Culture Shock #57: Germans are pro child injury

I was sitting in a team meeting at the youth center I work at, and we were discussing the new loft my colleague recently built with some kiddos. It's cute, a little two-story wooden structure in one of our playrooms draped with blankets. Kids can play underneath it or climb up a ladder to play on the raised platform. 

I spoke up in the meeting to mention something I'd noticed since the loft had been built - I'd seen three different kids smack their foreheads on the upper platform while trying to climb under it. I brought this up in the team meeting and expected the reaction I would've gotten in the U.S.. The worried looks (the liability! the potential lawsuits!), the gratitude for bringing my acute observations to the team meeting (we must protect our children from fatal head injuries!), the immediate problem-solving response (caution tape? a foam strip? sand down the wooden edges? tear the whole thing down and build a new loft out of rubber?). 

Needless to say my observation was not met with the responses I anticipated. In reality, I was met with blank stares. I actually felt a bit stupid. Did they understand what I had just said? Why were they treating children smacking their heads on wooden beams like something benign? The silence was mildly excruciating. 

Finally, one of my colleagues said, "Yes? And have these particular children smacked their heads on the wooden beams again since?"

I was gobsmacked. Because no, it had been three different children. I mean, there hadn't been enough injury cases for me to start running statistics, but my colleague had a point. The pain I watched these three children endure would probably serve as a decent reminder to duck the next time they wanted to play under the loft. 

I find this moment in this team meeting such a brilliant and illustrative example of how the U.S. American  approach to risk differs from the German one. While U.S. American parents spend hundreds of dollars and multiple hours child-proofing their entire homes, German parents endure watching their child hit their head on the glass table. Once. While U.S. American parents don't let their children anywhere near sharp knives until they're in middle school (at least), six-year-old German children are slicing their own carrot sticks, their older sibling correcting their form, band-aids ready on the kitchen counter if necessary. While U.S. American parents forbid their children from climbing the tree in the backyard for fear of a sprained limb, German parents help their kid strategize how to reach the first branch without their help.

Maybe the willingness of Germans to watch their youth get injured makes you deeply uncomfortable and squeamish. Maybe this blog post is confirming your stereotypes of Germans being a callous and unempathetic people. Or maybe you're like me, and you're thinking...What are German teenagers capable of doing because they were entrusted to carry out important daily tasks as children? How does radically investing in a child's autonomy and independence influence teenage anxiety? What kind of citizens do German children grow up to be if they are taught at a young age to pay attention to their surroundings? If we treat our children like they cannot survive in this world without our constant vigilant protection, how could we possibly expect them to?

The limitations of my U.S. American/German comparison are not lost on me. I know that U.S. is a much more dangerous country for children to grow up in. Poverty, racism, gun violence, the school to prison pipeline, car-centric cities, a disastrous healthcare system, inhumane immigration policies, ableist architecture...in a country where the government cares so little for its people, it makes sense that parents want to protect their children from harm in the limited ways they can. 

I suppose there are ways in which exposing children to danger and risk can be deeply educational and empowering. And. There are ways in which exposing children to danger and risk can be deeply traumatizing and disempowering. 

How's that for a nuanced take for you?! 

Culture Shock #56: Germans don't know how to eat tacos

In honor of July 4th, here's a post about tacos.

I thought yall might enjoy the wall decor at the one and only taco shop in Freiburg. 

"This is how one eats tacos."

My favorite panel in this polyptych is the last one.

"No knife and fork."

And in case the wall hangings aren't enough, the napkin dispensers have additional guidance.

It never occurred to me that one would grow up not knowing how to eat a taco. The fact that the German instinct is to pick up a KNIFE and FORK in the face of a taco makes me shudder. I wish you could've seen my face when I walked into this restaurant for the first time and saw the photos on the wall...I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. 

I applaud restaurant owner's insistence that her customers eat tacos as they are meant to be eaten. Her faith is not misplaced. Every German I saw in that restaurant were trying their damndest to keep their head at the appropriate 45 degree angle. Hey, Germans may not have grown up exposed to the delicacy of tacos, but they sure do know how to follow precise orders. 

(They are decent tacos, for those who are wondering. Pricey, but decent.)

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.  

Culture Shock #49: There's a tea for that

It's a punishingly grey Saturday, and I woke up this morning feeling more homesick than usual. There are days where, in such a melancholy state of mind and body, I might've reached for my journal or sent a voice message to the family group chat. But this morning, after surrendering into the fact that it would be a sad day, my instincts whispered: tea. 

Growing up, I rarely drank herbal tea. Maybe a milky chamomile when I couldn't sleep or a ginger honey to soothe a throatache, but that was pretty much the extent of it. In college, the closest I got to drinking any kind of tea were the chai and matcha lattes I treated myself to during strenuous days of studying. As there certainly weren't any tea leaves involved in brewing those Starbucks concoctions, I understand if readers are reluctant to count this as tea-drinking. I certainly wasn't drinking herbal tea at age nineteen. In fact, I was generally anti any decaffienated hot beverage, worried that the droopy eyelids and gaping yawns it might induce would hinder my Freshman mission to never miss out on anything ever. 

Since moving to Germany, I have spent many a minute perusing the astounding array of herbal tea mixes in supermarket and drug store aisles. What tickles me the most is how these teas are marketed, which I suppose is a reflection of the function tea-drinking plays in German society. There is an herbal tea mix for everything, and it's safe to assume that every German household has a pantry shelf full of them. 

Sure, you've got the basic herbal tea mixes, marketed towards your everyday pains and aches. Throatache? Yep. Stomachache? Yep. Immunity strengthening? Easy. 

Then, there are teas meant for more specific physical ailments beyond the average cold symptom. Need a tea to relieve irritation caused by inflammation of the mucus membranes in the upper respiratory tract? No problem. What about a tea to remedy declining cardiac performance and feelings of tightness in the chest area? Coming right up! Looking for a tea to support organic breastfeeding by balancing fluid levels and promoting a soothing and harmonious breastfeeding relationship? Aisle four! 

German herbal teas go far beyond the realm of physical ailments. There are also teas marketed for specific times of day or year. Some of them might sound familiar to you, others not so much. Christmas tea? Sure, we've probably got that. Winter tea? Obviously, for all the other winter days besides Christmas. Night time tea? Of course, the tea I avoided in college. Work break tea? Right, for all the breaks we take at work...

Beyond specific times of day or year, there are German herbal teas designed to offer teleportative experiences, for those who wish they were somewhere else, or perhaps for those who want to intensify the experience of being where they are. Teas called "Breathing deeply in the woods" (Can't see the forest for the trees? Then it's time for a break! A cup of blackberry leaves, cowslips, and spruce needles will send your thoughts on a walk through the forest) or "Cozy evening around the fire" (This romatic herbal tea combines warming lime blossom with honeybush. Rounded off with ginger, cardamom, and star anise, this powerful tea pampers both body and soul. Perfect for cozy evenings with the whole family) are not hard to find in your average German grocery store. 

You've also got the teas that are meant to target specific psychological ailments or states. Tea to soothe nervous restlessness or irritation? Not a problem. Woman Power tea? Whatever that means, it exists! (This is not to say that being a woman is a psychological ailment. I suppose I could argue that womanhood is a psychological state, though I prefer not to engage in discourse online. I do find it fascinating that I've never seen "Man power" tea. I have yet to decide if that's a good thing or not. You'll be hearing from me if I ever find a "Gender nonconforming power" tea.) Or maybe you're on the lookout for Happiness tea, that is delicately tart, cheerful, and uplifting? Ideal for anyone who believes in happiness? Together with other herbs and spices, cinnamon, hops, and orange peel lovingly tickle the palate and soul? The delicately tart and slightly spicy taste of this atmospheric blend will bring a smile to your lips? Name your price! (No really, I've seen wild price ranges on German Happiness Tea. How much would you pay to feel happy?) 

So obviously a part of me wants to riff off of the ridiculous assortment of German herbal teas. Like, excuse me, pharmacist? One Monday Springtime Post-White Collar Workday Constipation Tea please! Excuse me, pharmacist? One Tu Bishvat Itchy Left Nostril Tea please! Excuse me, pharmacist? One Late Autumn Moroccan Camel Ride for Seniors Tea please! (Shoutout to my grandparents for the inspiration). God this is too fun, I could go on for days. 

There is another part of me though, becoming more present the longer I live here, that really embraces the tea-drinking culture in Germany. The idea that, whatever you've got going on in your mind~body~spirit, there's a tea for that. I find it soothing, the ritual of reaching for the tea leaves, of filling up the water kettle, of carefully selecting a mug from the cupboard, especially in moments where I'm feeling lost or helpless. So today, I am drinking homesick tea, a mason jar of loose tea leaves lovingly mixed by my partner (not in crime. I state for the record that they had nothing to do with the Great Goose Thievery of December 5th 2025). 

Culture Shock #48: If you give a goose a shower

Have you ever found yourself in the shower with a goose for work?

Guess I can check that off my bucket list.

Oh, you want proof? I've got proof. 

What? I didn't say it was a real goose. 

I feel your burning questions. It would be an honor to answer them. 

Are you familiar with the concept of a "white elephant?". They happen a lot around Christmas time (I say "Christmas" deliberately, as I've only ever taken part in white elephants with Christian friends. Jews don't engage in the practice of random gift-giving. It's too much uncertainty. We've been through enough.). The idea is, you show up to the function with a wrapped gift for no one in particular. Everyone sits in a circle with their gift in their lap and, through invigorating rounds of dice-rolling, the gifts are exchanged at random until the time is up. Whatever gift is in your lap when the timer rings is the gift you take home with you. I have absolutely no idea why it's called "white elephant." I hope to god it's not because someone once brought a white elephant to a gift exchange like this. I imagine white elephants are difficult to wrap, let alone set in your lap, as they are rather large and heavy. Plus, they don't exist.

As it so happens, Germans are also well-versed in the tradition of random gift giving around the holiday season. Their version of "white elephant" is called "Wichtel." Have fun pronouncing that. 

It also turns out, Germans have a funny bone or two, wiggled loose by Christmas spirit or copious amounts of mulled wine or both. Meaning, Germans not only have "Wichtel", they also have "Schrottwichtel." The word "Schrottwichtel" roughly translates to "bring something you have at home that is objectively useless junk in the hopes that you will bring home slightly more useful junk." 

My workplace has a long-standing tradition of cooking a Christmas dinner together on the first Friday in December to celebrate the end of the year and the holiday season. After the dinner comes the sacred ritual of Schrottwichtel. I started my current job on December 1 2024, meaning my first Friday on the job ended with this Christmas dinner and Schrottwichtel. I remember being completely overwhelmed, sitting at a large table with a bunch of strangers, some old utensils wrapped in newspaper hugged between my knees, wondering if I could log these hours as work ones. It was torture! I had no connection to Christmas, had barely a clue what Schrottwichtel was, and found it strange to be drinking with coworkers I barely knew. I left after nearly four hours, at 10pm, which was all I could handle. On the following Monday, my coworkers reported that they continued drinking and chatting into the wee hours of the morning, and it was a shame I left so early.  

Now, exactly one year later, I am determined to have a difference experience. No, I don't give a shit about Christmas. But I do like free food, and my coworkers are pretty okay. We know each other a lot better now, at least. And this time, I'm bringing a goose. 

The goose and I have a fairly unromantic meet-cute. More like a stumble-upon. I found the goose in the basement of my building while looking for my bike pump. I remember thinking, "wow, this goose looks like it's been here for 10 years," and then continuing about my day. This morning, when my Reminders app alerted me to the reality of Schrottwichtel this evening, the image of this dusty old goose in my building's basement popped into my head. I knew what I had to do. 

The shower was inevitable. You can't show up to a Schrottwichtel with dirty junk, that would be bad etiquette, and I wasn't raised by wolves. I need to bring a clean goose. 

Now all I'm hoping is that no one in my building trundles down to the basement looking for their dusty old goose. If so, this blog post is serious incriminating evidence of goose-thievery on my part. Well, at least you are all forewarned. If one day, you notice my blog skips from "Culture Shock #47" to "Culture Shock #49", you'll know someone went a-huntin' for their goose, and I had to protect myself. 

Wish me luck tonight!

Culture Shock #47: If there's no email confirmation...

 ...did you actually make the appointment? Will it actually take place on the day and at the time that you requested? 

Turns out, the answers to these questions depends on where you live.

If you are in the U.S. and you make an appointment and you receive no email confirmation OR email reminder the day beforehand, the appointment will not happen. You probably didn't successfully make it in the first place, you just thought you did. Even if the appointment miraculously does happen, lord knows you won't be there, because you were relying on the email to remind you when and where it was. 

If you are in Germany and you make an appointment and you receive an email confirmation and/or an email reminder the day before, congratulations! You have found one of the three institutions that decided digitalizating their system wouldn't also summon the devil on the premises. No but actually, when you call (yes, CALL) the hairdresser or doctor or dentist or restaurant to make an appointment or reservation, you better write the time and date and address down, because chances are, you will not hear from that establishment again. You will hang up the call and feel the essence of the conversation float into the ether, with no email in your inbox a couple minutes later to confirm that you were indeed brave enough to call in the first place. 

So the context behind this post is I'm becoming infamous at my eye doctor. Growing up in an email confirmation culture makes me feel like I've got the memory of a goldfish. In the span of a month, I called my eye doctor three times to order contacts, forgetting that I'd already called and ordered them. Look, if I'm not getting emails every couple days confirming that I called, that my order is processing, that it'll be ready any day now, thank you very much for remaining a loyal customer, have you considered getting new frames by the way?, 5 Signs You Might Have Eye Cancer...how do I know that I called in the first place??

Culture Shock #46: Where is the peppermint?

Starting to worry that my favorite winter flavor doesn't speak German. 

I have yet to encounter a single package of candy canes, and it is December 4th. Meanwhile, I know those iconic red and white stripes have been branding U.S. American retinas since the day after Thanksgiving. My hot cocoas are suffering from boredom without their sticky sweet minty companions! 

I fear candy canes contain a variety of chemical ingredients long-banned in the European Union. But because I'd like to protect my peace, I'm going to decide that I live in a candy caneless country because peppermint is too spicy for Germans. 

Culture Shock #45: A U.S. American walks into a sauna

Alright folks, this is everything you need to know before embarking on your first German sauna experience. You're so very welcome for conducting thorough embodied research. I did it for the U.S. American people. 

For those of you who don't know what a sauna is (I sure didn't before moving here), let me try to paint a picture. You know the sensation of hotboxing your car? Now imagine instead of your car it's a log cabin in which long wooden benches circle a heated stone oven. And instead of weed hanging heavy in the air it's plumes of hot steam produced by a team of expert sauna masters, whose job it is to place spheres of scented ice (think lavendar, eucalyptus) on top these heated stone ovens. And instead of your douchebag high school boyfriend sitting next to you pretending he knows how to roll a joint it's a smattering of strangers eager to sweat out their bodily toxins and/or reach enlightenment. Oh right, and the strangers are butt naked. 

Some of you might be thinking "Huh, that actually sounds like my worst nightmare. You couldn't pay me to strip down and drip sweat among strangers in a small wooden box." To which I say, completely fair. That was more or less my opinion on the matter for my first 17 months living in Europe. Then I started to get curious. Because people here won't shut up about them! Sauna weekend this, sauna weekend that. Saunas strengthen your immune system, reset your mind~body connection, facilitate deep relaxation and meditative presence, the effects can last days if not weeks...sue me, it sounded kinda nice. Plus I needed content for my blog. 

Alright, enough groundwork. Here's what I learned, my takeaways, advice I was given in preparation, and things I wish someone had told me beforehand. Compiled into a comprehensive (you guessed it) list! I love lists, can you tell? 

A U.S. American walks into a sauna so you can too

1. For the sake of your inner peace, I recommend choosing a sauna where you're fairly certain you won't run into anyone you know. I fondly recall overhearing a conversation among three of my coworkers, during which was revealed that (to their horror) they had all separately made plans to go to the same sauna with their respective lovers that upcoming weekend. They then proceeded with a bout of negotiation in order to avoid undesired collegial contact in the buff. (Imagine the Monday team meeting eye contact! I'd have to quit.) I believe they were able to work out time slots, bless them. 

2.  If you are truly among only strangers, the whole being naked thing is way less of a big deal than I anticipated it being. In fact, when you think about it, the nightmare you often have about being naked in public is only humiliating and unbearable because you are the only one naked in the room. But when everyone is naked, it's kind of like no one is. You guys know the Incredibles? Just apply Dash's logic. "If everyone is super..." If you still don't believe me, take this little personal anecdote into consideration. I was sitting in a sauna during a steam ceremony (that's when the sauna masters come into the saunas and place new scented ice balls on the heated stone ovens to create fresh piping hot steam) and the sauna master was passing around cups of lemon-scented lotion. Mind you, I am in my birthday suit and my hair is sticking to my neck and my knee pits are puddles. Somehow I manage forget all of this as I turn to the very naked man sitting next to me and ask him matter-of-factly, "Where are we supposed to rub this lotion?". He turns to me and answers simply "I think everywhere except your eyes." "Right," I answer, "Thanks!". I am halfway through massaging the lotion onto my naked body before I register the fact that I had initiated a conversation with a naked man about where I should rub my lotion. The weirdest part was, it didn't feel weird at all. (Important note: Context is key! If you are on the subway and a naked man approaches you asking where he should rub his lemon-scented lotion, please run away!)

3. Saunas are (you may have guessed this already from all the "hot steam"s and "dripping sweat"s) very hot. They are designed to make you sweat. You are not supposed to stay in them for very long, 8-15 minutes maximum. There are brilliant little sand timers on the walls that I recommend utilizing to maintain some grasp on linear time in the liminal spaces that saunas can be. That being said, your body is your best timer. If you start to breath shallow, or feel dizzy, or your sauna master decides that DILL would be an appropriate scent to fill the hot sweaty room with...stand up and leave. You are not a piece of salmon. You are a human being. 

4. 8-15 minutes might not sound like a long time, but it certainly feels like it when you have nothing else to do but sit and sweat and try not look straight at the penis in your periphery (just pretend it's a basilisk, works for me). Sometimes thoughts might come into your head, such as "Why am I doing this to myself?" and "Is this cultural appropriation?". Allow these thoughts to float by like clouds in the sky and keep letting those beads of sweat roll down into your buttcrack. Your body and mind will thank you later.

5. Bring two towels. One towel is to lay down on the wooden benches in the saunas so you don't leave behind butt prints, or worse. Hygiene, people, hygiene. The other towel is for drying off after your post-sauna jump in the shower or pool or lake.

6. Speaking of shower or pool or lake...it's a truly invigorating and awesome sensation, going from unbearably hot to refreshingly cold. However inticing that water might look after you step out of a sauna, it's essential that you wait a couple minutes before plunging in to give your body a chance to start regulating its own temperature first. Getting a heart attack at the sauna is frowned upon, as paramedics aren't known for their zen vibes. 

7. Hydrate hydrate hydrate! Some saunas will provide free tea, which will somehow help your monkey brain make peace with the 50 euro entrance fee. I recommend bringing lemon water, as it is refreshing and fancy and may or may not provide additional electrolytes (I'm too lazy to google scholar it and too scared of AI to chat-gpt it). 

8. Time is soup in a sauna. I have developed a Hot and Cold theory, inspired by my well-tested Sweet and Salty theory (if you regularly switch off between sweet snacks and salty snacks, you'll never get full). Similarly, if your only life goal is to regularly trade off feeling Hot and Cold, you slowly cease to perceive the passage of time. In other words, plan to spend the whole day at the sauna. Pack a lunch. Bring a book. There are nap rooms. Make a whole thing out of it, get your money's worth. 

Okay folks, that's all for now! Feel free to leave any questions in the comments, I'm happy to answer them to the best of my ability. I'm planning on continuing to conduct sauna research throughout this winter, so if anyone has any ideas for a thrilling sauna social experiment, I'm all ears. 

P.S. I wonder how one becomes a sauna master? Imagine the auditions. "Please place this ball of ice on this oven in a room of wrinkly naked white people while maintaining a straight face." 

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.