How to Stay Sane in Germany

I'm not saying I'm sane. In fact, my (German) boyfriend says it's too late for me.

It's true: the outlook isn't very good some days. I can go wacko. The gray skies can get to a person, but that's not it so much. People keep to themselves; there aren't friendly faces in most places you go. Customer service doesn't include a smile, and at work, formality demands that we use each other's last name when speaking, even if we've known each other for a long time. My closest friends tell me how best to live my life, though I'm pretty sure I've been doing okay for almost 50 years. Saddest of all, I honestly can't remember the last time I had fun. 



Instead of losing it, there are ways to keep your sanity in Deutschland, or at least feel momentarily better and not so persecuted. I've made a list below.

• Silently give them the bird. If someone pisses you off, acts superior or bosses you around, just flip them the bird secretly, hiding it in your non-dominant hand, or when you are in your car driving away from their house. I do it all the time. Someone is rude to you at the grocery store? Curse them under your breath behind the wheel, because if you say something directly to them, they could take you to court. Make sure you're using the F word. This helps somehow. Speaking the F and K consonant sounds expel air from your lungs and help to relieve tension.
• Stay in touch with your family and friends back home, or wherever they are. Get a calling plan that costs you very few euros per month to make long distance calls. Use Skype. The hard part is that there is an 8-hour time difference between most of my family and friends and me, so I have to wait until they're awake to call or catch them late at night. Write to them on Facebook. Send e-mails and postcards. Write letters. Yes, it's mostly one-sided, but as a German friend told me once: they're not the ones that moved to Germany.
• Go back home! Or go somewhere. Travel, get out of Germany. This is mandatory. You don't have to stay at home. Europe gives you many travel options, with beautiful places close by.
• Find other Americans. There are expat groups in many cities, and they are probably going through some of the same things you're experiencing. One of my best friends here -- who recently moved back to the U.S. -- was a source of therapy and sanity in times of crisis. We worked together for about 15 months, and we went out for cocktails/beers on Friday afternoons once a month at least. That's when we could compare notes. We even promised we would write a book about living among the Germans. 
• Wait for your friends and family from America to come visit you. They will. This can be difficult, because when you're dying to flee, they have planned a trip to Germany. It's okay... hold out a little bit longer. 
• Bake. Or cook. Paint or write. I like to bake cookies and muffins on weekends and bring them to work with me on Monday. Some Germans don't like American-style sweets, because they say there is too much sugar. Ha ha! Add an extra half cup! Or just bake them with your normal American recipe. That'll show 'em! I have a co-worker who leaves the baked goods I make for her out overnight, as if letting them ripen or cure. No one said German behavior was easy to comprehend.
• Exercise. It is vital to your psychiatric survival. You have to get out there and walk in the woods for forest therapy or just go jogging or walking through your neighborhood. Get some of those ridiculous German alpine walking sticks (never thought I would, but I did) and use more muscles walking up a hill. Swim. Ride a bike. Have sex. Do yoga. 
• Be like a German and clean. Stay busy. Clean, clean, clean something. But don't ask a German if you're doing it right. You won't.
• Drink alcohol. Yes, it works. There are so many good beers and wines in Germany, it's almost a daily requirement! Get a cheapo 3-euro bottle of Spätburgunder and drink the whole thing in an hour. Don't worry if a German person tells you you're drunk. Refer back to the first tip and use it on them -- sofort.
• Find someone to talk to that has experience from abroad. I have several friends who have spent time in the USA, and they get me. I have another friend who grew up in Tenerife, though she is German. She is the most American non-American I know and wonderful to spend time with. Anyone who has left Germany for awhile will not act so much like a strictly-German German.
• Go to Bavaria. It seems like Bavarians are the friendliest Germans in Germany. I've met several who are simply more open and happy. And of course, they will toast you at Oktoberfest.
• Try to have fun. I don't know how you'll pull it off, but find fun people. Play a game. Drink excessively. Act stupid. Laugh. SMILE. 
• Be yourself. Don't try to change to be like a German, because that is very difficult and you might become hard and practical. I am the furthest thing from practical, or logical for that matter. I don't want to be hard-hearted. I want to be happy and lighthearted, even though I am viewed as kindisch in the eyes of my sternest German critics. F 'em.
• Get a grip. Be grateful for what you have and the experiences you are going through. Many people would die to be in your shoes. And some do. Don't act so spoiled, and learn to appreciate, for life in Germany is good. There are butchers with liverwurst right in your neighborhood and bakeries with Mohnschnecken at the grocery store. One cannot forget pretzels. And for God's sake, they're letting you drive on the Autobahn! That alone should be reason to stay sane, or go crazy in a different way...

If none of these tips work, try the first one again, repeatedly. Sometimes the small steps are the best, and they won't cost you a thing.


Wörterbuch/Dictionary

kindisch - childish, immature

Mohnschnecke - a cinnamon-roll-type pastry with poppy seeds

sofort - immediately

German Love

This blog is supposed to be mostly about food, love and love of food. In another country. Therefore, I could write a little about love for a change. 

Recently, I was having a relationship issue. Again. And when it gets bad enough, a person should ask for help. 

My two older sisters were the first I called. When I was a preteen, they were the most knowledgeable people on the planet when it came to the subject of boys. My little sister and I shared an adjacent bedroom, and sometimes I happened to hear what they talked about, eavesdropping without getting caught. Julie and Karen would chat late at night about boys and kissing and other things they did with those boys (I will abstain from going any further or talking about locations on a baseball field). 

Wow! It was so exciting. They talked in secret for what seemed like hours. Sometimes they would let me come in and listen, if I gave them back rubs -- which turned out to be a bad idea when I explained to my mother once what I had heard. Oh, my mouth: always getting me in trouble. 

Nevertheless, to this day, my two older sisters are the ones I turn to most when it comes to pondering life, and love. 

It helps when speaking to them, because they have very different outlooks, and I can get a more well-rounded opinion when combining it with my own. Also, they calm me down and tame my irrational thoughts.

My oldest sister is practical and loyal. She has been married to the same man for over 25 years, and they have gone through much together -- kids, stepchildren, financial crises, dogs, ex-wives, ex-boyfriends, etc. She loves her husband without question, though there have been challenges. My sister is intellectually superior, but he's no dummy, and he loves her without fail. She also remains solid and unwavering in her love and rarely gets perturbed by the things he does. Oh, the patience!

Sister # 2 is wilder at heart. She has had lots of boyfriends, but she, too, is practical when it comes to love, in a different way. She is somewhat of a hot tamale, and men have been a fixture in her life that she cannot do without, a convenience that she has grown accustomed to. She has been alone 5% of her adult life; the other 95% she has spent living with a male. When a man is in a relationship with her, it's usually her way or the highway (she is also German-blooded and a lot of her German traits come through on a daily basis), and she gets what she wants. For the most part, she has played at love like a game, and it is a game she wins.

Then there's me. They call me the crazy one, the adventurer. I'm not practical or sensible when it comes to most things -- especially men-- but truly, all I desire is happiness every day. I'm a romantic, and I love love. And I want the whole thing -- a strong, romantic fellow who loves me, body and soul, but especially for what's inside of me, and the person I am. 

Even more, I want what our parents had -- a loving, lifelong relationship. Sadly, our father died too soon and couldn't give our mom his whole life. Regretfully for me, I haven't found a lifer either; I don't know if I will ever find a man with whom I can be completely happy. 

But who can?

When I referred to my boyfriend as another name for the male appendage that hangs between his legs, the first sister told me, "You just haven't found the right one yet." 

Right one? Is there a right one? Did she find the right one? I know she loves her husband and she made the decision to marry him a long time ago, but is he really the right one for her? 

I had to get a second opinion, so I called my other sister and told her the whole story. She laughed. "You have to work at it," she said. "No one is perfect. It takes work."

That is true, and boy have we worked! However, sometimes it seems like the labor pains of this relationship are coming harder and stronger, as some of the same problems continue to arise. Aren't we learning? And isn't that the point of life and love -- learning, changing, growing, improving? 

One should consider the circumstances. I'm in Germany (HALLO). I'm in a relationship with a staunch German -- a guy so Deutsch he makes other Germans appear relaxed. 

And Germans are unlike anyone else on earth, as you can determine for yourself by reading my blog. Life is not easy for an American trying to live with and love a German. And the German's life is assuredly not any easier when he is faced with the reckless and lighthearted American that he has found.

Several months ago, my wise sister reminded me that a relationship must mature beyond the initial "honeymoon period," where things go from wonderful to run-of-the-mill and not so nice. Wouldn't it be smart to never let a relationship get past that stage? But of course, that is running away, and that IS childish. I'm sure some people give that a try, and I have been tempted, but that is exactly when German loyalty steps in and he prevents me from escaping. And then my man surprises me with the amount of things he's willing to go through for me. I know he loves me, because of the things he does. And to be loved like that, well, it's worth it, and there is no doubt left. 

Besides, he's an excellent cook, and I love him more when we're eating than almost -- ALMOST -- any other time (I won't go further, because then we'll be back on the baseball field).

Sick in Germany

I've got a virus, caught from a friend, a child at school, or someone out there in the world. Maybe I was wandering in the rain for too long during my weekend hike; perhaps the change in weather brought my cold. Nevertheless, I've got it, and along with it a cough, headache, and other symptoms that have come and gone in the last three days.

My first day sick -- Monday morning -- I left my job before it began, immediately e-mailing in my "Krankmeldung," or notice that I am sick. This is a requirement. For my boss and Oberboss, the school secretary, and any co-worker who might give a damn, I listed my symptoms -- probably not necessary for German superiors or co-workers -- but something I feel I must do to verify an actual illness. 

Because you see, when I am sick, I feel guilty. I feel like I'm lying, and I have to prove it is true, even just to myself. This comes from years of working in the U.S. and calling in sick occasionally, maybe when I wasn't always very unhealthy -- especially in my younger years. 

Could the ambivalent feeling I get when I'm sick here in Germany come from calling in too many times when I really wasn't sick? Yes, maybe one or two of those times I was hungover, or maybe I just didn't feel like going to work. We all know that taking a non-sick sick day is sometimes quite necessary.

For some reason, we Americans aren't allowed to be sick. When we are, our co-workers could be angry at us, because they might have to do our job. Our absence is felt dearly when we are not there, and therefore more guilt. If you have a cold, you can tough it out! It doesn't matter if you go into work feeling like crap or spreading the virus, because by God you've got to get your job done. In that case, the guilt might come from a good work ethic, or perhaps it is simply a sign of conscientiousness and care for your co-workers.

Naja, in Germany when you show any sign of being sick, your friends and colleagues wish you "eine gute Besserung," and they seem to sincerely care about your health and well-being. I've never experienced that before, from any co-workers, friends or bosses back home. 

I am really sick this time, and on Tuesday, I went to see the doctor. An employer requires that you get a Krankbescheinigung, or literally "sickness certificate," after missing work three days. I went on the second day, which is kind of silly, because a doctor can't do anything for a virus or a cold, except tell you to stay home and rest. And sign your Krankbescheinigung.

A blank Krankbescheinigung

After listening to my complaints, taking my temperature, looking in my throat, and having me lift up my shirt so he could listen to my lungs, der Arzt returned to his desk. Obviously, I was chipper and not miserable in his presence, so I couldn't have been too sick. He acknowledged I was there mostly for the Krankbescheinigung, after we discussed the fact that he really couldn't treat me with antibiotics or other medicines, except for maybe some cough syrup. 

The big question then arose: the doc asked how long I wished to stay out of work. 

My American mind thought quietly, Do you deserve to have any time away from work? You aren't THAT sick.

Placing the burden in his hands, I asked him what he thought. "Was denken Sie?" I asked quite innocently. After all, he is the professional. How many days did he think it would take me to be cured from this horrible illness?

The suspense didn't hang in the air long. It was only milliseconds before he suggested that I stay home through Friday (five days total), and that I would be cured before the week-end and could return to society on Saturday.

Oh, it seemed so extreme. Did I really need to take the whole week off of work? Of course, I didn't fight him in the least. There is no point in disrespecting a fine physician, and a German one at that. 

He did suggest, however, that if I felt better, I could always go into work Thursday.

Tomorrow is Thursday. Will I go in? 

I won't know until the morning. If my cough is severe, and my head still hurts, I will stay home, find more things to watch on the television (I'm sick of all my DVDs and German shows take a lot of concentration), soak up some more sunshine (if there is any), try to read (I've finished my current Krimi novel), eat my homemade chicken soup (best cure ever), and sleep some more (a great time spender). 

Truly, it's getting kind of boring being sick this long, and obviously, I'm not used to it, or I would have stocked the house with DVDs and English Bücher. It's a bit hard to take, getting a week off of work for a silly little cold. However, I'm getting a little writing done, and I'm very prepared for next week at work. When I suggested I go back to work, both a co-worker and another friend told me, "Oh no! You'll have a Ruckschlag! It's better to stay home!" 

In America, that's crazy talk, but here in Germany, a relapse is very likely. I'd better stay home and do what the doctor says.

There are some blueberries and bananas there; I could bake muffins. I have leftover M&Ms and walnuts for cookies. I could even paint, if I had enough energy. I could go for a walk in the woods, but again, that requires energy. Do I have any? I haven't done anything for three days straight except move from the couch to the kitchen to the bathroom to the balcony to the bed. 

I'd better just do nothing, read what I can, and sleep a lot, catching up on couch time. After all -- though I ask my self 50 times a day if it's true -- I'm sick. 

Wörterbuch / Dictionary:

der Arzt - the doctor

Bücher - books

Eine gute Besserung! - Get well soon! (lit. "a good recovery")

Krankbescheinigung - certificate of illness

Krankmeldung - notice of being sick

Krimi - crime story

Naja - Well

Ruckschlag - relapse

Was denken Sie? - What do you think? (polite form)

Where Are the Chocolate Chips?

Germans are people, but they're different. Just as often as I observe similarities between Germans and myself -- one clear example is we're all members of the human race -- I am noticing more and more differences. Such disparities are natural among varying cultures, but I suppose I just automatically assumed that Germans -- forefathers to many of us Americans, myself included -- would be more... like me.

Does this look like a normal chocolate chip cookie to you? 

In particular and quite shockingly, Germans don't have the same fondness for chocolate chips as that exhibited in the USA. 

We Americans adore chocolate chip cookies, and I would venture to say it is the Number One cookie in the land.

Our mother made chocolate chip cookies so often and so well that she had to hide them around the house -- in the freezer, in the closet, and under her bed -- so we and our friends wouldn't gobble them all up in a day. My sisters and I pride ourselves on our own individual versions of this cookie, having entered competitions between us (much to our brother's delight, because he is the taste-tester). Oatmeal chocolate chip cookies are a tiny bite of heaven. I'd bake them more... if I could.

Appallingly, chocolate chips are not available in the baking supplies section of German grocery stores. Horror!

Don't get me wrong -- it is obvious that Germans very much appreciate chocolate. They are masters at making and using fine chocolate themselves. There are chocolate drinks, chocolate bars, chocolate decorations, chocolate sprinkles, chocolate letters, chocolate bits, chocolate candies, many kinds of chocolate ice creams, and chocolate frogs. That list is endless, but it doesn't include little hardened droplets of semi-sweet chocolate in a bag.

Because of this, I came up with the ingenious idea a few months ago of importing chocolate chips to Germany. Why not? They obviously need them badly here! Has no one ever thought of this before? What a great way to strike it rich, by supplying chocolate chip goodness to the poor people of Germany who suffer daily without this commodity.

Getting a second opinion from my landlady, who is also a Konditorin / master cake baker, my hopes for fame, fortune, and readily-available chocolate chips were dashed sofort. When I told her my idea, she simply shook her head and said "nein." 

You see, Germans don't bake with chocolate chips, so there is no point in bringing them over. One would have to have a specialty item, like chocolate chip cookies, in order to need bagfuls, and they just don't make chocolate chip anything here, including cookies. Germans have so many other favorite delicious chocolate cakes, tortes, cookies and desserts that chocolate chips are not a necessity. They simply melt down Zartbitter Schokolade or blend some Kakao into their baking. It is probably an insult to Germans -- who have at least 1,000 years of culture -- to suggest they need something American to improve their wonderful chocolate creations. 

Okay, if you're desperate, you can find something to put in your cookies. One German recipe I found for Schokoladenkekse called for adding grob gehackte Zartbitter-Schokolade oder Schokotropfen. 

Hacked-off pieces of a chocolate bar and chocolate "drops" just aren't the same and don't cut the Senf. As we cooks and bakers know, the appearance of our artistic creations is just as important as the taste. 

So then, how does one secure chocolate chips in Germany? The military bases are closing up one by one, and that would have been a good option, if one is in the military (I am not). 

Once my very kind oldest sister sent me a big box full of chocolate and butterscotch chips -- with much more of the former -- so I could bake before Christmastime. It cost her more to send the box than the morsels were worth. My very kind little sister sent me a HUGE bag of chocolate chips as repayment sending her Lindt Williams bars (try them and you'll know why she paid such a price). 

As you might imagine, chocolate chips are not light, and shipping overseas is teuer. 

Since then I've learned to import as many bags of chocolate chips that will fit in my suitcase, but my supplies run out as soon as I make a couple batches and share them with friends and unawares. Besides, if I'm hauling sets of horseshoes (another frighteningly absent item and the subject of my next blog post), I can't add too much extra weight. 

After reading all this, if you're interested in entering into the import/export business, I'd still like to work on getting real chocolate chips to Germany. At least one person over here will be buying them. 

Wörterbuch / Dictionary

grob gehackte Zartbitter-Schokolade oder Schokotropfen - coarsely chopped dark chocolate or chocolate chips

Kakao - cocoa

Konditorin  - cake maker

nein - no

Schokoladenkekse  - chocolate (chip) cookies 

Senf - mustard

sofort - immediately

teuer - expensive

Zartbitter Schokolade - dark chocolate

Cemeteries in Germany

Cemeteries are a quiet place to respectfully explore a piece of the world that has passed before our time. Names, dates, weathered marble and old sculptures are all part of the beauty of a cemetery. For me, walking through a cemetery is a cultural experience, because death is the required end stage of life, no matter what country you are in.

One-way street. 

The German word for cemetery is Friedhof, or literally, "peaceful courtyard." There are cemeteries in most towns and cities in Germany, and they have been situated in very lovely locations -- on hills overlooking river valleys, next to old churches, on the outskirts of cities. Most I've seen are filled with old trees and beautiful headstones, and lined by a short, secure fence or rock wall. 

I was curious about death, German cemeteries and how German people are buried and remembered after they die. Some of life's events that seem so grandiose and dramatic back home -- such as having babies, getting married, getting old, and dying -- seem to be no big deal here and are handled with efficiency and grace.

Several months ago, my German friend told me that those that have passed are buried in cemeteries, if it is the family's wish and they can afford to do so. How much does a burial cost? When I mentioned 2,000 euros, there was scoffing. Funerals, coffins, burial plots and headstones are very expensive: more like 8,000 or 9,000. However, like in the USA, there are insurance and/or payment plans for such events.  

Most interesting to me is that in a German cemetery, the dead may be dug up after 25 years' time, if the family (or the previously-living person) has not secured a plot for longer. 

Like me, you might find this unbelievable, especially in light of the tremendous haunting brought about by greedy and careless developers building houses on top of old Indian burial grounds in "Poltergeist" and other such movies and depictions. If you dig up a body, your young daughter may be sucked into the television. Not so in Germany.

Whether irreverent to the dead or not, disposing of someone's body after such a short period of time seems a trifle callous. Is there a lack of space for cemeteries and dead bodies in Germany? Won't the bodies disintegrate with time, making more room eventually? Perhaps this body disposal is just another facet of German efficiency. I'm probably wrong in thinking that Germany is the only country to do this with unused bodies. 

What about "Rest in Peace"? Is the final resting place not sacred in Germany? I suppose not.

And get this: there is little likelihood of a problem with haunting by the wounded spirits of unearthed bodies and displaced souls in Germany, because all the Germans I know don't believe in ghosts. That solves that problem. 

Another difference I noticed between our cemeteries and German cemeteries is that, like most outdoor things -- parks, yards, playgrounds here -- the graves are also very well-landscaped and maintained. Live plants and flowers adorn most of the graves, and they are well cared-for, planted neatly in rows or sections. Watering cans are secured nearby with padlocks to ensure they are there for the family members to douse the graves. 

Friedhof with watering cans locked up safely

In America, the local government or cemetery manager is responsible for mowing the grass around headstones. In dry areas, a sprinkler system will keep things green. You will see live and plastic flowers, plants, flags, teddy bears, and other mementos placed on grave sites, but landscaped graves with good soil and orderly planting of perennials? No.

German cemeteries are systematic, and headstones are placed in a straight line. Plots are stepped, and there is no clutter. There are also no fanciful phrases or epitaphs adorning headstones -- just names, dates of birth and death, and perhaps mention of a person's occupation in life or a soldier's rank and dates of service. 

There are so many beautiful places in Germany, including the town I currently live in. I had originally intended on dying here and being buried with the sound of the Bach that chatters outside my door sounding forever in my deaf, lifeless ears. 

I don't really care what happens to my body after 25 years or even three days, however, I want the option of having a "messy" grave with wildflowers and stones strewn across -- something a bit like the life I led. Lord knows I don't expect someone in my family or one of my German friends to secure a lock and chain for the watering can that will keep the manicured plants on my grave moist. Why go to all that trouble for me? I don't deserve it. 

Finally, it is obvious that if I want to come back and haunt from the afterlife, I'm going to have to find a new country in which to do so.