Things I Can Bake In A Toaster Oven

Sugar Cookies
Vanilla Cake
Potatoes
Bread with Brie
Brötchen
Pasta Spinach-Cheese Bake
Happiness <3

The Daily Routine: A Story

I wanted more breakfast.

I thought the bread was probably going stale, too, which was obnoxious. Next time I was going to buy the four-pack, not the six-pack, even if they were the same price. That way I'd be certain that they would not go bad, and I'd get more food in the mornings too because they were bigger when they came in four. That's why they were the same price, more servings but still the same amount of bread.

It was funny, too, because if I was in anyone else's kitchen or having breakfast with anyone else's food I'd've taken another one. Had two, not just one. But when you're poor you need to conserve, make the food last as long as possible. And anyway, I was trying to keep the weight down. Extra calories I did not need.

Not that I was destitute. For God's sake there was a wedge of brie on my shelf of the bridge, and a package of prosciutto. But I liked to stay frugal, as frugal as a person whose favorite foods are brie and lax can be. I hadn't splurged on the smoked salmon yet, at least, but it was only a matter of time.

Anyway, I liked to keep my money-spending down, at least in the food department. I spent more than enough out in the Aldstadt in discotheques and bars. I was quickly learning to prefer beer to everything else, because it was that much cheaper and allowed me to go out and have a drink without paling at the sight of my bank statement. But the nightlife culture here was something I'd never had the chance to really experience, be a part of and not a tourist observing, and I probably would never have the chance to do so again.

Also, I was saving for a new pair of boots.

But okay, back to the point: I didn't like to spend much on food. I actually lived pretty comfortably on only twenty euro a week. And that meant doing some things the way I was used to, the American way—such as calling a bowl of pasta with sauce a healthy and fully balanced meal despite the lack of anything other than carbs really—and some things the German way, which meant brötchen for breakfast. You would think, wouldn't you, that cereal would be cheaper. Go out, buy a box for three euro, some milk for one (staples were super cheap here) and bam! You're set for another week, maybe two if you don't like granola very much. But when you can get six rolls (which are what brötchen are, sort of, rolls) for thirty-five euro cent and butter, nutella and jam enough to last you at least a month for under five euro...then you're feeding yourself for a month on what you would spend every few weeks on cereal. Badabing. Plus brötchen are more delicious than cereal, and did I mention warm? A hot breakfast really does make all the difference.

That was really the reason I wanted more. Because it tasted so good, not because I was really that hungry. That's really the danger of living here: you eat not because you need to, but instead because everything tastes so good. I mean think of all the food—just the food—that Germans are famous for. Bread, sausage, nutella, pretzels, chocolate. And, of course, the beer. Then you add all the food you don't hear about: döner, spätzle, flammkuchen, brötchen, federweise, mohrenköpfe...and you're thirty pounds heavier struggling and fighting to control the muffin top drooping over your jeans because you don't have sixty euro to buy another pair. Yeah. You have to find a happy medium, where you exercise self control but still get to enjoy all the goodies. It was that space that I hoped I was inhabiting.

My morning routine, as it were, struggled to help me to start my day in this magical mittelpunkt. I woke up and then either groaned because I didn't need to be up yet—my curtains did absolutely nothing for keeping light out of the room—or groaned because I did. Then I got up, did whatever needed to be done in the bathroom, and went into the kitchen to start the coffee. Normally there would be already everything in the machine because Maya likes to do it all the morning before, which is lovely because she makes much better coffee than me. If it wasn't all set up, I'd set it up myself and make enough for three, even though most mornings it's a safe bet that Bridgitta didn't sleep at our place. Then I'd get out my plate, knife and spoon as well as a—singular—brötchen from my shelf in the pantry as well as the store-brand nutella kept there. I'd pop the roll in the toaster oven and get the butter and raspberry jam from the fridge. I'd pour myself some coffee into the McDonalds Mocha Rocka mug that had been lent to me when I'd moved into the apartment and stir in some of Maya's no-fat milk because they don't sell the cartons here small if you want normal milk and not condensed and she doesn't want it to go bad. At home I would put sugar in my coffee too but I had gotten used to it without. Besides, that way it was healthier. Sort of.

I'd sip my coffee at the table, getting up every so often to check the brötchen because after weeks I still hadn't figured out just how long it needed. Generally I'd pull it out once it got a little too brown, because that way I was certain it was all warm and soft on the inside; when it came out golden it would always still be unfinished and I'd have to put it back in again. The roll would be too hot to handle without help, so I'd hold it with a towel while I cut it in half back at the table, sip some more coffee, and then smear both halves with butter and then jam on one half and nutella on the other. Then I'd eat.

Sometimes I'd do this with Maya or Bridgitta or both, sometimes even with Sebe (Bridgitta's boyfriend) around and we'd all talk and eat together. If Maya and I were alone we'd speak German, if Bridgitta and/or Sebe was there we'd speak English. I'd open the window from the top, just to let in some fresh air even though it was October and only a crazy person would do such a thing in America. Sometimes I'd eat alone, with my sudoku book or my journal or just by coffee and bread, thinking about what needed to be done that day. Then I'd get up and wash my dishes and put everything back in its place. I was trying desperately to embrace the German obsession with ordnung, or order, though to look at my bedroom floor you wouldn't think so. But that was just because I hadn't been able to do laundry yet, okay? If there was one thing I could have picked to love the least about this place it would have been the laundry situation. Or the internet. It depended on the day.

After cleaning it all up I'd pour myself a second cup of coffee, mix in the milk, rewash the spoon (I always forgot to leave it out) and head to my room where I'd close the door and open the windows so that fresh air could permeate that space too. Then what I would do next varied: always some combination of yoga, getting dressed, tidying all the clothes I'd left lying about the night before and making my bed (which is so ridiculously easy here that I don't ever mind doing it, you only sleep with one giant blanket and a pillow so all you have to do is fold the blanket and you're done, no sheets or anything to worry about), brushing my teeth and listening to music. Sometimes I'd also shower and do my makeup, or write my fiance his daily email, or organize my desk again, or do some cardio work. If Bridgitta wasn't there I might have a third cup of coffee and wash my spoon a third time. Then I would do what I needed to do for the day, be it go food shopping or to the library or to the post office or write a paper or even just, if the weather was nice, take the bus and bahn into the city to wander and get to know it all better. It wasn't a rigid routine and I loved that about it. Nothing about my time was incredibly rigid, though I did make and stick to plans and I did have things of course I had to do. I kept a million lists on my ipod touch: To Do, To Buy, bus schedules, the best routes to Ikea and other places I needed to find, various numbers and contacts and names and office locations I still needed to keep handy. I was even tempted to go out and buy a small chalkboard so I could hang the lists on my wall and not avoid or procrastinate as I was sometimes wont to do. I'd eat lunch at some point, usually some bread with butter and prosciutto or whatever else I had around, and then in the evening I'd do something with the people I lived with or someone else, if they texted me or something during the day. Sometimes it was just dinner and sometimes it was dancing and sometimes it was a movie we all crammed onto my bed to watch. I'd close all the windows and lock the door before going to sleep, Maya would make the coffee, we'd all say goodnight and I'd check my email before going to bed. And the next morning it all started all over again.

Some Number Games

Number of Times Someone Has Not Believed Me When I Said I'm American: 4

Number of Times Someone Has Mistaken Me For Someone From Germany: 5-7

Number of Times Someone Has Mistaken Me For Someone From Belgium/The Netherlands: 10-15

Number of Times Someone Has Said To Me “If You're From America, Why Are You So Thin?”: 5

Number of Times Someone Has Asked Me Where I Come From And When I Say “USA” Looks At Me And Says “...Really?!”: Too many to count

...to be added to later.

My Favorite Things

We now interrupt your regularly scheduled Patsy-Does-Not-Update-Her-Blog-For-Months-On-End to bring you my absolute favorite part (right now) of living in Germany.

It's not the super nice people. It's not the amazing public transportation system. It's not even the chocolate or the beer. It's the grocery shopping.

Okay. I know. I like grocery shopping anyway. In fact, I'm a huge fan of grocery shopping. It's one of my absolute favorite things to do. Whenever I am feeling stressed or upset or whatever, all I need to do is find a grocery store and walk around it and I will feel much, much better.

Perhaps I should explain. I have a few strange personality ticks that date back to the first time I was in Germany, for ten months as an exchange student. One of them is my complete inability to be anything but awkward on the phone, even if I know the person super well and can ordinarily talk to them without discomfort. Another is my stuck-up attitude toward any beer with lower quality than a Sam Adams. But one of the biggest, strangest personality quirks I gained in Germany is my love of grocery stores. Don't ask me why, I don't really know. But whenever I was bored, or feeling terrible, or skipping school and needing something to do I would head to the nearest Rewe and walk the aisles. I'd have to buy something small—a yogurt or a chocolate bar—for being there because there are little barriers that stop you from leaving a grocery store here except through the check out aisles. But I loved looking at the different products, the things I just couldn't find at home or had never noticed before. I could spend a few hours in there without getting bored. And I still loved doing it even after I got back into the States.

The point is, though, now that I'm doing my own regular grocery shopping here I love it more than I ever had before. And why is that? Because everything here is SO FREAKING CHEAP. Don't get me wrong, Germany is one of the most expensive places in the world to live. The clothes, the mail, the bus—all more than I'd ever want to or have to pay back home. But the food...that's where the Germans get it right.

For example: I went grocery shopping today. I haven't been home really in a week and had nothing left to eat. I also wanted to start picking up some staples, such as flour and sugar, so that I may begin to bake things myself rather than just buying them. I picked up my empty backpack (plastic bags cost extra here, they don't just throw them away like confetti as you might find in your typical Walmart) and grabbed the bus to the local Aldi. Now I should tell you that Aldi is known for its really cheap stuff that still is somehow at a generally decent quality. But I went in with my 20 Euro I'd budgeted for this week's foods and grabbed a metal basket and filled it until it was too heavy for me to carry properly. Here is what I bought:

2 bags of flour

1 bag of sugar

1 small box of milk

1 package of prosciutto

Half a loaf of bread

6 Brötchen (rolls)

2 boxes (6 servings) of the German equivalent of Pastaroni

1 jar of raspberry jam

1 jar of tomato sauce

1 wedge of Brie

1 box of Mohrenköpfe (dome-shaped marshmallow cream on a wafer dipped in chocolate)

Want to know what it all cost??

That's right. Under ten euro. That's about 13 dollars.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I love grocery shopping here more than anywhere else.

Let's Take A Look

How German and American Schools are the Same:

1. The teachers drink Kaffee like it is liquid oxygen
2. No one reads the announcements on the bulletin boards
3. Math books use (often the exact same) useless facts in order to teach new methods using "real world" examples
4. Language books teach by telling stories about children the same age as students in whichever country so that students can "relate" to their studies
5. Everyone's favorite period is lunch

How German and American Schools are Different:

1. When Americans graduate they celebrate by going to the local YMCA. When Germans graduate they celebrate by going to Italy.
2. In Germany you have a class, a class teacher and a classroom like you did in American elementary school all the way through the 13th grade
3. If your teacher in Germany is sick there is no substitute, and thus no class
4. There is a sink in every classroom
   
5. No one checks to see if you did your homework
   

No Koelsch For You!

Have I ever mentioned how much I adore German food? And when I ask that rhetorical question what I really mean is, have I ever gone into deep and embarrassing detail about how much I adore German food? Because if I haven't then I've absolutely taken all the deliciousness this land has to offer completely for granted. Since I've been here I've enjoyed some old favorites--Sekt, Broetchen, Nutella, chocolate, Apfelkuchen--and gotten to love some new things too, like Altbier, Zwiebelkuchen and Leberkaese. In my time away from here I've become something of a foodie, and so it is nice to reclaim all of these favorites with a new eye as to how they are made. I'm very excited to learn more how to make salad dressings, cakes and other such tasties while I'm here and then to take that knowledge back home.
I have been keeping quite busy here, drinking a lot of coffee and going a lot of places. Eva has been helping me get to know Dusseldorf before I actually move there, and now that I've seen so much of it with her I'm super excited to explore it on my own. Last night I got to experience a lot of the night life in the Aldstadt and I've decided that I absolutely HAVE to make some friends my age around here just so I can get the whole package. I learned that if you order an Altbier you'll get it in about three seconds but if you order a juice it'll take ten minutes. Tables are meant to be shared; if you hog a table all to yourself or tell people they can't join you and your friend it's incredibly rude and unfair to those who also want to enjoy the bar you're in. Old 80's music is super popular around here for the late night. And, finally, I've learned that if you order a Koelsch in Dusseldorf you will get no more service. Koelsch is the standard beer of Cologne while Altbier is the standard in Dusseldorf. The two cities have something of a rivalry which makes ordering one specialty in the wrong city somewhat dangerous if you want a second drink. Neuss, where Eva lives and I've been staying, has people that each identify with a different city, depending on the person, because it's pretty equidistant to both. The bus card I have doesn't go all the way to Cologne but it comes close enough that I can probably get there fairly cheap. I went to Cologne a lot more the last time I was in Germany (the cathedral there is breathtakingly beautiful) so I'm excited to see it again, even if I am going to be calling Dusseldorf my home.
Yesterday I went with Gisla and Eva to a fleamarket here in Neuss that I have a feeling I'll be frequenting once I get settled in. It had a fantastic selection of books that I will be able to purchase on the cheap as well as the classic hats that I have been searching for! (For those of you who don't know, I have a penchant for strange clothes and have been itching to start a collection of classic ladies hats that I can wear like some strange ghost from the 1920's.) I didn't buy anything this time because I don't have any money yet but it was comforting how the market could have been picked up from Hell's Kitchen in Manhattan and dropped in the middle of Neuss. Flea markets are something I am very comfortable in and where I tend to score some major deals, and it looked like it would be possible to keep on doing the same even though I am so far from home.
After the flea market we went to another part of Neuss where a festival of some sort was going on. There always seems to be some festival somewhere in Germany and I love it. We looked in all the clothing shops and such; there is a TJMaxx here, which I never expected, except that it's called TKMaxx for some reason I don't understand. It has the same set up and most of the advertisements for it are mostly in English, and the prices are still low. More hats!!! I'm obsessed.
One of the most fun things about the festival was the live music. Four men in dark suits both walked around and set up in a few places to play classic music on their banjo/bass/trombone/saxophone. A bass on wheels! The man who played the bass was the best of them all; he was very old and looked as though he didn't have any teeth left, but played with the same energy and enthusiasm as his younger counterparts. We sat down, ordered a piece of Zwiebelkuchen and a glass of Federweißer, and watched the festival go by and listened to the music in the sun. Bessere gibt's nicht.

Fall Asleep, Miss Out on Chocolate

Ich bin schon wieder in Deutschland verloren. I am once again lost in Germany. I have so named this blog because I can't remember the password and such for my last blog, "Ich Bin In Deutschland Verloren" (I am lost in Germany), and don't feel like going through all the mess to make it work again. A new start! That's what this blog is, for a different sort of experience. Dieses mal werde ich ganz alles geniessen. This time I am going to enjoy absolutely everything.
It is an adventure to get to Germany the cheapest way possible. Four planes: from Maine to DC to Philly to Munich to Dusseldorf. Four. Planes. Over twenty-four hours of solid travel. And I can't sleep on planes. Even the meds my fantastic fiance got for me beforehand did not help. At all. I watched two movies and two television episodes (Iron Man 2, 500 Days of Summer, True Blood and Bones in case you were wondering) on the 7 1/2 hour flight from Philly to Munich. Oh, and I'm also terrified of flying. That's because I'm terrified of heights. Every take off and landing causes me to grip whatever is nearest to me until my knuckles turn white and my fingernails break off. On this trip I brought Sudoku. Every landing and take off I sped through puzzles in a panicked frenzy. I finished over 25 of them by the time the trip was done.
I was very lucky though. Not only did I not fall out of the sky halfway across the Atlantic but only one of my flights was delayed by a significant amount, and it was my last one. I had no adjoining flight awaiting me as I flew from Munich to Dusseldorf, and so the flight could be delayed all it liked. I was glad that I had to sit the entire 50 minutes on the plane rather than at the gate; I was less than impressed with the Munich airport. Nowhere near as efficient as in Frankfurt, the security was the rudest I have ever encountered (and that includes that time I forgot official ID when flying from Maine to New York and they demanded I show five other things with my name on it and tested my shoes for explosives) and after the metal detector went off on the button from my jeans (NOT something I could remove, danke sehr) the woman who was supposed to wand me down was handsy enough to warrant a lawsuit, or at least a good deal of uncomfortableness and irritation. I'm sure they have had their share of annoying tourists pouring in for Oktoberfest but come on. No need to be openly nasty.
Oh and they changed the gate for my flight but didn't announce it, so I almost missed it. When another American asked why they hadn't announced it he was told--again, nastily--that it wasn't their responsibility to keep him informed of his individual flight plan.
The flight attendants, however, were lovely. I adore Lufthansa. They apologized profusely over the wait and offered drinks to anyone who wanted one. I fell asleep while the plane was just sitting there. I figured I had about an hour to kill and my brain was shutting down from the many hours I had had to stay awake and alert in order to catch all of my flights. When the rustling of food packaging woke me up I at first decided to ignore it; sleep was more important than food, and I wasn't hungry. But then I was curious as to what sort of snacks one might serve on a German flight. Peanuts? Pepper-flavored (as in the vegetable, not the spice) chips, which are more standard than plain ones here?
No. They were passing out small bars of Toblerone.
Naturally. I finally get some sleep and it caused me to miss the flight attendant as she went by with chocolate. Not to fret though, there was a very nice Australian couple sitting next to me who got her attention so I could get a bar too. Wilkommen in Deutschland, wollen Sie ein Stueckchen Schokolade? Gerne!
I knew I would like Dusseldorf the moment we touched down: the plane parked at the gate next to us had HARIBO written on it in lieu of an airline, complete with the cute bear they have on all of their packages. Even better, my suitcase--which I was terrified would be lost due to following me on these four flights and two different airlines--was one of the first to emerge at baggage claim. And the best: Eva was waiting for me the moment I walked out of the terminal.
A moment to explain: I am here in Germany to write an honors thesis for my history degree at the Heinrich-Heine-Universitaet in Dusseldorf. But they won't let me move into my apartment until October 1st. I met Eva and her mother Gisla and daughter Ellen when they came to stay for three weeks at Mechuwana, the summer camp where I'm a lifeguard. They live about 40 minutes outside Dusseldorf and are such wonderful people, they are letting me stay with them for the ten days that I have nowhere else to be. Amazing, wonderful, fantastic, kind and nur einfach klasse people. They have been so wonderful to me, I cannot even say how much.
Today I went on a boat ride along the Rhein, seeing mostly a coal factory but also much of Dusseldorf. It is beautiful, a fantastic mix of the traditional and the modern with some of the most creative architecture I have ever seen. I'm looking forward to living there for the next four months more than I was looking forward to living in New York when I started college there. I've been here less than two days and already I am mostly thinking only in German: it's actually difficult to write this in English, because the German comes to mind first and I have to rearrange the sentences in order to have correct grammar. It's a funny and marvelous feeling. Tomorrow Eva and I are going back into Dusseldorf to set up a bank account and send some stuff to the DAAD so that I can start receiving my grant money so I can actually live here until late January. I am so looking forward to having adventures I can share and an experience even better than the last one I had in this country, four years ago.