The Wedding!

Well, the big day came and went.

I am married.

I would recommend getting married in Germany to every American. There are no small details here. We rented a room at the Ahrensburg Castle. It is decorated nicely and the price of the room rental covers everything. There was no chair setup fee or anything annoying. I had no concerns about the venue.

Tio Pepe was already decorated nicely. They asked us how we wanted the tables to look for the reception. When we arrived, the tables looked like our vision.

Germans do not have party favors at weddings and I did not want to choose party favors, so there were no party favors.

The wedding day was pretty much stress-free. Asmus, who is always looking for the gray cloud behind the silver lining, predicted stress and found it. He was nervous about saying vows that he had written. While I was getting dressed, he sat on the couch and chugged cava. I got a little anxious when the cab came to take us the castle while I was writing my vows on notecards and putting on stockings. But that was the beginning and the end of the stress for me.

I met Asmus December 14, 2007 at the wedding of my friend Isabel in Cologne, Germany. She was marrying Asmus's oldest friend, Matthias. Asmus and I barely spoke that day. During the evening of the 15th, we were left alone because Matthias started talking some people who were sharing a table with us at a brewhouse [Curiosity about the American inspired many questions directed to him about me.]. Asmus and I talked about the difference between American potato salad and German potato salad [None. They are the same thing.] and discussed the look of American currency. That led to my obsession with 30 Rock. Somehow that led to a kiss. That kiss led me to believe that Asmus was going to be in my life for a while. I knew. Despite his living in Germany and my living in New York. I knew. So getting married was no stress at all.

The stress came five days before the wedding. My older sister Lorie's passport had not arrived. I believe the government is always going to fail you. So I knew that she was not going to make it. Lorie and I have had decades of trouble but lately we have been getting along pretty well. I was pretty bummed that she was not going to be here. She waited and then she acted. She drove from northern Delaware to Washington D.C. to see about getting it. No luck. No sister at the wedding.

Fortunately, I did have my mother there. I haven't seen here since September. Unfortunately she was sick. She had never been to Europe before, so I was nervous that she would hate it. She said her time was OK but you never know. She brought me a suitcase full of American treats that I requested -- several boxes of cake mixes, tubs of frosting, salad dressing, grits and Lawry's seasoned salt.

My mother and Asmus's family met officially at Asmus's parents house the day before the occasion. There was lively discussions and everyone ate all the fatty food that Asmus and I cooked. It was a success. Asmus's family eat pretty healthy. Very little salt and fat but lots of organic food from local farmers. We served packaged pasta covered in a packaged spinach-and-gorgonzola sauce to which we added bacon. Oh yeah, there was a salad for the first course. The pasta was so bad for you but it tasted so good. Asmus older brother, Jakob; his mother and his father ate it and said it was delicious and did not mention the sheer danger of the meal. Mom liked it, too.

The wedding was at 5. Almost all of the guests were supposed to take a tour of the castle at 4:15. Asmus wanted to make things were setup correctly, so we got there at 4. We were the last people to arrive. Everyone was standing outside the castle when we pulled up. They were congratulating us and taking pictures. It was a bit overwhelming. At the risk of sounding ungrateful, I will admit that I planned to run the curling iron through my hair and freshen my makeup. That did not happen. I was getting hugged and helloed and then we had to take pictures. I am pretty anxious about what I look like in the photos. Pretty damn anxious.

Because my friends either didn't have the money or could not fly with young children, the only American in attendance was my mother. The Germans had never experienced someone saying their own vows. Asmus was worried about how his friends and family would react. I vowed to let him sleep late on the weekends and he vowed not to interrupt me when I talked. Asmus's older brother Christian served as officiant. During the service, he spoke of all the hurdles we had to overcome in order to be together. Christian was nervous speaking in public but he soldiered through it all and was amazing. After the ceremony, three or four people said they cried, so my "strange" plans were not too outlandish.

At the end of the day, Asmus said, "I am so happy."

It was a good day. I am not a fan of ceremonies. However, I felt pure joy in publicly declaring my love and respect for Asmus in front of friends and family.

Isabel served as photographer. Asmus and I must sift through the 300 or so images she created for us. When we do that, the blog will have photographs from the wedding.

Here is the plate immediately after Asmus and I ate the last of
our wedding cake the day after the ceremony.

London, part 3 - The City

London is more than a dirty city of concrete and brick. Here are few views of the city.

Here is a section of London called Hampstead. It is in north London and famous
for an expanse of open land called Hampstead Heath.

Here is the exterior of our apartment in the Dalston section of town.
Here is the view of central London from Hampstead Heath.

Here is another shot of central London from the Royal Observatory.



Here is the Tower Bridge at Dusk. Some mistakenly call this London Bridge. London Bridge is much uglier.

London, part 2 - The Prime Meridian

Here is the Prime Meridian, the imaginary line that cuts the world in half vertically. The official marker for the Prime Meridian is located at London's Royal Observatory.
This is the new Prime Meridian. It was created in 2000. Pretty artsy, huh?

On the ground, there is a list of major world cities and their longitudes.

Here is the old Prime Meridian. This is what I saw in 1994, the first time I came to London. It has been demoted. It lies behind a gate and there is no sign pointing toward its existence.

Life in London, part 1

Here is the way we lived in London. For about five weeks Asmus and I lived in one room. If two people enter a room and two people come out a month later, that is a good sign of the health of that relationship. Of course, Asmus was sick for about two weeks and I was ill the week after, so we weren't that annoying the entire time.

Here are shots of our temporary home in the Dalton section of the Hackney region of London.

The Living Room. The room where we spent too much of our lives. The blue thing is a futon. I slept on that and sat on there and watched television. I slept on it [That's my arm peeking out the edge.]. Asmus' back started to hurt, so he slept on a mattress on the floor. Do you love the pink television? We wanted a cheap television. We got this cheap television/DVD player for 80 pounds. It was cheap but it was the ugliest thing in the world. The best slash worst was the remote control. The entire thing featured shades of hot pink. The buttons were a darker shade of hot pink than the background. The numbers were a lighter hue than the buttons. It was awful. But I love that television. I got to watch television on a regular basis for the first time since September. I can watch television in Germany but I don't know what anyone is saying, so it is MTV and CNN an hour a day and more on the weekend. I happily while away the sick days in front of my ugly television and smiled.

This was the best feature of the house. The kitchen was beautiful. The stove was 50% bigger than ours in Hamburg. The washing machine works each time you use it. Our machine in Hamburg is kinda like a slot machine. Maybe you get clean clothes out of it, maybe you don't. The refrigerator and freezer were normal sized. I only went to the supermarket ONCE a week. I filled the freezer and we had food for weeks. The only drawback was the lack of flatware. The owner of the apartment had three forks, four spoons, four knives, and one sharp knife [It was a steak knife.]. We were constantly washing forks. That was a pain in the ass.

This was the worst bathroom that I ever had to use on a daily basis. I have used worse at clubs and gas stations. But this was the worse that I had to use regularly. This was worse than the bathrooms that I used at camp. See that round thing in the top left corner. That is a decorative lamp. There is no light bulb inside. It was used to cover up a massive lichen-like feature on the wall. I wanted to get rid of it but then I worried that it might spray deadly spores around the apartment. I hated to use the toilet. The kitchen was made over but the bathroom was from the dark ages. The tub was OK. It was more narrow than a traditional tub. When I showered, the curtain stuck to me. The room was vile.

Pride & Gold

Things are moving along here.

Last Tuesday, I completed the health, food and culture pages for the March issue of Pride magazine. It is getting easier. The first time I did it I was scrambling. I didn't know what I was going to write about. I was scrambling to get in products and books and I was scrambling to find public relations people. This month I was only desperate for a second health story. For the February issue, I scrambled for a diversity of quality books. For March I had too many.

And the wedding stuff is moving along.

I was having trouble securing a dress and a design. Last November I decided on a style from a pattern and colors. I wanted it sewn in a lilac or bright yellow. It was going to sewn by a seamstress. Then it was going to be bought. Then it was going to be sewn by my mother. Then it was going to be bought. When nothing happened by the first week of February, I asked my mother to buy a $90 lilac dress from and a pair of white slingbacks for $40 from Macy's. My heart was set on the original dress design and these cool slingbacks from Stuart Weitzman.






But at that point, I needed something to wear. The Macy's dress and the slingbacks were ordered and should be here next Wednesday. [Today the dress costs $67. I told Mom to get a refund for the difference in price.]

A few days ago, I found out that Mom is making me the original Dream Dress. She found a "beautiful light green" and a "bright yellow". So that is groovy as hell.

This week Asmus and I went for the rings. He had little preference for rings. As a regular American girl, I assumed my ring would have diamonds. But Germany is an understated country. Every salesgirl and random woman pushed a simple gold band. As a regular woman, I don't see tons of jewelry in my life and I thought "why be simple?". But Asmus wanted a very small gold ring and I felt like a jerk if I walked around with a carat on my finger. So I made it my goal to get a beautiful band. So I headed to one of my favorite places on earth -- Tiffany & Co.

I am naturally a cheap person. But I have found quality products are usually produced by quality service. My former company, Hearst, gives it employees gifts from Tiffany. I have walked out of Tiffany's company flagship store ridiculously happy twice. I assumed the third time would be just as great.

Tiffany Flagship store on Fifth Avenue, the site of two glorious purchases

I was wrong.

When Asmus and I came to the store two weeks ago, the saleswoman was helpful but not very positive about anything. She didn't like the ring I chose and was not sure if it would show up by March 14. By the time I left the store, I was seduced into getting the Lucida, a classic, curvy-edged band and convinced my ring would not arrive in time for the wedding.

A week later, we were back at Tiffany's to buy. I tried on the Lucida on the right hand and the Band ring, which had a flat edge, on the left. This time Asmus liked the Band. I went for the Band. The saleswoman reminded me that the Lucida is a classic ring and that I should remember before ordering that the Band that I will be wearing it every day for 30 years. A) I don't want a classic. I want a nice style. B) I am 36, I don't want to be married for only 30 years. It's 50 years or nothing.

Our saleswoman did one of those "I don't know" teeth sucking when we came to the final decision. She said the ring style I chose is very rare; only 20 are made each year. Almost all of them are in Asia. It would take 3 or 4 weeks to get the ring to Hamburg. So no inscription. I asked her if it is possible to find the ring at Tiffany in New York. She said no because this style is only sold in Asia.

I thought that was odd. Before I visited the Tiffany for ring shopping, I went to its American website to shop for rings. That is the first time that I saw the Band.

We ordered the ring at the store and crossed our fingers that it would arrive by the wedding. If it didn't arrive in time, we would just get a "stunt" ring for the ceremony.

After lunch on Thursday, I checked the website and there was my ring in my size. I called the American customer service. She said there was one ring in size 9 left in the United States. That ring was mine and I hungrily ordered it. Tiffany cannot deliver internationally, so it is on its way to Mom's house.


Asmus didn't care as much about his ring, so he shopped for price, rather than style. We bought his ring at Karstadt, the German equivalent to Macy's. Tuesday night, suddenly he had preferences. Since November, he just wanted a curvy piece of gold. 10k. 18k. Whatever. Tuesday night, he was Elizabeth Taylor. He tried on three two-tone pieces and decided on a beautiful ring that is more interesting than a simple, little band.

The hillarity came when we gave instructions for engraving.

We wanted our first names separated by an ampersand, our wedding date followed by the eternity symbol. The saleswoman said they could not create an ampersand. She offered us the opportunity to separate our names by two interlocking hearts. That is too dumb for me. Hearts lost their fascination for me in the seventh grade. Then she said the company could not create an eternity symbol. There was a list of possible options for engraving. One option was a horse and carriage. The machine could create a horse and carriage but not a horizontal eight?! We settled on "and" instead of an ampersand and two joined rings instead of an eternity symbol. That is why I shopped at Tiffany. I still have faith that they would find a way to get a damn eternity symbol on the inside of the ring.

Well, everything is done . . . except one thing -- Cake. Today, is the cake tasting. Yes!

The Return

I am back.

More of Me in Print

I almost forgot to mention that The Local, an English-language website about Germany, published my article about the German Integration Course.

Are you thinking, "What is the Integration Course?"?

Well, it is a government-mandated course for immigrants to Germany. Germany does not have a long history of immigration, so there was not an official framework for creating new citizens. Until very recently, a German citizen was someone who was born in Germany of German parents.

In the 1950s, Germany needed help rebuilding the nation, so it invited the world to come work. Turkish people heeded the call. Instead of assimilation, they made their own communities within the country. Many people who have been there for decades maintain the same lifestyle they had in Turkey. Of course, some pretty bad inequalities surfaced. Anyone with a passing knowledge of the Civil Rights Movement knows that separate is not equal. Turkish people have high rates of dropping out of school, crime rates, etc., etc. etc. All the gangsta rappers in Germany are Turkish. They are pretty angry people.

To ease some tensions, the government created a framework that required new immigrants to be officially integrated into the country. All foreign-born people, regardless of how long they have been in Germany, can take the course. The newer ones must take it if they want to get a settlement visa.

So I sit in a classroom from 8:50 am until 1 pm every weekday learning Germany language and culture. This lasts for six months. At the end of the course, there is a test. I must pass the test to get a settlement visa.

The diverse buffet created by students who hail from countries around the world. I brought the American-style Pringles chips and Doritos. I worked the night before class and did not have time to cook anything. Of course, a few people made fun of me.

The course is all in German and moves pretty fast. The European Union has a classification of language understanding that goes A1 for beginners to A2, then B1, B2, and then C1 and C2. C2 means you talk like a native speaker. I need to be at B1 at the end of six months. There are tests about twice a week and our progress is monitored. People who are not doing well are asked to leave. Three people disappeared from my class. I don't mind learning German. I want to learn German. I just wish it wasn't so regimented. Things could much faster if there was a class for people who understand some English. Because the class is filled with people from all over the world, it is taught only in German. So there is lots of drawing, exaggerated acting and pointing. I have done two months. I have four months to go.


I also wish a few people would leave. There was a man who stank. There were the two women who always called out answers. There was another guy who liked to criticize me. A whole group of people snickered if you gave a wrong answer or pronounced a word incorrectly. I have found that many people lack the grace that America instills in its people. I was silent at first [See. I am graceful.], then I had to tell people to back off [Although, I never told H that he needed deodorant. More evidence of my grace.].

I missed a month of class while living in London. I cannot join the third module of the course until March. I will not miss my rude, pushy classmates but I will miss their constant company. As immigrants, we are all in the same second-class boat.

Free at Last!

It has been a busy month. I did the job search thing in the midst of a super-recession. I have been rejected for writing jobs, editing jobs, and, best of all, internships. Your ego takes a beating when you cannot get an interview to work as an intern. I assume that I am over-qualified but I have been a fan of that term. It is an internship. Of course, you are bored and too qualified to make coffee and photocopies. Anyone over the age of 12 is over-qualified to make copies. But damn it still stings.



It hasn't been all pain. I voluntarily [Read: work for free.] edit the food, health and culture pages for Pride magazine. Pride is a British Essence.











I work for free as an incentive for cash-strapped editors to consider me. When the Pride editors allowed me to work with them, I get British experience to put on the resume, more clips, connections in the British industry, and more people to use as recommendations. Plus, I like the work. I got a rush coming up with the story ideas and finding this sources. My work is in in the February issue of Pride . I am in even in the staff box.

So run out and get a copy of Pride. I am pretty proud that I made flossing interesting and I love my blurb about the new production of Othello by the Royal Shakespeare Company. Pride is available in large bookstores in America. Better yet, why not subscribe to Pride.

Living my dream

I am in the midst of a dream. An actual dream come true.

I spent my last semester of college in London. I remember being restless in early 1993. I wanted to do Something. I am not sure what was wrong but something needed to be done. It struck me like lightning – I needed to go somewhere.

I did not come from a family of travelers. My parents grew up poor and were quite satisfied with the middle-class life they had acquired through hard work and gritting of teeth. Between paying for private school for me and my two sisters and no urge to leave the house they bought, there was little travel. Twice my family visited my father’s hometown of Rocky Mount, North Carolina.

I remember the excitement of waking up early and hopping the Amtrak train at Philadelphia’s 30th Street Station (the name does not do justice to the station’s grandeur) for a faraway land. We stayed with my father’s second cousin in a small town and I loved it. I just liked seeing hearing the accents, eating barbecue pork sandwiches instead cheesesteaks, and sleeping in a different bed.

My grandfather would take us to Atlantic City occasionally and except for a senior trip to Florida with my high school best friend Elisa that was it for my travels.

Pompano Beach, Florida, the destination of my first flight

When my mother graduated from nursing school when I was about to enter high school and my older sister, Lorie, was set to enter 11th grade, she asked us if we planned to go to Temple University. Children of university employees could go to school for free. Mom considered getting a nursing job at Temple University Hospital. Lorie and I said we would never attend Temple. I was going “away” for college. After a one year at Rutgers University, the lack of tuition money found me enrolled at Temple University and sleeping in my childhood bedroom.

I am surprised that I lasted until junior year before needing to bust out. I was carrying my normal courseload and working at the college newspaper. I was catching the bus and subway to and from school and getting home at insane hours. I did this all while my sisters complained about my refusal to wash dishes on a regular basis and sharing a bedroom with my younger sister. Everything was the same and yet too much. I had to get out. I decided to get way out. I had to go to Rome.

Why Rome? Because I studied Latin for four years in high school and had segments in elementary school. It would great to see the places I learned about in person. Plus, Temple had a campus in Rome. I had to fill out a one-page form and I would be in. I soon found a wrinkle in my plan – the language requirement. Participants needed to take an Italian language course before they go or while they are in Rome. I don’t know why but I just didn’t want to learn anything. I just wanted to Go. So my dream switched from Rome to London. I speak English, Londoners speak English. It was a match.

I got into the program. Then I had to make sure that I fulfilled all the requirements of my education minor and history major before I left. I made some crazy machinations and dropped the minor (and my safety net of being a teacher. I was officially set on being a journalist. Scary.) I had two required classes that had a half hour between them but were on campuses that were 45 minutes apart. I missed half the classes for both courses. I needed a C in both and I am pretty sure that I was on the southern end of the C in each. With my degree safe, I bought a plane ticket.

Heathrow

Exactly 15 years ago, I arrived in London. I flew over with my roommate, Sarah. Before taking off, a British Airways flight attendant said we should arrive at Heathrow on “Shedule” and we both grabbed each other and squealed with excitement. I was a ball of excitement. I don’t know why. Before I left, people were giving my mother what some would call advice but I would call fear. She relayed their tips about plane crashes, bombings and the British hating Black people. For some reason, those things did not bother me. I was going to London. I would stare at my passport over and over again when it first arrived.

When we arrived in London, I took a deep breath and felt at home. There was no period of adjustment or homesickness. I felt normal. The difficult part was adjusting to the six roommates but the city was great. It was alive and I felt alive. We would go to pubs and just meet people. Television sucked, so we all spent a lot of time in pubs. Much of my life was spent at the Black Lion and De Hems. I made friends and lovers (not Lovers but Makeouters). I went to the movies. I was disappointed by the commercials but I loved reserving a seat. I went to one of the Curzon theaters and my chair was a massive easy chair. I liked the cheap plays that allowed you to bring drinks into the auditorium. I liked the noise of the city. I was awed by the speed of the Tube and the escalator that lead to them. I liked saying, Cheers, all the time. I was so damn sad to leave. When I returned, I was graduating the next day and I was start working at a Philadelphia weekly a week later. My jet set life would be over.

My life hasn’t been that boring. Life immediately after London was boring, teetering on dreary. I was back to the childhood bedroom and washing dishes. I would slowly make my life the adventure I always wanted it to be. Today, I am back in London. This time with a partner, Asmus. We spend almost all our time together. I can’t tell you why but we don’t annoy each other. After living in Germany, London is so welcome. First, I know what people are saying. My German lessons are progressing but I don’t have a good ear. I can say things but I can’t understand things. If I could walk around just telling people what I think, my life would be fine. But people are always asking me something or replying. I must admit that they are gracious. Quite often when people detect an American accent under the broken German, they switch to English. But I miss being able to just talk to someone. One day, I forgot my watch and I could not ask any for the time. I know how (Wie spät ist es? That is pronounced, “Vee spayt ist es.” See.) but I know they will reply in their normal speed and I will be lost. In London, I can ask the time AND understand the response. Plus, people react in the way I am used to. They say, Good morning. They say Cheers. They say, Excuse me. No one pushes me so they can get onto the train ahead of me. I say something obviously funny and people laugh. I am eating Hellman’s mayonnaise, drinking Twinning’s Earl Grey tea, eating pork chops, using pre-chopped mushrooms, drinking Tropicana orange juice, and chomping chicken wings. Despite the push by the European Union to go metric, much of life is measured in standard units. I don’t have to convert meters into feet and kilograms into pounds.

Now I can watch television anytime I want. I haven’t watched much television since September. In Germany, I watched MTV during the weekend because those shows are in English with German subtitles but that is it. Here, I come home from a long day of nothing and I turn on the television and there is communication. In London I go to the movies all the time. In Hamburg there are two movie theaters for me to see movies in English or with English subtitles.

I dragged Asmus to two of my haunts – the Black Lion and De Hems.

Black Lion

De Hems

When I got the idea to visit them, I was prepared for them not to exist or not match my memories. Fortunately, both places exist but, unsurprisingly, they are nothing like they were 15 years ago. The Black Lion was this massive bar in Kilburn, an area that was brimming with Irish and Jamaicans. The Black Lion was filled with Irish people; the average age was 35. Today, the Black Lion is cut into two parts – a bar and the restaurant. The restaurant serves Irish food with a twist. We had a pot pie with Guinness and steak followed by crème brulee with Cointreau served to us by an Italian. In place of lively conversation, there was loud pop music. Despite these changes, the Black Lion retained its friendly feel. De Hems served a majority of Dutch beers but dance music thumped. People came in groups and left in the same group. It is impossible to meet new people with Song 2 blasting. I regretted the inability to be gregarious. My friend Mary and I would meet the most interesting people. Mary met her boyfriend at De Hems. We had interesting conversations with a bunch of cameramen we bumped to at this pub.

Even though De Hems and the Black Lion are not exactly as they were in 1994, I am warmed that they still stand. Enough people had an attachment to them that owners decided to keep them alive.

If Asmus and I do not find work, all of this will end in three weeks. I am trying to enjoy life now and not obsess about how gray life will become.

I am in my favorite town with my favorite person. I am living my dream.

Us in London (by Asmus)

A new year, time of hope.

Monica (your normal host of the previous entries) and I have definitely our hopes up. At Boxing Day we moved to London to test if we can live here.

How hard can it be to find work here in the middle of a giga-, mega- or super-recession? You never know the answer until you really tried. And that's what we decided to do. We really want to try before we may resort to some vague, ominous plan B.

Here in an old (no telephone line old) appartment in Dalston in the Borough of Hackney, London truly seems to be the capital of the world. The streets here are filled with immigrants from all ends of the world trying to make a living here. It is comforting and intimidating at the same time to be part of these masses.

Of course nobody in this city waited for us to show up or to give us jobs, but maybe we will have just this little bit of luck that is necessary. If not we just have to make it with hard work, skills and stubbornness.

Dear reader, Wish us luck.

P.S. If somebody has, by chance, a job in the UK to offer to an experienced Journalist or a VBA / MS Access developer, please don't hesitate to contact us.