Understanding Mutually Unintelligible Conversation

At the time of this writing, I had just left the Czech Republic:

We are on a train in Slovakia, having just left Brno, a university town of some 300,000 people, and the seat of many cool historical sites and swanky European shops. I very much liked Brno- it was not a touristy city like Prague. It was quite because the students were off on holiday, but it definitely felt like less of a tourist façade over a city of have and have-nots, which, to some extent, was the feeling emanating from Prague. You could tell people live in Brno, or picture living there yourself. I’m sure it appeals to me in part because it is what you’d think of as a very western city. It’s clean, the trams work, the empty student dorms we stayed in were exactly the kind of thing you might expect to see in the US. In that sense it was quite comfortable for us. 

Insofar as that familiarity goes, the Czech Republic, as I’ve seen two cities and five days, does not seem like the image I had of “Eastern” Europe. The Stalin statues have been pulled down, and the soviet-era housing complexes, if they ever existed, have been replaced, and in large part, you could drop the “Eastern” part and call this just “Europe.”

Until you open your mouth, that is. While the people in Prague speak English, in Brno, our collective English, French, and Spanish were… less useful. We did our best, with “please” and “thank you’ in Czech, and a lot of pointing and smiling, The wait staff were the only people with whom we really had to interact, and they would take one of two approaches. Understanding that I do think tourists have an obligation to try to lea the local language, it was still helpful when waiters would utilize their stash of English tourist phrase to collect our orders. However, interestingly enough, the most pleasant and functional waiter-foreigner interaction we had was in a pretty little patio coffee shop in an airy courtyard in Brno where the waiter addressed us with a smile and the usual welcome greeting in Czech and seemed somewhat perplexed that we only smiled and inquired “English?” He smiled in turn and shook his head with a shrug. Still smiling, we shrugged as if to agree that it was no matter, really, that we couldn’t talk. So we asked very politely in English for two lattes, pointing to the appropriate item on the menu and holding up two fingers. He politely replied in Czech that it’d be right out. That is how the interaction continued to proceed. A few gestures carry the meaning, and everyone knows the progression of taking an order. Really, you don’t need the words to understand when someone is being polite and friendly. Everyone there knew exactly what was being said, and I think we all got a chuckle out of being able to understand the meaning behind our completely mutually unintelligible words. It was quite fun, really. 

But now we’re off to Slovakia, to Zilina, where we will stay with a couple we found on CouchSurfing, that same travel networking site we used to meet the student for coffee in Prague. Hopefully they’ll teach us “I don’t speak Slovak” in Slovak. In the mean time, I shall continue to enjoy these long, slow train rides. There is merit to being able to let your mind wander whilst the Slovakian countryside slips by. One might say we’re Czecking out Slovakia. On that fine note, Laura out.

PS:

Let me make an addendum to that last entry. One thing that you come to appreciate on the (long- very long) train ride between Brno and Zilina is that this seems to be a fairly contrasting place. The landscape is beautiful. Rolling hills, solitary lakes, picturesque hamlets nestled into verdant valleys. And then you'll see an ugly-as-f*** train station with lush forests running up the hillside behind it, or a shack with peeling plaster walls and a corrugated steel roof overlooking an idyllic rose garden and the happiest looking vegetables this side of creation, villas over gleaming rivers with a stunning view of Soviet high-rises, a cement mill thwacked down in the middle of a pristine field. It's odd.

Czech this out!

Although posted several weeks late, below is my note from Prague, hopefully all better than my opening pun.

Do you know upon what American youth has become dependant? Cell phones. Cell phones have taken away our confidence in our own ability to make and keep plans in advance (as opposed to “I’ll call you when I get there”). That in mind, I am happy to announce that Kelly and I, coming from Berlin by train, were able to meet up with Kristina, flying in from Brussels, in a train station in Prague that none of us had ever seen before at the appropriate, pre-arranged time. We’re just that good. After that, we tramed, metroed, and walked our way to the youth hostel and set up camp complete with newly purchased groceries.  

The first evening we explored some of Old Town, took lots of pictures, and then returned to the hostel and got to know some of our fellow vacationers. The next two days involved a lot of walking around the sights, including the Charles Bridge, the Citadel, a variety of churches, and other touristy excursions. Fortunately, we’re all avid people watchers, which provided us ample opportunity to stake out shady benches and rest our abused feet.

We also had a fantastic opportunity to meet up with a Czech student, Katerina, via a travel website that matches travelers with locals. She showed us the coolest of the lesser-known sights and a beautiful café at a water mill on a creek off the fiver that cuts through Prague. She then joined us and two more that were part of her tour group (one an IT specialist who traveled from London to every place imaginable on weekends, and one an American PhD in Mechanical Engineering who was making a living playing poker in Prague.) for dinner at a quiet little Lebanese place with great atmosphere, fantastic food., and even better prices. After our day of touring, we ended the next evening at a pub apparently frequented mostly by locals where we overlooked the English language menu on the table, but still managed to order thanks to a very patient waiter. And let me tell you, half a liter of Czech Pilsner for 35 Koruna ($2) is pretty awesome. That evening ended up with us walking home in the warm(ish) summer rain through the twinkling lights of Old Town Prague back to our warm beds. We dubbed it a success.

We are now on a train to Brno, a city on the Czech countryside full of primarily university students. Then it’s off to Slovakia! I’ll keep you posted! Laura out.

"Berliner" actually does mean a person from Berlin

Oh, Jeez, have I gotten behind in my writing or what!? I have the next three mailings (and counting) written up in a notebook, waiting for a computer to type them into. One way or another, I’ll keep writing them, and just type them as I have a computer available. For now, let’s backtrack to Berlin, where we turned up after the winds went sour, thus foiling our sailing plans.

In Berlin, we stayed with a wonderful woman named Heide. Heide is Kelly’s former exchange student’s mother who generously housed us, showed us around, fed us, and generally just made it an excellent stay for our 3 days there. As, I can imagine, anyone who’s been will tell you, one of the most striking things about Berlin is the historical context. You can stand where JFK stood during his “Ich bin ein Berliner” speech; you can have your photo taken at Checkpoint Charlie, the main crossing into the American quarter of Berlin during the time of the wall; and you can talk to the residents, and they will tell you about how they blacked out their windows so their lights wouldn’t interfere with the pilots during the Berlin airlift, and how, even today in Germany, no one stands to the flag during the national anthem for fear of echoing the nationalism of Hitler’s era. What we read, bleary-eyed and absent-mindedly in our American history texts detailing events long-passed in unreachable places, is a day-to-day reality here that governs no small part of society and behavior. And yet in the midst of their own historical extravaganza, the Berliners, and in fact the folks from other regions with whom I had on opportunity to speak, seem to have a very devoted interest in American politics. Only days before I got there, Barak Obama had spoken in central Berlin to a mind-bendlingly large crowd numbering into the six figures. He, in particular, is something of a superhero over here. I was speaking with the eldest daughter in the household in Heiligenhafen with whom we stayed, a lovely 20-year-old mechanical engineering student with a good head for politics, in my completely unbiased estimation, and my impression from the conversation was that Obama represents policies that ensure a more peaceful international community. This, of course, is of interest to the Germans, who have been reticent in voicing a further commitment to a NATO under the influence of what some (very liberal individuals, certainly not of or relating to my political or social circles in any way whatsoever) might call a war-mongering regime in American leadership. Whereas involvement in NATO under the leadership of Obama may (in some cases, hypothetically, in the opinions of people unmentioned here) lead to fewer German men sent off to fight in a war of someone else’s making. It makes sense, and is an interesting and widespread effect of our elections that is not always perceived within our own borders.

Unfortunately, not all interest in American politics is as positive and hopeful as that. Many Germans, I’m sure, couldn’t give a rat’s hind parts about what happens on the other side of the Atlantic, and undoubtedly many object to America in general. But nonetheless, it blew my mind and broke my heart to see the charred remains of a destroyed American flag hung viciously in an apartment window overlooking a busy Berlin square. Sadly, I’m sure it won’t be the last time I see that, but it does go a long way to pointing out the flaws in some of our recent policies, and make me do what I can to correct these views of my country.  

But philosophical points aside, Berlin is a pretty rockin’ joint. We spend most days seeing the sights: the Brandenburg Gate, the Victory Column, and the like. We had coffee with our gracious host on Unter den Linden, the center street in Berlin. We watched sunset from the top of the Reichstag. We saw Checkpoint Charlie and the East Side Gallery, the new American Embassy, The old DDR TV tower, Humboldt University, and the Holocaust Memorial, and all manner of other wicked cool sights throughout Berlin. By night we explored a few different musicians playing at clubs (the highlight was Jenny Owen Youngs), and a great bar on the banks of the Spree where you could kick back and watch the barges float by from beach chairs on the lawn. All and all, Berlin was fantastic, and it was only the promise of the mystique of Prague that lured us away. But that’s another update.  

I also have a couple of photo albums up from the first half of Germany. The first link below, and ones that follow in later posts will take you to them. But be warned, things like risqué public service announcements about the spread of HIV and early afternoon wine tasting and the like are pictured as well, as it’s a part of life here. I disavow myself of any peripheral culture shock you may have as a result of my photos. That said, I shall endeavor to have new ones soon. I’ll send ‘em out ASAP.  

Ciao for now,  

Laura  

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2296804&l=62d4b&id=10223286

Groovin' on the Baltic

I figured with that kind of cliff hanger, I should get back sooner than later. And I may end up on a yacht bound for Denmark first thing tomorrow, so I may by incommunicado for a bit here. I am currently in Heiligenhafen, a small town on the northern coast of Germany, sort of in the centre, right near the border between what was East and West Germany.

After we went to Freiburg, Kelly and I came here via a 6 hour train ride from Freiburg to a pretty little town named Lübeck. Lübeck, I can tell you is also a convenient waystation to purchase a new bag, should one find that they have been just a little too hard on the luggage. On a related note, I am the proud owner of a very nice backpacking pack that now contains most all of my worldly possessions that aren't in Mom and Dad's basement or in a second bag stored in a friend's basement in Mainz. Fortunately I have a good idea of what I actually have with me and what is not with me, seeing as how I was afforded the opportunity to repack my entire bag, undergarments and all, in the Lübeck central train station. Don't worry, there are pictures. I'll send them out just as soon as I can get them off my camera.

But back to the point, we wandered in Lübeck for the better part of the afternoon and got into Heiligenhafen late in the evening where we were greeted by the family for which Kelly was an au pair for a year. And when I say greeted, I mean welcomed with open arms and the biggest smiles I've ever seen. The family picked us up from the train station and took us back to their home where we got settled in, were provided a lovely dessert (it was about 11:30pm, so too late for dinner), and serenaded. The 3 daughters are all beautiful singers. Apparently Kelly taught them to play guitar, and spending evenings sitting around sheets of music singing as a family are quite frequent. I now refer to Kelly as Fräulein Maria and regularly start humming themes from The Sound of Music.

The family also owns horses, so the entertainment the next day began with a good 3 hour ride. And we're not talking nose-to-butt trail rides here. The two girls and Kelly are all very experienced riders, so I was really put through my paces (pun fully intended). We were trotting and cantering through wheat fields and along windmill topped hillside for about an hour before we came to the water, where we managed to, hooting and hollering, pulling and thwacking, get all four horses in the water, get ourselves well soaked, and scare the bejeezus out of some sunbathing Swedish tourists. This was also the point where I learned a little something about English style saddles, with which I am completely unfamiliar. I learned that there is a lot less of them, in terms of volume, than there is a Western saddle. So when your horse, a spirited little devil named Felix (this is the part where I tumble from a large German named Felix. Apologies to my other, human, German friend named Felix for the series of bad jokes that will continue from me and Kelly as a result of this incident) decides to make a hard right out of the water and along the beach, there is nothing so convenient as a saddle horn stopping you from spending a little time airborne. I was just fine, no worries, but I did look something like a ball of snickerdoodle dough that had been rolled in cinnamon-sugar by the time I climbed out of the sand and back into the saddle. I will say though, for Jenny's sake, that I am getting much better at posting. I'm still a little bow-legged three days later, but all the better for it. And I can sit now, which is an improvement.

That same day, with sand still behind my ears, we took off for an afternoon sail in the family's yacht (which are significantly more affordable and more common up here). And Jenny, you wouldn't believe the jellyfish they have up here!! The children play with the little ones, and the lifeguards pile the poisonous ones up on the beach in a single quivering mass. (Again, I'll attach a picture ASAP). We were practically making Jello by pureeing the jellyfish whenever we turned on the motor. But that has been more or less the tone of my last few days here, some combination of biking to town, beach-bumming, chatting with the family (in their perfect English), sailing, riding, exchanging recipes (we've been creative- no baking soda, crisco, brown sugar, blenders, and yeast comes in compacted, individually wrapped cubes, whereas milk comes packaged like our juice and can be stored unrefridgerated for indefinite time periods), and generally hanging out.

So now, the family is getting ready for their annual sailing trip through the Baltic, and Kelly and I were going to go to Berlin via Hamburg. But the family generously invited us to accompany them for the first leg of the trip, and the youngest, Silja, has been making puppy eyes and pleading for us to come, so, depending on their first destination and therefore the winds, we may or may not be sailing to Denmark at 5am tomorrow morning, and then taking a train to Berlin instead. So when I say we are going wherever the wind takes us...

Welcome to Germany, but beware of the bathroom.

Did you know that the German countryside looks very much like the America countryside when viewed from the window of the high-speed commuter train between Freiburg and Hamburg? This is where I am now, which affords me the time to write. I don't have a computer, so this will get typed up when I have a chance, several days later, probably. Also note that this is the second post I've written, but the first I've published. The first written is on my computer in my suitcase in the basement of a friend's apartment. Useful, no? But I'll post it when I can. Pardon my tardiness. I'm sure my sparkling wit will make up for any delay. No? Well, I tried.

But back to the point, rows of corn pretty much look the same no matter on which side of the Atlantic they grow.

But be not deceived; there exist many a difference to confound the unsuspecting traveler. Even something as simple as the restroom becomes an experiment in cross-cultural comparison. For starters, you are looking for the WC (pronounced "vee-see" in Germany). Upon arriving at the WC, be prepared to deposit coins in the turn style, or with the attendant. And if you stand there pushing the coins around in your palm, assembling the correct combination of silly little coins, people might look at you as if you were just a bit simple. Subsequently to completing your business in the WC, you then discover that the flushing mechanism may be a button on the facilities themselves, it may be a button across the room, or it may be multiple buttons in whatever locations struck the fancy of the plumber. Oh, and there is next to no water in the toilet bowl. It turns out you don't actually need the lakes we have in American toilets. Another marvel of German engineering.
The German people, in my expert, refined, and professional opinion, have many similarities to my acquaintances State-side. Much like ourselves, they are a reserved people who prefer order, cleanliness, and efficiency. Queuing for services and recycling empty bottles are expected, and cat-calling women will mark you as a foreigner (or worse yet, a Turk). And yes, everyone speaks English. But consider this, we expect visitors to America to speak English, so should I not be expected to speak German? Well, I'm not expected, but you can be sure I'm making an effort. I still can't say "spreche." I practice when everyone's out of earshot, but in the mean time, Ich kann kaum Deutsch.

Not that I'm surprised, but all of the people I've met have been incredibly accommodating of my newfound illiteracy and general incomprehensibility. The majority of our evening excursions among Kelly's friends and our hosts have been conducted in English. It seems a small thing, until you consider that an entire table of people have switched into a language that is, to be gentle on our grammar, tricky. This is made all the more so after the first couple of bottles of wine disappear, I suspect. And they've sacrificed, each one, their comfort with the language to accommodate one tourist they have never before met, who, by all rights, should have learned German. And not once has anyone let on that they begrudge me this convenience. Without exception, I have found the people whom I have encountered to be exceptionally welcoming, accommodating, friendly, and kind. Score one for traveling with the (wonderfully bilingual, patient, and easygoing) tour guide with connections to all the cool Germans with extra beds.

So far we have accumulated several lists:
Things we've done:
-Attended a screening of short films produced by students in 48 hours with no budget
-Proceeded along the walking tour of Mainz
-Boated up and down the Rhine river, admiring the superb castles and coffee as we went
-Hiked up and around the ruins of a castle and the modern town of St. Goar
-Enjoyed a bottle of wine on the steps of Augustinaplatz, a public plaza (a legal activity in Germany, I might add), with what must have been half the student population of Freiburg
-Daytripped to lake Constance on the boarder between Germany and France, and accidentally explored the city of Konstanz there.
-Climbed the tower of Müenster, the cathedral in Freiburg, and then climbed the tower erected to mark an old watch tower on a hilltop overlooking Freiburg (Sooooo many stairs! You may call me the Stair Master Bate)
-Discovered the joys of Beigardtens- it is what it sounds like, a garden where you drink beer. Coincidentally this is also where I discovered that hedgehogs run wild in Europe. You can imagine my surprise.
-Daytripped to Colmar, France (Yeah, how cool is it to say I daytripped to France!?) to stroll through the canal-crossed section of the city called "Little Venice"

Actually, that's just a partial list. It goes on, but I've not got this all caught up yet. Call this a cliff hanger: you'll just have to come back later to hear about my tumble with a large German man named Felix (no, no relation to Mr. Tilmann).

But for now, I must turn over the computer. Ciao!