking. 

"You dared to dream beyond the skies, you are bold and wise, strong in spirit, and strong in intellect!" Is this a poem? So many adjectives. 

"This is the top university in the world." How do you even measure that? Like, I know it's a great university, but this feels a little much.

"We are the best universtiy in the cosmos." Oh so not just the world, huh? 

"You are legends and giants." I dunno, I mean my sister's only 5 feet tall...

"You are the finest minds in the world." Ain't no way all these minds are fine.

"You are all heroic." What HAPPENED HERE exactly??

"We bleed orange and blue every step of the way." Sounds painful. 

"Together, we will unleash the power of human potential." Not sure I want to be there for that. 

Do you see what I mean? Once you hear it you kind of can't unhear it. That being said, I doubt German college graduation ceremonies are any fun. I've never been to one. To be honest I don't even know if they have official ceremonies. Maybe that's for the best. Can you imagine a German graduation ceremony speech?

(best read in a heavy German accent) 

"You studied at our average university to get a degree. Some of you worked hard, others did not. Some of you will find jobs, some of you will move back in with your parents, most of you will immediately start another degree because you don't want to enter the work force. No problem, just wire your semester fees of 200 Euros on time please. Thank you for your intellectual contributions throughout the years, most of which will have no lasting impact on our institution. Please before you leave make sure to drop off three printed copies of your 80-page Bachelor's thesis. We hate trees." 

Now that I think about it, I'd much rather walk out of my own college graduation feeling heroic than average. Maybe the U.S. is onto something here. Maybe radical honesty isn't what college graduations are about. Maybe they're about hope, and maybe that's okay.

Emma's Guide to Solo Hiking in Germany

I interrupt my own not-so-regularly scheduled culture shock blog posts to bring you all a handy guide to solo hiking in Germany. Credentials include: having done it once. 

Without further ado, I present: My tips, tricks, and musings on solo hiking in Germany...

1. The whole concept of hiking will feel weird at first if your ancestors went on a very notable very not optional 40-year-long "hike" in desperate search of the holy land. It's important to acknowledge this internally and remind your body (and your ancestors) that the hike you are embarking on is optional, will (hopefully) only last a couple hours, and (unfortunately) no bread will be raining from the sky. 

2. Since you can't rely on airborne Manna to get you through your hike, I recommend packing a soft pretzel and some clementines, maybe some vegan beef jerky if you're feeling fancy. Snacks are a great way to  keep motivation high ("When I finally reach the top of this hill, I will eat a half-melted chocolate peanut butter cup!") while practicing discipline ("I will not eat all of my peanut butter cups in the first 10 minutes of my hike and then lie down in the middle of the trail and roll back down the mountain in despair because I am out of peanut butter cups").

3. If you happen to eat all your peanut butter cups in the first 10 minutes of the hike, consider fantasizing about foods you would like to eat when you are finished with your hike as an alternative to lying down in the middle of the trail and rolling back down the mountain. May I suggest pistachio ice cream or rugelach as particularly motivating foods, or as my 3-hours-into-this-hike-and-nearly-enlightened brain came up with: Pistachio ice cream in a cone made of rugelach. 

3. Bring more water than you think you'll need because the fear that you might run out of water unleashes a rush of primal adrenaline that rivals pre-SAT nerves.

4. It's okay if you download a hiking trail app but refuse to purchase the premuim subscription to access the trail maps offline because you'd rather get stranded in the woods than pay $2.83 a month. It's okay if you promptly lose service as soon as you start your hike and then wonder which side of your family made you this stingy and if they're happy now. It's okay because in Germany hiking trails are scarily well-maintained and there is consistent, easily legible signage that turns your exhausting hike into an invigorating scavenger hunt. Where's the next sign? There it is! That-a-way folks! No phones needed. 

5. When said signage tells you not to swim in the pristine turquoise sparkling lake at the end of your hike because the pristine turquoise sparkling lake is a protected nature reserve and it is home to a variety of endangered plants....respect the sign. Even when your U.S. American bones are telling you that your freedom is more important than some plants and your U.S. American feet are stinky as all hell and craving a bath. Since living in Germany, you have learned that some rules are good rules and that Big Government can actually function sometimes. And that the longevity of this lake is more important than your feet (which are, let's be real, four hours into a hike on an 80 degree day, biohazards). 

6. Whenever you cross paths with a waterfall peppered with big mossy rocks, this is what you do. You liberate your feet from feet jail (take your shoes and socks off). You tip-toe into the water ("eeeeee it's coooooold"). You pretend you're a little monkey and climb all over the rocks. Bonus points if you howl at the sky. 

7. It is absolutely worth investing in a fancy-ass hiking backpack that is designed for maximum space and breathability between the pack and your back so you aren't Mr. Sweaty Back the whole damn hike. 

8. You might be confused about what to think about on a solo hike. Two to six hours of just you and your brain. I recommend being present for gotdamn once in your life. If you're unsure how to practice mindfulness in a society designed to keep you distracted, try channeling your inner 2-year-old. Oo, pretty flowers! Oo, big mountains. Oo, cold waterfalls! Just avoid putting anything in your mouth that doesn't belong there. 

Happy hiking!

Culture Shock #44: GOOD Friday?

For all I'm concerned, there is not one good thing about this Friday, at least in the German Christian tradition. I have never encountered a holiday with more rules (and I'm Jewish, and it's Passover, so that's saying something). Nothing kills the vibe like rules, especially when they're invented by Christians. You can tell these are rules invented by Christians too because they suck all the fun out of life for absolutely no reason.

Enough telling. Let me show you. 

Rule #1: Stores closed. Alright, to be honest, this one I expected, although I was surprised that "stores" meant bakeries too (On most German holidays, there are two establishments that are always kept open: hospitals and bakeries.) It's Passover though so I don't really care about bakeries being closed today.

Rule #2: Certain films are not to be watched or played in movie theaters. Films such as Monty Python's "Life of Brian". I dunno about you, but when I read this rule, my instinct was to immediately run to my computer and stream the film illegally. It is deliciously blasphemous. Thanks for the rec, German Christians!! 

Rule #3: NO MUSIC. NO THEATER. NO DANCING. All in the name of grieving Jesus H. Christ after he got nailed to the cross or whatever. See at this point I'm like...whoever created these rules clearly has no experience with grief. Why do you think music and theater and dancing were invented?? What's the point of going on after losing someone you love if you are forbidden from singing and dancing about it? MY BACHATA CLASS IS CANCELLED. I'm *this* close to dancing in the streets blasting "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life" just to piss some Germans off. I'm pretty sure I could get in legal trouble for that though. Meh. One comment and I'll do it. 

P.S. In case I haven't yet convinced you that Good Friday is the devil's holiday, here are some helpful charts published in a major German newspaper breaking down exactly when you aren't allowed to dance from Maundy Thursday (I had to Google that) to Easter Monday. It varies by Bundesland in Germany because of course it does. 

 

Like.....WHAT. 

Culture Shock #43: New generation of graphic designers desperately needed in Germany

I admit I didn't even look closely at this local bakery chain's logo until last week, when my family came to visit and promptly pointed up in amused horror.

Here, let me zoom in for you.

A little more? No problem. 

MORE? Alright, if you say so. 

Like WHERE DO I START. The foreboding creepy smirk? The abnormally large pretzel? The PLACEMENT of said pretzel? 

Lyla, please save us all. 

Culture Shock #42: German trials and failures at gender inclusivity

Since moving to Germany, I've been generally unimpressed by public knowledge regarding the spectrum of genders (and non-genders) that exist beyond Man and Woman. The German language is partially to blame, as there are no easy translations for the gender neutral pronouns "they" or "them". German culture is also to blame, still in many ways steeped in conservative Christian values and traditions. 

This is not to say that there aren't efforts being made, some more impressive than others. One of the least impressive efforts I've encountered is the staggeringly sloppy and vague implementation of the asterisk. As in, Women* or Men*. You may be wondering what the asterisk means. I assure you nobody knows. 

While some argue that the asterisk as an honest, well-intentioned attempt include non-binary and trans folks, I find it lazy and cowardly. The asterisk has a distinct air of "Women and whoever the fuck else I don't know I'm just tired of getting in trouble with Gen Z microcelebrities sporting hemp tote bags and patchwork tattoos." 

Who could possibly authentically feel represented by an asterisk? Its literal purpose is to signal a footnote, an afterthought, a bit of unessential information that only concerns the truly dedicated, of whom you mustn't count yourself. It floats practically undetectibly in the corner at the end of a word, designed not to disrupt the average reader. What a blatant and dehumanizing manifestation of what the non-gender conforming already experience on the daily. 

The most impressive gender-inclusive effort I've seen here in Freiburg are bathroom signs in the hip young cool cafés. These cafés have abandoned words entirely, opting for symbols showing what is in the bathrooms instead. For example, one sign has three urinals, one toilet, a sink. The other sign has four toilets and a sink. I apprecite these signs purely on the basis of their humility. These signs don't claim to know who you are or what you might need. All they do is humbly show you what the room before them has to offer, and you have the blessed freedom to choose where you go based on your needs. While I still think the future of gender neutral bathrooms is simply several single bathrooms (also ideal for loud poopers and menstrual cup users), these signs with symbols are a good solution if you don't have it in your budget to completely reconstruct your bathroom configuration. They are also great for anyone who can't read. 

Culture Shock #41: Germans don't know how to bake chocolate chip cookies

To be clear here, I don't mean all cookies. Germans have a wild and insatiable lust for baking and consuming Christmas cookies, and I gotta give it to them, these Christmas cookies are divine. The mere assortment is astounding - the coconut macarons, the almond shortbread, the marmalade sandwiches. The variety of shape and texture and color. Plus, the admirable tradition of baking these cookies up to a month in advance only to seal them in jars and WAIT UNTIL CHRISTMAS TO TAKE A SINGLE BITE. If you were wondering where Germans learn discipline, there's your answer. 

Given this well-documented (and well-taste-tested, may I add) German Christmas Cookie Ferver, I couldn't believe my eyes when I witnessed a work colleague of mine nearly butcher an entire batch of good old fashioned U.S. American chocolate chip cookies. Allow me to set the scene. 

My work colleague (let's call her Caroline) is in the youth center kitchen with a group of five kiddos. Today's baking challenge is chocolate chip cookies. Caroline pre-made the batter, all the kids have to do is form the cookies on the trays. I waltz in, eager to observe, maybe even join in on this sacred and deeply nostalgic practice. I cringe heavily as I watch Caroline plunge her dry hands into the batter and attempt to form a sphere. It doesn't work. You, dear reader, knew it wouldn't work, of course it wouldn't work, the batter is sticky, it clings to her palms and fingers, no sphere in sight. 

"Have you tried wetting your hands before forming the spheres?" I suggest diplomatically, while a churning pit of disbelief brews in my stomach. This is basic chocolate chip cookie stuff: Wet your damn hands. But I gave Caroline the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she was flustered by all the sticky children and simply forgot. 

"Uh, no, why?" Caroline asked. Ah. So she doesn't know the trick. Now I'm suspicious. What else doesn't she know?

I walked over to the sink and wet my hands, then stuck them in the batter. Formed a sphere. Caroline's eyes widened as big as the children's. "Ohhhhh," she said. "Everyone go wet your hands!"

Spheres appeared left and right. Children slapped them onto trays. Too close to each other. Wayyyyy too close to each other. 

"Yo-" I didn't want to, I shouldn't have butt in, but this was unbearable, I couldn't be a bystander to the butchering of perfectly decent chocolate chip cookie batter. "Leave some space in between each sphere! They're going to grow in the oven."

The kids spread out the spheres. Things were back on track. The cookies saved. I could leave now. I turn to go, then hear a "clink." I turn back to see Caroline fetching a glass from the shelf. Bringing the glass towards the trays of cookies. What is she doing? Then she presses the base of the glass on top of a perfect sphere of cookie dough, flattening it into a disc.

OKAY WHAT IN THE EVER-LOVING HELL.

I rush back to the trays, to the children, to Caroline. 

"What are you doing?" I asked, panicked. 

"Flattening the cookies? You know what they're supposed to look like, right?"

"Ummm, yes. But you don't have to flatten them. They flatten in the oven."

"You said they grow in the oven."

"They do grow in the oven. They grow and they flatten."

"How do they grow and flatten?"

"I dunno. They just do."

"It doesn't make sense. Do they grow or do they flatten in the oven?"

"THEY GROW AND FLATTEN. THEY GET BIGGER AND THEY GET FLATTER."

This conversation went on for a bit, until I finally pulled the U.S. American card and Caroline decided to trust me. As you readers already know, the cookies grew and flattened. Later that day, Caroline thanked me for my support in the kitchen. Which was kind of her, seeing as I acted like a complete dick the entire time, and in front of the children, too. Caroline's questions were completely valid ones. How can a cookie grow and flatten simultaneously in the oven? We're used to dough rising, expanding when exposed to heat. A dough that flattens in the oven is usually a sign of utter failure. By this logic, Caroline assumed that we must physically flatten the cookie dough for the cookies to come out flat. The problem was, Caroline's logical thinking clashed gloriously with my many years of lived experience baking chocolate chip cookies at home. If she could've peered inside my brain during our lively discussion, she would've seen black plastic take-out tupperware containers full of cookie dough spheres in my family's freezer, ready to be popped into the toaster oven at a moment's notice. No flattening necessary. 

So many takeaways from this story, hmmmm, which shall I highlight? The value of cross-cultural exchange in the kitchen? The importance of considering logic and lived experience? The critical act of modeling clear and honest communication in front of children? While I find these to be riveting inquiries of thought, I think I prefer to land on the quieter, more personal moral embedded in this tale. Chocolate chip cookies matter to me more than I realized. 

Time and Space: A Cross-Cultural Comparison

This post grew organically out of my list of "Reverse Culture Shocks", a list I carefully tended to over the 2.5 weeks I spent back in the U.S.. Looking back over this list, I began to notice a pattern in the kinds of observations I was making. I took lots of notes about the concept of Time in the U.S. ("We spend so much time in the car", "Why is everyone always in a rush?") and Space in the U.S. ("Parking lots are huge", "Cafés are huge", "Cars are huge", "Streets are huge"). These observations felt too juicy to shove into a numbered list. They seemed worth mulling over, consolidating, and diving deeply into. In other words, I thought I'd give my observations about U.S. American Time and Space the time and space they deserve. (Sorry, I couldn't resist.)

Therefore, in this blog post, I attempt to conduct a cross-cultural comparison of the slippery and illusive concepts of Time and Space in the U.S. and Germany. I assure you my explorations are rudimentary and non-exhaustive. Please enjoy.

Time in the U.S. is always slipping away. There is never enough of it to go around and people get their cardio in chasing after it. "Too much to do, too little time" is the national mantra. Traffic. Everyone is always running late because everything takes too long and everything takes too long because everyone is always running late. Traffic. Because everyone is always running late and everything takes too long, you are never fully present where you are, your foot already halfway out the door, your mind struggling to process where you just were and where you have to be next. Traffic. At the end of the day, you'll slump down onto your couch, breathing ragged, heart pounding, thinking to yourself..."what the FUCK happened today?".

Time in Germany (and I suspect, most of Europe, though I'll hold off on making generalizations about an entire continent for now) ebbs and flows. You'll pedal a hard 10 minutes across town to arrive punctually at your weekly work meeting, to which your colleague brought a spiced cake. Another colleague starts making coffee and tea to go with the cake, as tradition mandates. You sit in a circle with your colleagues, eating cake, drinking coffee, and go through the weekly agenda, ticking off each point, delegating tasks, sharing updates, discussing specific cases, problem-solving and brainstorming as a group. The meeting lasts three hours, and they're a highly productive three hours. Afterwards, everyone takes a well-deserved break, a brisk walk outdoors, some people make lunch, some people go home for the day. Enough work. It's time to rest. 

Time in the U.S. gives new meaning to the phrase "fun on a budget." A highly-anticipated anniversary dinner reservation lasts a total of 75 minutes, the server brings the check as you're taking your second bite of dessert. The week of vacation time you've been saving up for the entire year goes by in the blink of an eye. One weekend, you decide you want to get out of the city, see some nature, so you and a work colleague drive to a nearby lake, 90 minutes away. You finally make it to the lake, walk a quarter's way around it, checking your watch periodically, and after an hour has past, you suggest to turn back. The lake is too big, the drive back is long, and you have to finish up some work you're behind on before Monday.

Time in Germany is fluid, stretching and bending with the seasons, filling every container it's granted, spanning large. Sundays are the widest days, brimming with time. Shops are closed. No loud noises - no vacuuming, no throwing old glass into huge recycling bins on the streets, no doing laundry. On Sundays, your boss is not allowed to contact you. Sundays are for sleeping in. Breakfast with the roomates at 1pm, getting creative with whatever scrounged-up leftover ingredients we have in the fridge and pantry. Sundays are for hikes. Hours in the forest, along rivers, lungs full of mountain air, not a building in sight. On Sundays, "nothing" is done, and I mean "done" as an active verb, "nothing" being the sacred direct object. Today, we do nothing. 

Space in the U.S. spans as large as German Sunday Time. Cafés large enough to accomodate 50 single remote workers and their laptops, outlets peppering the walls and floors. Streets, paving the daily hour-long U.S. American pilgrimage to and from work, wide enough to accomodate hundreds of thousands of millions of lifted trucks. Forests razed down to make way for new parking garages, gargantuan, grey, fugly monuments of progress. U.S. American personal space, that's big too. We give one another a wide berth, protecting our freedom to mind our own business. Eyes trained downward, tracking the tips of our shoes, the cracks of the sidewalk. 

Space in Germany cramps in cities, explodes beyond. Tables practically overlapping in cafes, your jacket on the back of your chair gets frisky with the jacket on your neighbor's chair. Three grocery stores within walking distance from your apartment, two drug stores, two bakeries, a school. The forest a ten minute walk, the river five. Your favorite farmer's market around the corner, your second favorite a quick bike ride away. Your daily commute 12 minutes on wheels, 10 minutes if you're feeling particularly motivated. Bustling city center, a plaza, a church. People bump into you and don't say sorry, people stare (people are always staring). "Get in line!" A German grandmother yells at you after you mistakenly step up to the farmer's market stand and reach for a squash. German grandmothers are the best at being in your business. It's their right, as respected pillars of the community, to tell you what you're doing wrong, and tell you how to do it better, preferably loudly in front of everybody. 

I realize this post comes across fairly biased, fairly pro-German, pro-European conceptualizations of space and time. I didn't write this post with any particular agenda, but now that I read this post over again, it's occuring to me that the German relationship to time and space feels more human, in a lot of ways. The humane work hours and conditions. The mandated, communal Sunday rest. Easy access to nature, to fresh and local produce, to delicious and affordable bread. Even the German grandmothers don't bother me like they used to. Nagging is more communal than chronically ignoring each other. More human, too.