Culture Shock #55: Why it took me two years to get a German driver's license

Are you a U.S. American with a driver's license looking to get a German driver's license? Well then, this post is for you! Here is a complete and 100% accurate list of things you need in order to get your hands on a German driver's license: 

1) 45 Euros. 

2) Your passport or German ID. 

3) Your current U.S. American driver's license. 

4) An official document proving that you were in the U.S. when you obtained your current U.S. American driver's license. No, your current U.S. American driver's license does not count as proof that you were in the U.S. when you obtained your current U.S. American driver's license. What counts as an official document that proves you were in the U.S. when you obtained your current U.S. American driver's license, you might ask? Great question! A job contract, housing contract, or college transcript would suffice. Oh, you don't want the German government in your U.S. American business? How bad do you want that German driver's license? 

5) Your first ever driver's license. Yep, the one you got at age sixteen that you obviously don't still have. 

6) Maybe you felt this one coming because you're an expert at reading context clues. Yep, you need an official document proving that you were in the U.S. when you obtained your FIRST U.S. AMERICAN DRIVER'S LICENSE. What, you didn't have a job or housing contract at age sixteen? Loser! Guess you're gonna have to go dig through those dusty cardboard boxes in your basement for your high school report card. Oh, you're young enough that report cards were digitalized by the time you graduated high school? Awesome, lucky you! Then you get to text your mom and ask her to Facebook message your eighth grade history teacher and ask him how you might get a pdf of your high school report card to prove to the German government that you were in the U.S. when you got your first U.S. driver's license. 

7) Wait...don't tell me you want to keep your U.S. American driver's license? You mean you don't want the German government to take it away? AND you want a German driver's license? You want both? You greedy fool! In that case, you'll need to provide an official letter addressed to the German government making the sound argument that you deserve to keep your own U.S. American driver's license that you obtained in the U.S. (as proven). The advice I got from the nice lady working at the German DMV? Say you need your U.S. American driver's license to vote. Germans may be wacky, but it is in their best interest to protect global democracy, and they have a good feeling that you're not a Trumpie. 

8) A stool sample of your second cousin once-removed. 

9) The correct answers to Rumplestiltskin's half-brother's riddles three. 

Hope this helps!

Culture Shock #54: The German S'more

I wrote a blog post back in 2024 about the shock I felt upon discovering that Germans do not eat s'mores. While I continue to send thoughts and prayers to every German who has yet to try the sickeningly sweet delectable roasted gooey sandwich of summer, I have discovered what Germans eat around a campfire instead of s'mores. 

It's called Stockbrot. In English, "stick bread."

The German language is just masterful at literalism. 

Stockbrot is when you wrap a piece of pizza dough around a stick and hold it over a fire until it's toasty brown on the outside and fluffied warmth on the inside. You then have a couple options.

1. Rip pieces of the fire-baked dough off the stick and eat them plain

2. Slide the log of baked dough off of the stick and shove some cheese in it. Let the cheese melt, then enjoy a savory cheesey pizza log snack.

3. Slide the log of baked dough off of the stick and shove some chocolate in it. Let the chocolate melt, then enjoy a sweet chocolatey pizza log snack. 

I'm gonna be honest, Stockbrot's got nothing on s'mores. While I do appreciate the sweet/savory versatility of Stockbrot, I cannot get over the absurdity of wrapping raw dough around a stick and holding it over a fire. There is something so primal about it. Especially if you take the time before grabbing your pizza dough to whittle your Stockbrot stick to a clean point. Germans love to whittle. 

Maybe that's why s'mores never caught on in Germany, actually. Not nearly enough whittling involved. 

Culture Shock #53: The weak-tongued Germans have gained a member

 Guys...I have something shameful to admit. 

I've been buying this red pepper spread consistently since moving to Germany. I put it on everything, from bread to crackers to veggies to pastas. On the jar is the warning: Spicy! When I first moved here and tried the spread for the first time, I laughed dismissively. This isn't spicy at all! How embarrassing it must be to be a weak-tongued German. 

Last week, I spooned heaps of my trusty red pepper spead on a piece of matzah, preparing a snack to eat while I called my bestie Elya. As we talked, and I munched, I felt a soft tingle in my mouth. I kept eating, not thinking much of it. The tingle remained. I sipped my water, continuing to chat with Elya and eat my matzah. I felt my body getting warmer, a slight sheen on my forehead. I sipped more water, but the tingle only seemed to intensify. Finally, I took a second to look down at my matzah. What was going on? I dipped my finger gingerly into the red pepper spread and sucked it off my finger. The tingle erupted into a burn. 

Oh god. 

The spread was spicy. 

There are no words to describe this humiliating turn my life has taken. My only hope is to engage in vigorous spice-training whenever I'm back in the U.S.. I'm talking curries, tacos, hot-honeyed pizzas, jalepeño poppers...

...alright. This might not be the worst fate. 

Culture Shock #52: Germans don't know when noon is

Here's a funny thing I found out recently. Germans think "noon" is a quick and quirky way to say "afternoon". In other words, they don't understand that "noon" refers to a specific time in the day. Here's an example of a conversation I've had multiple times with a variety of Germans:

Me: Great! Wanna meet at noon?

German: Sure! When?

Me:...noon?

German: Yes, but when at noon?

Me: ....how about...at...NOON????? 

(For all the Germans reading this post, "noon" is 12 o'clock in the daytime. Please just learn that. It'll make my life easier.)

Emma's Guide to Solo Hiking in Germany (Part Two!)

Since I released my first exclusive guide to solo hiking back in May 2025, I have completed a whopping total of 20 solo hikes. According to my handy hiking app, between May 2 2025 and April 5 2026, I hiked for a combined total 53 hours and 36 minutes, 120.6 miles, and gained 27, 201 feet of elevation. 

While I've definitely learned a thing or two about solo hiking over the past year, I still stand by (most) everything I said back in May 2025. For having only ever done one (1) solo hike, I was pretty spot-on. After writing that post, I even ended up taking some of my own advice, investing in a fancy hiking backpack that maximizes breathability between back and pack and developing a habit of always bringing three water bottles. 

That being said, it would be rude not to share my new solo hiking tips with you. I would hate to gatekeep such valuable information. Plus, I have to take advantage of the fact that you trust me even more now because of all the fancy numbers I shared with you in the beginning of this post. So. Are you ready for my new-and-improved solo hiking expertise? Great! Let's go. 

1. I'll start with the "improved" part. Tip #4 of my first Solo Hiking Guide reassures readers that they don't need to download hiking maps ahead of time because the hiking signage is so good in Germany. This is true...in many cases. Some hikes, however, are a little wilder and less maintained. In the winter, sections of trails can be closed due to rough conditions, meaning you would need to find a detour. Sometimes these detours are well-marked, sometimes not. Long story short, it is actually worth the $2.83 a month to upgrade to a premium subscription hiking app so you can download the maps ahead of time. For peace of mind and for emergencies. 

2. Microclimates exist! If you're thinking to yourself, "Wow, the weather is gorgeous where I currently am. Let me go somewhere else with a significantly different altitude and enjoy the same weather from up there!"... you are a fool! I was this fool just yesterday, when I decided I would hike the Feldberg mountain trail. In Freiburg, it was 70 degrees and sunny, spring in full bloom. When I arrived at the base of the trail, I was greeted by rays of sunshine beaming onto heaps of ice and snow. After a moment of grappling with my surprise and frustration, I decided to do the hike anyway. This turned out to be a brave and adventurous choice, not to mention mind-boggling to hike through the remnants of a winder wonderland in shorts and a T-shirt. 

                                   

3. For those who are thinking about going on a solo hike, remember that planning ahead is really important. Will your favorite ice cream shop still be open when you return? If the answer is no, consider starting your hike earlier in the day. I cannot convey to you how devastating it is to glance at your phone on your way home and realize you will arrive after 6pm. 

4. If you want to avoid being called "so German" by your one and only beloved sister, don't break Passover a day early on a hike with a soft pretzel. Or at least, don't tell your sister about it. 

That's all, folks, happy hiking! (And to my observant readers, happy breaking Passover under normal conditions!) 

Culture Shock #51: Chag Pesach Sameach from Germany!

I woke up this morning craving matzo brei and charoset. That classic delectable Passover breakfast combination of sweet, cinnamony, appley, and savory. 

I got to work making charoset (belatedly, I know. I was working the first couple days of Passover and sadly didn't attend a seder this year). In my household growing up, we always had two charosets on the table. One made according to Ashkenazi tradition - chopped apples and walnuts, with a dash of cinnamon. And one made according to Sephardi tradition - blended apples, walnuts, dates, figs, orange, wine, and cinnamon. Having two charosets on the table each year kept my mother of Ashkenazi descent and my father of Sephardi descent happy. 

This of course meant that, as a young adult now living on my own, I had a decision to make. Which charoset should I prepare for myself? I bought a haphazard mix of ingredients. Apples, an orange, walnuts, dates. I bought pomegranate juice because I thought that would be a fun twist on the wine tradition. I chopped the fruits and nuts and threw them in a bowl with a splash of the pomegranate juice and a sprinkle of cinnamon. Now, the question: To blend or not to blend?

I could've solved this problem in a variety of ways. Portioned the mixture in two halves, leaving one half chunky, and blending the other half smooth. I could've decided to leave it all chunky this Passover and commit to a smooth Passover next year. The decision I made, however, was an attempt to honor both traditions in the same bowl. You know, like how both traditions live inside me simultaneously. I am the bowl in this metaphor. 

Anyway.

I blended my charoset halfway. 

Just as I had finished tupperwaring my beautiful half-chunky half-smooth charoset, my German roommate walks into the kitchen. "Whatcha making?" he asks. "Charoset!" I answer. "A traditional Passover dish." I acknowledge the funky consistency of my charoset, explaining the two culinary traditions I grew up with back home. Then, I held out the tupperware. "Wanna try?" 

"Sure!" He said, delighted. I handed him the tupperware and began doing the dishes. A minute later, I turn over my shoulder, curious to see his reaction. To my horror, I see him spreading the charoset ON A PIECE OF BREAD. I gasped. 

"NO!" I fumbled in my pantry shelf and practically threw my box of matzo at him. "CHAROSET DOES NOT GO ON BREAD!!!" 

He reacted appropriately - dismayed and apologetic. Hurriedly, he scraped the charoset off of the bread and transferred it over to the matzo. "Mmmmm" he chewed slowly. "It's good! Tastes...healthy!."

Oi vey. 

I will say, it was slightly hilarious and absurd seeing charoset on a piece of bread. It's like seeing someone dressed as Santa Claus at a Chanukkah party. Or a Trumpie at a Black Lives Matter protest. Or a vampire at a garlic-tasting event. I don't know, I'm sure you guys can come up with better comparisons. Comments section, I summon you with the authority of a Pharaoh. Make me laugh!  

Culture Shock #50: Where is the Chanukkah spirit?

I got a text from my dear friend Dakota a couple hours ago, wishing me a happy Chanukkah. My eyes darted to the window, a wall of pitch black. The sun had already set, and I had completely forgotten that Chanukkah started tonight. 

Dismay. How could I have possibly forgotten the first night of Chanukkah? This had never happened to me before. Living in the U.S., it would've been impossible to forget. My family and I would've been making plans to make latkes together weeks in advance, and my college besties and I would drive to the local donut shop to pick up Sufganiyot. I would've dug through my sock drawer to find a Dreidl and stocked up on gelt from the grocery store. I would've already been planning what to buy with the Chanukkah money from my grandparents (thank you grandparents!). 

Frustration. The internal Jewish clock in my body that reminded me to buy Chanukkah candles and take the menorah down from the mantelpiece (or to bug my parents to buy chanukkah candles and take the menorah down from the mantelpiece) betrayed me this year. The truth is, I completely lost track of time and have no Jewish community here to ground me in who I am and where I come from. Does really no one here in Germany know about Chanukkah? How did everyone in my life here fail to wish me a happy Chanukkah, even if they don't celebrate themselves? 

Grief. Of course, it's easier to place the blame on those around me. What hurts the most is that I forgot to wish me a happy Chanukkah. 

I called my parents and they recited the prayers with me as I lit the candles (My Nana and Papa brought me Chanukkah candles when they visited back in October. The menorah I bought for myself back in May. I sent gratitude to my past self, who already had in mind that I would be celebrating the first five days of Chanukkah in Germany without my family.) My grief settled a bit, overcome by the urge to philosophize. How Jewish could one possibly be without a community to be Jewish with? My dad made an excellent point: to be Jewish alone is explicitly forbidden according to Jewish law. You need a Minyan for services to take place. 

Needless to say, I am very much missing my Jewish community right now. Especially living in a Christian country, where everyone's high on tacky lights and cheesy music and Santa Claus for weeks on end. I'm not saying the U.S. is any different - I actually think the U.S. is more unbearable when it comes to Christmas spirit (the cookies are worse). But at least in the U.S. I had community who understood what it felt like to be surrounded by joy and chaos that wasn't ours. A community who had joy and chaos of our own to tend to. Not to mention the occasional house we would pass with strings of blue and white lights draped across bare braches, a menorah in the window. The excited shouting: "Look at that house! To your left! No, other left! Jews!!" 

I can't end this post without acknowledging the shooting in Sydney. As much as I crave community and congregation, as much as we need to gather to keep our traditions alive and stay connected, there is the deeply troubling reality to contend with that antisemitism is on a steady rise. I hope to one day find Jewish community here in Germany, though I'm daunted by how difficult it seems to be. How hidden are the synagogues? How careful must they be about their digital presence? It saddens me, the thought of us not being to be able to find each other as a consequence of merely trying to stay alive. Again, the question. How Jewish can one possibly be, alone?

I haven't texted Dakota back, but I will. I'm grateful that he reached out. I suppose his text is an important reminder for me. Even if no one in my immediate vicinity knew what day it is, I've got a friend abroad who's got my back. And he's not even Jewish! Take notes, Goys.