Adventures in Sitting Around the House

Last year, I fulfilled a dream of visiting Ghana. Ever since I saw the normally-cantankerous Anthony Bourdain happily traipse through this equatorial nation, I knew I had to go to there. As I researched the young nation, I quickly realized that this will not be a relaxing trip. Right before I left for Africa, I decided that I was going to make the best of what awaits me. I was going to enjoy Ghana for what it has, not what it doesn't have. Basically, I have two settings -- satisfied or miserable. I decided to find a few places between these two poles. Because of that I had a great time.

I took this same approach to my rehab from my sprained foot. I was not supposed to do a lot of walking, so in Kiel there are not a lot of options for entertainment. Because of my medical limitations, I had to cancel my two-week vacation. Never mind that, I just decided to find the silver lining. Some days it was harder than others.

One of the good things about Germany is that you own your table at a reservation for as long as you want it. There is no pressure to turn over a table. This is true even on Friday and Saturday nights. I took advantage of this German custom most of the summer. The hardest time of the day for me was the afternoon. At lunchtime, I hopped in a cab and burned up three hours a day at cafes that I never visited before and old favorites. Armed with my iPad, I had some amazing afternoons at Lüneburg Haus, Ann restaurant, Non Solo Pane, Nil, Werkstatt Cafe, Negresco and Hemingway.

A dessert of vanilla pudding with chocolate sauce from Lüneburg Haus

It was nice to be out of the house and enjoy good food.

If I could wave a magic wand, I would make myself permanently disabled. With the sight of me on crutches or my bandage, normally self-centered Kielers got out of my way, held doors for me, and stopped slipping between me and the small spaces between walls and blocking entire walkways. Even cab drivers were helpful.

Last Thursday, I got the doctor's approval to skip the bandage and I am a bit sad for the loss of common courtesy but I was happy to be able to wear my new shoes.

Damn you, Kiel Week!

It has been a cold summer here in northern Germany. Until July, we lived in the 50s. We finally settled into the 70s around the Fourth of July. At night, it gets cold.

It was so cold and rainy that I could not drag myself to visit all of the Kiel Week festivities. I lived at the International Market. I ate from around the world and I was happy. However, I didn't make it to the bay, or Kiel Linie. This is the site of my beloved John's Burger Barn. In the midst of crepes, French Fries and fish sandwiches, there is an oasis of taste. This is the Burger crew's second year at the water and the third at Kiel Week. This year it stuck. They were so busy that I could not get the signature Monica Burger -- bacon cheeseburger.

I finally made it out there the penultimate day. It was bittersweet. It is great to be surrounded by friendly insanity and sad that it was all about the end.

This year, John and Co. actually ran out of the burgers.

Sold out! This miracle happened about three hours before Kiel Week was offiicially over.

The last burger. It was ceremoniously dropped into the waters a few feet from the John's Burger Barn.

I ended Kiel Week injured. I got an overly-aggressive Thai massage. Yes, I got a massage-related injury. The therapist stretched a ligament in my left foot. I bragged about how amazing Thai massage is for weeks before Kiel Week and during the event. However, that maneuver brought me down. The sprain is bad enough to have caused the cancellation of a trip to Poland and to Iceland.

I refuse to find a lesson in this misery.

Why me?!?

I am feeling a bit blue now.

I am sad because I just finished my box of Cream of Wheat. I brought two 28-ounce boxes of Cream of Wheat back with me when I home to Philadelphia last November. I can only carry so much stuff back and I am very stressed about what is suitcase worthy. Last year, I froze two blocks of scrapple and two rolls of breakfast sausage with sage. Sadly, I finished the scrapple faster than I wanted to. It was just so good.

As you can see, I am almost out of the sausage. Two weeks ago, I had the last bowl of Cream of Wheat. That was the saddest bowl of breakfast cereal ever.

My brother-in-law and his family are going to California for three weeks. I asked them if I can give them a suitcase that they can fill with cereal, breakfast pastries and more sausage. Unfortunately, scrapple is a Pennsylvania thing, so they won't be able to find it on the west coast, where they are touring in July.

My mother offered to send some Cream of Wheat to me but we decided against it. Because of the weight, it would cost a thousand more times to mail it than the cost of the cereal itself. Asmus and I back in the US of A in October. I am bringing a suitcase just for food. Again, we won't be in Pennsylvania, so no scrapple. I will be back in the 215 in 2014. Perhaps, I will have a Scrapple Suitcase.

Vote . . . rocked!

About a month I promised myself, I voted. [Damn you, procrastination.

I have done all I can do.

Rock the Vote

I got an unexpected email last week. I received a note from the American government asking for my vote. I was excited and nervous. I am not 100% sure whom I will vote for. Now that I have the ballot I must start researching.

Here, for your pleasure, is a peek at the New York state ballot for Brooklyn [to be official: Kings county] that I just downloaded.

I promise to fill this out within the next seven days and then mail it within the next seven days. [Devil, thy name is procrastination.]

For a bit, I was torn about voting. I was helping decide what person should take office in America. Because I live in Germany, my actions seemed a bit over reaching. After I got a kind tongue lashing from my friends in America and my German husband, I was back to energetically voting again.

Wish me luck.

How I spent my summer

My trip to Ghana, like my first trip to Paris, was the result of a television.

Like many Americans, I had created a nonviolent hatred of the French. They are just so arrogant and evil. On my list of cities to visit before to die, Paris was on it but not near the top. But then Paula Deen changed that. I always felt an affinity for Paula. A few years ago, she went to Paris and was so overwhelmed by what she saw, ate and experienced that she cried. OK, if this city had this affect on my hero, I I knew I had to go.

I had a similar experience with Anthony Bourdain. The sour chef goes all over the world and complains and bitches and moans his way through life. Many love his deft hand creating putdowns that immediate put a picture in your mind. However, I find that the most boring part. It is extremely easy for man to create negative quips. I was impressed with his intrepid adventures. He ate what people who lived in a locale ate; he drank what they drank; he took part in what they took part in. I, the lover of comfort, saw his immersion and was impressed. There are a few places where he seemed to be genuinely enjoying himself. In 2007, Ghana was one of them. I kept that place in my back pocket until it fit my life. That time was this year.

Last fall Asmus and I decided to make our big trip to Ghana this year. We expected some major changes in 2012 and this trip was going to be the last adventure. I was so excited. My resolve to be positive almost died during preparation. I love my Black brothers and sisters but around the world, we all have problems with clear instructions. We were trying to figure out how to get a visa but the website didn't give clear directions and I couldn't get a person on the telephone. Plus, we had to get immunizations that stretched out over about five weeks. Then we had to figure out what to bring because we needed clothes to accommodate the high heat and humidity and then to protect against malaria-carrying mosquitoes. Once all that was figured out, I relaxed. That occasion occurred about five days before we left.

The view of the town of Ho from our hotel. We were living at cloud level.

I was determined to enjoy Ghana for what it was and not what it wasn't. I brought wet wipes to deal with hole in the ground that served as toilets. I brought bottled water to drink and rinse my teeth with after brushing because people are supposed to avoid drinking it. I filled up my iPad with season 5 of Entourage to entertain myself at night. I was not staying at the Hotel Adlon or eating at Michelin-starred restaurants and that was cool.

What actually happened was that I was smacked in the face with poor people everywhere, bad roads or no roads, dilapidated homes, and other bad things. I was also surrounded by people working hard, villages using tourism to build a school, delicious local food, cool and economical [for a foreigner] fashion, and other great things. Those positives far outweighed the negatives.

Many people cannot gather the money to pay for their children to finish high school. Those that do have trouble finding jobs in a nation without a lot of industry. Instead of grumbling, they get to work. People are selling something wherever there is an empty space. It is impossible to find out where the official boundaries of Accra's Makola market are. Sellers even sell things on the street next to the sidewalk. There are people selling things right next to embassy gates, with the exception of the American embassy [everywhere around the earth, people harbor a strong hatred of America. To accommodate the latter, there are barriers around American diplomatic outposts]. Some artisans create and sell rattan furniture outside the Australian embassy. At night, prostitutes sell their wares on the grass outside the British embassy.

In ten days in Ghana, one person begged us for money. We were sitting at sidewalk table at a chop bar [a casual bar] in the small town of Ho.  A drunk man asked us for money. Before I could fully understand what was happening, someone from the restaurant fly out and pushed him into the street and out of sight. It was surreal.

I was so struck by how positive everyone is. Ghana has borders created by the British. Various peoples called this area home for centuries. Now they live peacefully within the nation. One taxi driver told me, "Whether you are Ashante, Ga or whatever, we are all one. We are Ghana."

Unlike America, where there is a sense of unfairness that often evolves into anger, which often creates theft, murder and vandalism, Ghana has little crime. People just make due. We gave a woman who had a baby strapped to her back a ride. Until she bumped into us, she was prepared to walk about three miles in the sun. People cannot find jobs and the government does not have enough money to support them or train them or spur job growth, so people just start selling something. It can be annoying and a bit sad but I am so impressed.

I am not proud because I am not Ghanaian. I am not African. While all the people we met treated my like a cousin, no one treated me like a sister. When I walked through Accra's chaotic Makola market, my dress, backpack and hair required calls of "America! America!" People I spoke to were happy to see me and told how they really wanted to visit America one day [and they didn't think they ever could. Ghanaians must have a lot of money in the bank before the American government will bless them with a visa to visit.]. However, I was not one of them. That's cool with me.

Everyone in Ghana was also nice to my white husband. We were prepared for them to yell out "Obruni!" [White person!] but no one did. Guidebooks noted this and our white tour guide at an Accra museum told us to be prepared. He was no big deal.

Even though I am not Ghanaian, it was nice to be one of crowd of brown faces. In Germany, I am one brown face in a crowd of white faces. Strangers remember me after I have walked by a place twice. It was relaxing not to stick out.

Meda ase, Ghana. [Thank you, Ghana.]

An advertisement for a breakfast drink.

Akwaaba!

I just came back from Ghana and here are a few shots.

Akwaaba [Welcome] to Ghana!

Fishing boats on the Atlantic, off the coast of the city of Elmina.

Wooded area where friendly monkeys live.
The village of Tafi Atome supports itself from tourists who pay to frolic with the simians.

A tourist like this.

An area of the Shai Hills Reserve.
Starting around the 1600s, the Se people lived in the hills, grasses and caves of this region.

Accra Beach, which sits in the center of the capital. The unattractive and cost-free beach attracts a lot of  Accra natives. The sandy land sits directly behind Independence Square (unofficially Black Star Square. The Ghanaian flag features a red horizontal stripe, a yellow horizontal stripe and a red horizontal stripe with a black star sitting in the middle of the yellow stripe. The Black Star is the "lodestar of African freedom."), the expansive parade grounds, where Ghanaians celebrate their independence each year and other important occasions in the nation's 55-year history.

This government building is covered with the traditional colors of mourning, red and black, in honor of the July 24 death of its president, John Evans Atta Mills.
The capital was draped in red and black and signs honoring him were installed throughout the city.

Ghana is a nation in contrasts. The number of educated and middle class is growing. The outskirts of each city is alive with new home construction. At the same time, poverty is everywhere. There are not enough jobs for everyone. Amazingly, there is little crime. Instead of taking from people who have, people make their own way. Everywhere you go. EVERYWHERE you go people are selling something. There seems to be a clearly-defined division of labor. The women elegantly balance foodstuffs on their heads -- water, fried plantains, milk drinks, meat pies, etc. In their arms, men carry everything else -- phone cards, flash lights, miniature flags, toilet paper, etc. I felt immense anxiety for these entrepreneurs who often hawked their wares in traffic. They calmly snaked around cars with their offerings. while I almost had a heart attack.

Sales on the sidewalk.

Here is an elaborate stand on the side of the road. Because the commerce at these stands and on the street, there are few brick-and-mortar stores in Ghana. This stand sells welcome mats, brooms, rakes, mops, backpacks, speakers, televisions, computers and other random objects.

Intellectual W.E.B. DuBois was invited to live in Ghana by Joseph Nkrumah, the first president Ghana. Tired of the struggle in the United States, DuBois moved in the former British officers house in Accra in 1961.
He was 93 years old.

The grave of W.E.B. DuBois. It is located at the W. E. B. Du Bois Memorial Centre for Pan African Culture. His former home is the base of the center. His gazebo was turned into the mausoleum, which also hold the remains of his wife, Shirley.

The view of the Atlantic and dining tables for our hotel in Elmina.

My Country Tis of Thee

It is weird for an American to experience the Olympics outside America.

Americans have spirit. Oh yes, we do. Not many nations have so much and are so ready to display it. I don't quite understand the logic but Germans are not supposed to be so proud to be Germans. It has something to do with World War II. Lately, this demand has given way a bit. During the month-long European Cup, there were some cars driving around with little German flags hanging on them. Nowhere near as many Sixers flags hung off cars in 2000 when the team had a good shot at winning the NBA Finals with Allen Iverson but more than there were during the 2010 World Cup games.

I live in northern Germany. I get television programming for Germany and Denmark. That means that the stars of the games are Danish and German (and for some reason, Usain Bolt. Germans love Usain Bolt. I guess everybody loves the World's Fastest Man.). I have seen little about Ryan Lochte, Sonya Ross-Richards, Serena Williams and Gabby Douglas.

U.S. Womens gymnastics team flash their gold medal.

That also means that I see the games live. I can read the Internet without fear of hit spoilers. I know who has done something amazing as soon as it happens. I like the immediacy of the London Olympics.

This immediacy also means that I don't get the smooth packaging. Because their are events happening simultaneously, I am watching table tennis for 12 minutes, then swimming for eight, and then fencing for 10. It is very disconcerting.

But, it also means that I saw the opening ceremony as they were happening without the inane commentary and, more importantly, without commercial breaks. I read that Matt Lauer, Bob Costas and Meredith Vieira were not the most impartial hosts. I preferred to decide on my own that this opening ceremony was too British (I mean that the themes were not accessible for people who were not familiar with British culture. I understand the farm turning to smoke stacks but will someone sitting in the middle of nowhere in Angola or Uruguay. Will everyone in Detroit no what NHS stands for?) and not spectacular enough.

The hardest thing is discussing the Olympics when you are from a nation that, as of this upload, has more gold medals than the total medals of the nation you are in. Germany has earned few medals this Olympics and no one here is happy. I am psyched about America's high medal count. I was bursting out of my skin when Gabby Douglas won the all-around gymnastics gold. Ain't nobody here to share that with.

Despite these obstacles, I am still lovin' the Olympics. I'm OK loving alone.

Guns and Normalcy

A model of an AR-15 rifle, which was used to kill innocent moviegoers in Aurora, CO early July 20

A few days before the one-year anniversary of the attack in Norway, a crazed man opened fire on a movie theater in Colorado. Crazy.


It is insane that you cannot go to the movies without worrying about your life. It was also insane that teenagers could not go to Columbine high school without worrying about their lives in 1999. It was also insane that young adults could not go to Virginia Tech without worrying about their lives in 2007. It was also insane that a Congresswoman, a judge and several other people were shot at a supermarket in 2011.

Is this the new normal?



Of course, the reflexive reaction about these shootings is to put the focus on gun-control laws. In America, I lived in states with more restrictive gun laws than Colorado. I had no idea that you can walk into a store that sells fishing poles and buy automatic weapon and buy bullets over the Internet. Here in Germany, people are shocked by how easy it is for a normal person to get military-grade weapons, large magazines and stockpiles of ammunition.

I have had a few people tell me that they would love to visit the United States but they are afraid. They are afraid they are going to get shot because all Americans have guns. I try to assure them that the overwhelming majority of Americans have never seen a gun. The only people who walk around with guns are in a few places in the west and the south. My tourism push is a tough sell on a normal day but for a few weeks after these attacks, it is impossible.


I just hope that family and friends who see their friends and family members who are having a tough time will push them to get help. Seung-Hui Cho, Eric Harris, Dylan Klebold and Jared Lee Loughner displayed obvious signs of distress before they committed mass murders.

Good Times, Bad Times -- I've Seen Them All

It was the worst of times. It was the best of times.


By "times" I mean last Thursday. The undefeated German team played Italy in the semi-finals in the European Championships for soccer and lost. Men everywhere cried. At least, I think they did. I was dancing at a Madonna concert in Berlin. The best of times.

The remnants of the leis boasting the colors of the German flag. Forgotten and stepped on after the loss to Italy.

When I lived in New York, I could not get a ticket to anything. I was fighting with eight million people for the chance to enjoy some music. At the beginning, I fought and lost. After a few losses, I gave up. I even started going to concerts in my hometown of Philadelphia. The lowered odds worked in my favor. I hated that I hated to leave the region to see a band or singer that I liked, so I gave up.


When I learned that Madonna was going on tour, I was determined to get a ticket. Madonna is almost 54 years old. She takes her show on the road about every years. I really doubt that she will be dropping it like it's hot at 58, so I was resolute in my mission to see her while she was still lithe and flexible. I joined her fan club and woke up early. I got seats right above the stage in February and excitedly counted down the months to the MDNA tour pulled into Berlin.


The tickets were not cheap but they were not as expensive as you would think. I got my money's worth. Madonna may not be the world's best singer [I became a fan in the late 1990s. After the singing lessons and the adoption of dance beats and lyrics with a message.] but she is the best performer I have seen.


Madonna was my first stadium concert in Germany. I assumed that fans around the world are all the same. I was wrong. The audience booed Madonna. They didn't actually boo Madonna. They booed the lack of Madonna. The opening act was DJ Martin Solveig. 

Martin Solveig on the Ones and Twos.

After he played an hour of his hits and the chart toppers and remixes of other groups, about 45 minutes painfully expired. The fans decided they had enough. At first, they started clapping when a recorded ended and there was no sign of the headliner. Eventually, when filler music ended, a crescendo of boos started.


There are many stereotypes about Germans that have no relation to fact. Being terminally punctual is not one of them. Most of the O2 World arena was filled at 7:45 for an event whose tickets said started at 8. I had never been to the stadium, so I wanted to arrive at 7:30 and walk around. See the sights, look over the souvenirs, eat dinner, etc. I planned to take my seat when Martin played a hit that I liked. My German husband needed to be in our seats before the lights went out, so we sat through the opening act. It was pleasant. I liked the music but there was little legroom. We were in the first row of the second level. I was expecting boogie room. I was squeezed in but I was not dead.


Oddly, everyone, except for people surrounding the stage, was seated.

It is normal in Europe for people to stand in front of a stage. I have never been a fan of standing for three hours, so I bought a ticket with a seat. This is a shot of happier times.

When Martin raised his hands above his head and directed the crowd to clap, there was some motion by the crowd. Other than that, people watched the stage or the screen, as if it were the evening news.

Martin gets the crowd clapping.

I assumed this would change when Madonna finally took the stage. I was wrong. On my quadrant, one woman, three men and I were the only people on our feet during the entire concert. When the show started, I was on my feet alone. I waited a song to see if others would join me. When they didn't, I started crafting an argument for someone who asked me sit down.


"No."


"I'm sorry but no."


"I bought a ticket to a concert. It is normal to dance at a concert. I have the right to dance at a concert. Therefore, I will not sit down."


I really wasn't sure which way to go. Luckily, no one asked me to sit down.


When one of Madonna's sang one of her hits from the 80s and 90s, there were whistles and screams. The newer music was not as welcome. I loved it all.


Near the end of the well-choreographed and well-timed show, a few people left. When the show ended, there were no screams of Zugabe! [The German equivalent of Encore, which is the French equivalent of "again."] People just departed. After two minutes after Madonna's left the stage, the applause stopped and the stadium started clearing out. I am used to the post-show praise and worship session with my fellow concertgoers. I had to be satisfied to talk to my husband, who was also ready to jet. I was tired and needed a bit of sitting.


Fortunately, Madonna runs a tight ship. There were no encores to be had. MDNA consisted of video art, platforms that lowered and raised, holes in the floor that opened at precise times, slack lines, people hanging from trapezes, and instruments that appeared and disappeared at specific times. There was no room for spontaneity. The show started at 10:15 and ended at 11:45. In Madonna's defense, she gave 90 jam-packed minutes. There were skits, a "trip" to a club in South Africa, drum majors playing while hanging from the ceiling, stand-alone dance performances, and slack lining.

Here is a bad shot of Madonna doing a cheerleader remix of Open Your Heart. With the changing lights, it was hard to get good shots. I was more into watching to photographing. The blip in the middle of the front row is Madonna.

The drummers punctuate Open Your Heart from above.

I had felt a little bad keeping my German husband from watching die Deutsche Mannschaft play Italy in the European Championship but then they lost, so I felt better. Plus, he had a good time (He only recognized one song, a hymn-like Like a Prayer. How are we not divorced yet?).


Between Martin Solveig, I got a hot dog. The concessions workers were forlorn. The team was down 0 -2. I wanted to hug them. When there is nothing else to do, I will support the Team but I had to rest up before it was time to dance.