Purge

I have been working like Harriet Tubman (without the good feeling that comes from leading hundreds of people out of slavery) and unfortunately I have been neglecting communication to the world.

Here are a bunch of photos of my summer.

Kiel Week- The Food!

Nepalese cuisine. Delicious. For the uninitiated, it is similar to Indian.

Excellent chimichurri and wine!

The Taste of Peru is much like the taste of Mexico.
The moles were a bit different.

The crowd at the International Food Market.

Interestingly, Rwandan food has yucca, like Caribbean food.
It has some kick. This stand offered dishes with
alligator and springbok but I stuck to beef.

Super American

USA goalkeeper Tim Howard reaches for a goal against England in the
first full day of the World Cup on June 12. We tied! No one scored.

The longer that I am away from America, the more "American" I have become. I don't moan when someone offers me mayonnaise for my French fries, instead of ketchup. I don't groan when someone mispronounces my name.

I hate it when people think I am from Africa. Two weeks ago, I was having a cocktail at Mango's, a restaurant in which I have had plenty of cocktails. The television was broadcasting the highlights of the day's World Cup match. In German, my server congratulated me on the playing of the "Elfbeinküste" team. I was so proud that I had been able to do basic greetings and order in German but sadly I was stumped by the team name. I tore up my brain to find the word. I recently heard it. It was familiar. Thirty seconds later, I got it. Elfbeinküste was the Ivory Coast. The African nation had played Portugal earlier in the day. The small country shocked the world when it tied the European powerhouse. The German server thought I was from the Ivory Coast. I politely corrected him. I could have said nothing but I am AMERICAN dammit!

Quite often Germans think I am from Africa. For a while, people would ask me if I was from Uganda. Then it was Ghana. I still get Ghana a lot. Sometimes people just ask me where in Africa I come from. Germany does not have a long history of immigration, so many here think Black people only come from the African continent.

So I am living in Europe, so adjust a bit. I live with a German man, so I watch World Cup soccer. I even call it football. I watch Germany play but my heart beats red, white and blue, so I only really care when America plays. And then I watch under duress. I like to win so much that it is too stressful to watch. I did not watch the last match in the early rounds, when America had to win or go home. I was ecstatic when someone told me about Donovan Landon's less-than-a-minute-to-go goal.

I loved that people were scared of the U.S. in soccer. I was thrilled that the USA fielded such a ethnically-diverse team. Plus, our team was coached by an American, not some coach who bowed to the highest bidder.

Donovan Landon after scoring the winning goal
against Algeria June 23. That was the shocking
win that got the US in to the Round of 16.

I was still so proud of the team when it lost to Ghana. It took a long time to get to that deciding goal.

Now I will have to support Deutschlands Mannschaft [Germany's Team] 100%.

Ain't That a Kick in the Head

Tor! That's German for Goal!

Life is different here. Of course, it is but now more than usual. That's because it's time for the World Cup!

Because I had European friends, I knew it was a big deal but it is different to be in the middle of World Cup insanity.

Germans are so calm and reserved but not when there is a black-and-white ball rolling around. They get a lively. I like the World Cup effect here.

Asmus made me watch England take on the United States Friday night. I was happy to skip over the event because everyone, Everyone, including the U.S. team, predicted American defeat at the hands of its former oppressor (Yes, taxation without representation, indeed.) I was happy to witness a tie! Yahoo! Even Steven. Take that England!

I was ready for fun Sunday night. That was Germany's first game. They took on Australia. A new sports bar opened up around the corner from us, so made a date to be there at 7:30. an hour before the match started. We got there around 7:45 and there were no seats.

There were tables outside but I am not one for the out of doors, so we went to a restaurant that is officially called Alex and I refer to as the worst service in the world. The tables directly in front of the projector screen were filled but there were plenty of options a step away.

The Crowd watching Australia lose to Germany their first match at the World Cup.

After the little kids walk the players out, the German national anthem played. No one in Alex stood up or put their hands over their hearts. That is a relief. I am not sure of foreigner etiquette. I do not know the words to the German national anthem and it would be dishonest to symbolically place my hand over my heart. I ain't that crazy about the country. Then the Australian anthem played. The players put their hands over their hearts and sang. It seems this hand-over-the-heart thing may be a vestige of our British past. Damn Oppressors!

The game started and it was quiet. Quiet except the so-annoying-that-I-want-to-kill-myself horns, the vuvuzela. The crowd rises to a roar as the ball gets close to the Australia's goal and it exploded when it went in four times.

Cacau just scored a goal and the crowd goes mildly excited.

It was nice relaxing game. Australia was supposed to lose and they really lived out that prediction. At the end, there was light applause and then restaurant cleared out.

But from our apartment, we heard fireworks and cars honking and cheering.

I cannot wait until the opening matches are over. I want to be in a swirl of cheering.

No Use Crying Over Spilled Blood

On our first full day, Asmus and I did the tour bus thing. It was one of the hop-on hop-off. Our goal was the Church of the Saviour on the Spilled Blood. That was my choice. Czar Nicholas II was fatally attacked on the spot where the church now stands January 1881. The ground was broken October 1883. It officially opened August 1907. It is built in a Russian style popular in the early 1800s. I love it. It is too much. Too much decoration. Too much gold. To much color. I love too much. It has those onion domes and mosaic on the outside.








The inside is entirely decorated in mosaics, which depict stories from the Bible.

View of the Ceiling

Iconstasis. Christian churches in Eastern Europes have a wall of icons and
religious paintings that separate the nave from the sanctuary.

There is a black pagoda-like structure on the exact location where the king was shot.



There's also an ATM in the church. I love a church with an ATM. Many churches in Hamburg sell wine. Churches in Europe are fun.

This magnificent building stopped being an active church in 1930 by Communists, who were not fans of religion. It was a warehouse for decades. In 1970 the government allowed it to be returned to its former glory. After 27 years, it was done.

On the Ground in St. Petersburg

St. Petersburg.

Oh, St. Petersburg.

I had built this city up in mind. I did not want it to suck.

I am so happy to report that it didn't suck.

Pulkovo Airport is a pretty dreary airport. It was nice to be in the same line as Asmus. When we traveled to Rome and returned from European destinations, he goes into the European Union citizens line and I head to the "All Passports" line. It is a bit lonely.

I am a bit ahead of myself. I am an immigrant. For all the conservatives out there, I want you to know that I am a legal immigrant. About two months ago, I noticed that my visa was going to expire in the middle of April. We live mostly in Kiel, so it is difficult to get to the foreigners office in Hamburg.

We don't know much about rules for foreigners but just to be on the safe side, we decided to update the visa.

I am a bit ahead of myself.

We were in Kiel on Friday, April 9. Saturday, April 10, we flew to Munich to visit his aunt Renate. We stayed at our favorite hotel chain the Meridien; Le Méridien München is not as great as its Hamburg cousin. We toured the Paulaner brewery (So far, we have visited Guinness, Carlsberg, Becks, Heinecken (I just visited Holsten last Friday without my beloved.).) We took a bus tour of the city.

We returned to Hamburg on Monday night, April 12. Then we packed and shopped Tuesday and Wednesday. Plus, I worked on my Fodor's chapter about Hamburg. So, we had to fix this visa thing the morning of our flight on Thursday, April 15.

The flight was at 11; the foreigners office opens at 8. It sucked. We got up at the crack of dawn and brought the largest suitcase that Samsonite makes to the foreigners office, because we were going the airport right after the office. Sadly, I had to take a photo. No one should be forced to take a picture at 8 in the morning. I did and I will never forgive the Bundesamtes für Migration und Flüchtlinge (Germany's ofice for Migration and Refugees). We were in and out in 15 minutes. Now I am set for a visa until October 14, 2010. The adventure continues.

So we get to the Hamburg airport and we notice that a flight to Norway was canceled. We wondered why but quickly moved on.

We ate the worst meal in the Goethe cafe in the Frankfurt airport. Skip it if you can. There was some liquid crawling across the floor but no one working there said anything to us when we sat down. We were drinking coffee when we noticed people kneeling around us with towels. They were trying to sneakily mop up the floor. Plus, the snacks were pretty crappy.

We got out of the cafe and into the sky. Easy flight. Even thought it was only a few years old, the St. Petersburg airport was gray and dimly-lit and quiet. It looked like some government office. Not a cool office, like the IRS but the one you go to get a permit to build a high fence.

Asmus and I had a free transfer to the hotel and little instructions on how to get it, despite my questions. We got outside arrivals and searched and searched. I was afraid this was going to happen. Before we left, I asked the hotel lady what is the procedure for transfers. What do we do? Where do we go? She said don't worry and not much else. Just arrive and the driver will be there and she hoped we have a fun vacation. Just as I worried, I had no idea who the driver was and when he is supposed to arrive. We don't speak Russian so we can't walk up to random people ask for help. There was a guy with a 8 x 11 pink piece of paper. I think I saw a bunch of Ms, so I thought he may be the guy. Who has more Ms in their names besides Asmus and me? I pointed and yelled my name a few times and confirmed my suspicions. And we were on our way.

There was a bit of highway out of the airport. I saw this huge Kentucky Fried Chicken nearby and I knew everything was going to be OK. The road up to the airport is littered with car dealerships.

When we got to the city, we took one long, broad road (We later learned that it was Moscow Avenue). Like East Berlin, which was designed by Communism, the city seemed to be all massive buildings that covered one or two blocks. They all had the same look. Tall, wide and beige-ish gray. It was a bit intimidating. You are so small, next to these striking buildings.




We did not notice a street sign but were able to recognize a STOP sign and St. Petersburg in cyrillic. There was a department store and a huge Park Inn hotel near the beginning of the street.




Along the way, our driver, who spoke little English, served as a ghetto tour guide. Right before we reached some landmark, he would point and give the name. We saw a statue of Lenin, a university, and a library. It was a bit ridiculous but so damn exciting.

St. Petersburg or Bust

Date Night movie poster

As a child of the 80s, I just did something I never thought I would do -- I visited the former USSR.

I was brought up on Red Dawn, Yakov Smirnoff, and Rocky IV. Since then, I've been to the Berlin Wall. Life is crazy.

Asmus and I were supposed to visit St. Petersburg October 2009. We waited and waited to make arrangements and the price shot up. Instead we went to Copenhagen, which rocks.

For Christmas, Asmus' mother gave us an envelope of money to pay for the trip. Those euros paid for the flight for both of us and the hotel room.

If you read the previous post, you know that I have been busy. I was determined to learn some Tourist Russian. Asmus said he was going to but I knew he wouldn't. I got too busy and didn't either. I learned some of the Cyrillic alphabet.

The Cyrillic alphabet is interesting. Some Arabic letters look like Cyrillic characters and sound like them but then some Arabic letters look like Cyrillic characters and sound different.

a=a
k=k
m=m
o=o
t=t
e=e

b=v
p=r
c=s
h=n
y=u

But then there are all these other characters that look sorta like some things from Hebrew and others that look like things from Greek.You can probably translate the restaurant names below.





The Cold War is over but there seem to be some lingering malice from Russia toward Americans. Russia requires visas for all foreign visitors. Instead of getting a visa for a certain length of time, like 30 days, you get a visa for one specific date to another. I was in charge of visa applications for me and the German. His application was one page. The Russian Federation wanted to know his name, address and favorite color. My application was two pages long. They wanted to know my mother's maiden name, the city where my parents were born, my job, how I am paying for the trip, and the name of my husband. Asmus's application cost 35 euros. Mine cost 100. I didn't let their evilness keep me away.

The oddest thing -- I felt so welcome in St. Petersburg. Unlike in Germany, no one stared at me. In Hamburg and Kiel, people, mostly children, stare at me. There are people of various hues walking the street but I am exotic. About two months ago, I was looking through my pocket for the key to the apartment in Hamburg. An old lady (It is always an old lady here.) asked me if I lived in my apartment. She then asked my name and when I moved to the apartment. I answered her question and then asked her name. Then she walked away. No welcome. No "nice to meet you". There are few Black people in St. Petersburg, so I was ready to be an oddity. Fortunately, Russians are too concerned with their own lives that they do not care about anyone else. That is fine with me.

The other weird thing is that there were foods and restaurants in Russia that are not found in Germany. You may have noticed the Sbarro sign in the image above. I am not a fan of the pathetic attempt at pizza but it is nice to see something familiar. I had pecan pie. Pecan pie!!! A friend, Shurea, mailed me pecans from California, so that I can make a pie (Which I did. Delicious!), because pecanuss is rare in Germany. Plus, pie is not common in Germany. So I was amazed to have pecan pie in the former home of communism. When departing, we passed a T.G.I Friday's. Don't got that in Germany. I love TGIF's Cobb Salad. I had just eaten, so I passed up the chance to have that delicacy until I return to the United States in October. The best part is when I introduced myself people repeated my name the same way that I said it. I tell a German my name and they never come close to saying it the same way. It is the little things that make life worth living.

More about St. Petersburg to come.

What"s Happening

So much has happened since Christmas and Cinco de Mayo.

I finally passed the Integration test in January. Without passing, my visa was in danger, so I had to pass. My options were few. I could take the last three months of the class again. I am done with classrooms, so I decided to take the test again.

I went through two rude government officials and discovered that I could simply take the test again. Then I searched for a place to take the test again and soon.


I got my failure result in early November. This community college would allow me to take the test in early December. I worked on my own with books and CDs for a month. I had the world's worse speaking partner but I did not let that stop me. I had a crappy speaking partner for my first test. She would not shut up. So I said little and made mistakes. I decided that I would keep talking. Bring down my mistake to production ratio. So this guy would say nothing or sentences that made no sense and I kept talking.

My strategy worked. I passed.

I got B1 on all three parts. It would be embarrassing to fail for a second time. Also, to fail after told government workers that I did not need to take three months of classes again. I got my test results early January and then decided to go to school again. Ugh.

I wanted to teach English. In the poor economy, I thought having a certificate would make things a little better. That was one hard month. I was living in Hamburg and Asmus was living in Kiel. Again, I was stuck in a room for hours and hours a day. The day started at 10 and ended at 7.
I was fine but somewhere in the middle I was the worst teacher ever. I even got an official notice that I may not pass.

Plus, we also had the record winter here, meaning there was some piles. Hamburg is not used to the snow. No one shoveled or de-iced shit. I had to stutter-step over ice for three blocks to get to school.

Fortunately, I passed. I am officially certified to teach English.

Then the Job Search began.

I hate the Job Search. Being constantly judged and deemed unworthy really knocks me out. For some reason, I got interviews with some people who said they liked my resume but wished I had more experience. Of course, I was pissed. Getting dressed up, researching companies, and talking to managers for no reason whatsoever sucks. They knew what experience I had before they invited me to talk.

I had a mini breakdown. It is difficult from being a professional living the good life in New York to begging someone to hire you.

Eventually, I got a freelance position at a school two blocks from my apartment in Kiel. In fact, the same school at which I took the Integration Course.



Hallelujah! I was so relieved. I was not useless.

That feeling did not last long. I got "training." At first, I was alone with a poorly-organized teacher. We met five days a week. After the second week, I got a partner. It was better because the teacher could spread the crazy around. Then that partner disappeared. Then I got two more women with me. We met three times a week for two weeks. It was great because I didn't have to talk for half the sessions. However, it sucked because I was never given an end date for these sessions.

In the midst of these sessions, I got the fabulous assignment to write a chapter for Fodor's guidebook about Hamburg. It rocked. I loved it. I learned so much about hotel rooms here in Hamburg.

Everything was great until it came to inputting my changes. I made a fatal planning mistake. I spent a day for me to copy and paste the file. I cannot wait to until the book comes out next year. The current version is nowhere as fun as my take on Hamburg.

Yeah, I said it, Merry Christmas!

I have many complaints about Germany . . . but that is a subject of other posts. I have one thing that I love about Deutschland -- Christmas!!!

  Wednesday night at the main Christmas market in Kiel.

When I grew up, my neighbors and my family friends all celebrated Christmas. I went to Christian school for years and was an every-Sunday-sing-in-the choir churchgoer. So some time around the middle of December, as a child, my farewell became, Have a Merry Christmas!. In return, I got, "You, too."

In high school my world got bigger. I was never sure who celebrated Christmas, Hanukkah, Ramadan or nothing. So I started saying Merry Christmas only to the people I knew for sure celebrated that holiday. When I moved to New York, I adopted, "Happy Holidays" and sent it out to everyone. It was just easier. Oh, it was the ugly stepsister to "Merry Christmas" but it had to be used, instead. I even sent out Happy Holidays or Season's Greetings cards. Oh, they were elegant, with a sophisticated snowflake design or winter landscape. But they were not beautiful or heartwarming. No family gathered around a tree. No tree. No baby Jesus. No manager. No star. No chubby-faced toddlers running down stairs to see what Santa Claus brought them. No Santa Claus. No reindeer. No nothing.

Germany has all the Christmas accessories and it is the only holiday that people care about.

Very unfortunately, activities during the 1940s got rid of most of its Jewish population. There is little talk of Hanukkah. Plus, Hanukkah's prominence on the American calendar is a relative recent event and the result of its chronological closeness to the present-heavy Christmas holiday.

Also, unfortunately, the Islamic community here is not as vocal as it is in the U.S. The Turkish population has not melded in to mainstream society, so there is almost two communities here. I have not gained entrance to that sphere, so I am not sure what happens during December. I have not heard anyone mention Ramadan here nor have I seen mention of it in print.

So, all I can do is wish everyone, Frohe Weihnachten. Merry Christmas.

Actually, it is Merry Christmases. Christmas celebration starts Christmas Eve and continues covers the evening of December 26.

Of course, this is all very closed-minded of me. I make no excuses. I love Christmas. I am lazy. I like discussing Christmas and all its trappings. I love the music. I love the sentiment. I love the good times that sprout from the holiday. I love it all. I think if I were not raised Baptist, I would still love Christmas. It is just so happy and fun.

For a few weeks a year, that is Germany -- happy and fun. There are Christmas trees, Weihnachtmann (a German variant on Santa Claus), lights and Christmas markets everywhere.

Every German city has several Christmas markets. They are all a little different but share a few common traits -- spiced wine called glühwein, no chairs, würstchen (sausages), kartoffel puffer (kind of like potato fritter), sauteed mushrooms, and people in good spirits. I have been to Christmas markets in Cologne, Frankfurt, Hamburg and Kiel. Each city offered a complex of tents selling candles, scarves, sweaters, Christmas decorations, gloves, candy, puppets and jewelry, but there is some variety. I had some awesome tapas a few weeks ago at Cologne's Christmarket near the Dom. Some markets are better than others. I preferred the market at the Alster Lake to the bigger one at the Hamburg Rathaus (City Hall) and the market at Neumarkt to the one at Cologne's glorious church.

Didgeridoo players at a tent selling food at the main Christmas market in Kiel.

Asmus and I exchanged presents today. The Germans prefer to give gifts on Heiligabend (the Holy Evening, Christmas Eve). Asmus handed me a certificate that said I had received a subscription to America's version of Vanity Fair magazine. I already gave Asmus his gift of an ice cream maker a week ago. We had company and I thought we would make them some homemade ice cream. I got him a secondary gift, so that he would hav something to open on Christmas. Well, I have lost my husband to Civilization IV video game. He has said about three sentences to me since he tore the paper off the box two hours ago. I am proud and a little sad at the same time.

Season's Greetings!

Happy Anniversary!

Up-close view of my anniversary flowers

Yesterday, I marked the day my life changed.

You can bisect your life on a variety of landmarks.

My life changed December 15, 2007. That was the night that I met Asmus.

We do not celebrate Valentine's Day or other artificial but we did mark this occasion.

When I saw that "we" marked occasion, I mean that Asmus marked it. I am pretty sick and I did nothing but come close to tears when he presented me with flowers when he got home from work.

Sometimes I get weary when I think of how close we got close to not meeting and how many times that we could have met. Asmus and I met at the wedding of Isabel and Matthias. I have known them for 11 years but I never heard of Asmus until 2007. I did not plan to go to their wedding. About two weeks before the ceremony, I changed my mind and booked a ticket.

It makes you wonder how many other opportunities you have missed on your life or how close you came to not getting something positive.

The last two years have been an adventure. I love adventure.

France is supposed to be the home of romance. However, my German boy is always surprising me. He got me this beautiful coffee table book on Germany when I finished Integrations Course and the bouquet came yesterday for the two-year anniversary of our meeting as a couple. He thought he had done red roses too often. He thought the orange roses looked too ugly. The purple daisies beat out white roses, which Asmus thought were too boring.

Pie Sucess!

Necessity really is the mother of invention.

Germany does not have a pie culture. There is no pie pan, no recipes for crust and no pie filling in a can. So I had to make my own pie from SCRATCH. I have made pies but I did not create the entire thing with my two hands. I did two weeks ago.

I got a copy of Patti Labelle's sweet potato pie recipe and matched it with the Food Network's recipe for a sweet crust.

The pie got a little roughed up because Asmus wrestled it out of the pie plate.

He didn't know it is supposed to sit in the vessel.

It was a bit ugly but the pie tasted delicious. I introduced Asmus to the pie on Thanksgiving. You cannot have Thanksgiving without sweet potato pie.

The only thing I change is its firmness. I only had medium eggs and the recipe called for large eggs. Perhaps that correction will make things better.

Despite that, I am damn proud.

I told the in-laws about the pie and they said they were interested. I have a sweet potato pie recipe from the North Carolina Sweet Potato Pie Commission that uses fructose instead of table sugar.

In my search for recipes, I learned that North Carolina produces the majority of sweet potatoes eaten in the United States. Louisiana also grows a large percentage. Louisiana is crazy proud of their spud.

I am attempting another pie Friday. I have two German friends coming to visit. I am going to blow their minds!

I found pecans the other day. Do not under-estimate the work that went into that search. I looked in stores in Hamburg and Kiel. I found them in one store. I feel a pecan pie coming on.