Written on 27 June 2011, while on a train from Koblenz to Bremen

One of the toughest aspects of the exchange program that I always knew was coming but had never prepared myself for was the goodbye part. I still have another two weeks in Germany to get my goodbyes to many in, but as is the case witn many already, I’ve already had the, um, pleasure of saying a goodbye. It’s awfully tricky. I’ve become rather close with many of my friends here, and have, unfortunately, had to say “auf wiedersehen” to several already, to those who are headed off to other corners of the world, either as vacation or return trips home. Three months ago, my AFS contact told me not to think about the return flight. I understand even more now than I did then. I wasn’t told that it would be this hard to leave a country which only earlier in this year of my life began to call home. One observation about the Germans is that, as a rule, they are slow to open up, but when they do open up, they become genuine friends. I don’t know if I ever really understood this until about October, and even then, I only understood the first part. The second part became slowly and progressively clearer with each passing month, and in the last few weeks, it became easy to see.

So, as I prepare to leave home to go home, I would like to extend a huge thanks to all of the people I met here in Germany who became a part of my life, and I hope that lifelong connections continue to become stronger.

I can’t just limit that to Germans, though. Everyone I met through AFS from all over the world has made my exchange year absolutely unforgettable.

And I can’t write such a post and just leave out my family. They have been a genuine family for me, and I never imagined that I would feel so at home in Germany.

So, as I wrap it up, I will begin packing, so that my return to San Diego is at least well-equipped.

This year has been one of the best of my life, and one I’ll never forget. No single word can sum it up, but then again, that’s what I have this blog for, and what my friends gave me this for:

With that, I will wrap this up with the words of my host father, written on the flag:

Bis bald–See you soon

Belgium has been beckoning me for quite some time now. So close, and yet so expensive to buy a ticket to Brussels. Instead, we decided that we would use the extended weekend to our advantage, “we” being myself, my host parents, Rakel (Iceland, also in Salzwedel during Midstay), and a friend of my host parents.

Sunday the 11th was our departure date. Around 6 in the morning we packed ourselves into the car and began the drive up. By around 9, we were already in another country, but not yet Belgium.

Maastricht gave me another look into the lives of the Dutch (however brief), and some delicious Blutwurst (black pudding. Not for everyone). Before long, it was off to our next stop on the whirlwind tour: Brussels.

From the first few seconds in Brussels, we had a battle with our GPS machine and any signs we could find in order to make heads or tails of anything in the city of Brussels, until we arrived at a new destination:

The Atomium reminds me of the Berliner Fernsehturm multiplied and bent out of shape. Shame that the Atomium came first (Expo 58). The comparison could be made the other way around, I guess…

Unfortunately, we didn’t have too much time to see Brussels. It was time to move along to one of Europe’s (and the world’s) busiest ports:

Antwerp is home to many good restaurants, delicious beers, and strange people.

Let’s forget about food for a second and look at the last one there: strange people. Cue the sarcasm font:

We, as a family, decided that every Belgian is strange. We didn’t become well-acquainted with a single Belgian, but we know…the Belgians are strange. This much is clear. Not much more to be said about that…

Other than that, we tried absorbing Belgian culture. We couldn’t think of a better way to do that than with Belgian beer.

And that’s how the evening in Belgium went. Wandering around the city until late at night, taking in the sights, and stopping at an Italian restaurant for a pizza at some unholy hour of the night.

The next morning, we continued to a city which I can only describe as a set of buildings fit for a medieval romance film with canals in between.

Bruges/Brugge

It’s just as touristy as Prague (at least in the city center around the cathedral), minus the grit. Everything there was very…clean. But then again, that could have just been the rain.

Despite this, it has a certain charm that stays once you leave the central part of the city and start wandering around a little. Old buildings and cobblestone streets are the norm. It’s like a fairytale or something along those lines. And of course, I had to make sure to sample the local brew.

Since this is a whirlwind tour, we didn’t have much time there. On that same afternoon, we packed up for Ghent.

Ghent has more of a big-city feel than Bruges, and a cleaner feel than Antwerp. I can’t really pass judgement here, either, since we were only really there for lunch…

That afternoon, we high-tailed it through the Belgian and German countrysides (in that order) back to Bendorf. Ochje…K.O. Time to sleep! So we slept. I remember sleeping well…

There’s one week in between this all that I will skip for now, but come back to shortly.

I will move forward to the 26th. Armed with nine months of speaking and listening experience, I hopped on a northbound train to Bremen, on a particularly warm day on which the air conditioning decided not to work in the train. It would have been much more bearable if it hadn’t been for a fifty minute delay between Münster and Osnabrück. Luckily for me, I was able to find my way to friends of the host family in a timely fashion once I arrived in Bremen.

So, Sunday was the ride up. Sweaty. But I enjoy train rides, so that was plenty tolerable. What really took the cake was sitting in a poorly-ventilated room with many other (I am assuming we were all somewhat sweaty) exam takers. And of course I realized that I did something wrong halfway through the exam. Whoops. No erasers on pens. And no new worksheets. Streng verboten!

And that was day one. Day two was simpler: the spoken exam. I successfully managed to make a point or two and hold a conversation with another exam taker from the Canary Islands. That must have all gone fairly well, since I passed the examination. Alright, so I officially have a certificate which says that I can speak German at an advanced level. Goethe-Zertifikat C1. I have my host mother and some friends to thank for pushing me to do that level.

Wednesday came around, and I packed up from Bremen and back to Bendorf. And this time I have yet another resident in the house: my host sister returned from her AFS experience in Texas the previous day, and this was our first encounter outside of the Internet.

And now, the grand finale of this entry:

So, picture this: four people (two Germans, a Russian, and an American) hopping from train to train to train to bus to get to a youth hostel across the river from Germany. That’s our trip to Strasbourg in a nutshell.

Outside the nutshell, we had more time to see the city itself this time around, and not just the buildings where the bureaucrats work like last time I was there. And I was able to try out my French a little. It was rather pathetic, but it worked well enough to buy a few things and ask for directions. I’m particularly proud of myself for remembering the words droite and le timbre (“right” and “postage stamp”).

Incidentally, this was my second Independence Day spent outside of the United States. I spent the last one, ironically enough, in London. This one was split between Strasbourg and anywhere on the train between Karlsruhe and Bendorf (more or less). But to make up for that, we came on the right night. The Strasbourg Cathedral was lit up, well, like the Fourth of July (not for the Fourth, but you get the point).

Complete with music and many, many blinking lights, it made for a spectacular show. I’ve seen Monet’s variations on the Rouen Cathedral, but I’m quite happy with the variations of these lights on the Strasbourg Cathedral.

And that’s how it went. From the trip in Belgium, to Bremen, to the last hurrah in Strasbourg. I’m back in Bendorf for a few days, and on Friday I leave from Frankfurt International Airport bound for Washington Dulles International Airport. It’s all rather unreal. I suppose that’s normal enough, but I’ll manage that.

With a nice and early 4 AM wake-up call, we hopped into the family car again, this time heading east. A nice trip through the geographical heart of Germany put us in Dresden at 10:30 AM that same day. Not too shabby. And there was something…different this time. Winter had been lifted from the city, and had been replaced by a very warm spring.

In winter there was no water in the fountain, and the trees were all pruned town and, well, ugly looking. The buildings looked nice, and there was a much more austere form of contrast. Ah well. The point is, it was warm. Add to that:

It’s not that easy to tell in this picture, but there are preparations for what is known as “Kirchentag” (“Church Day”) being made. Kirchentag is a gathering of anywhere between 100,000 and 200,000 visitors every year. This year’s Kirchentag, the first to take place in the former DDR. It attracts many groups, from various aid organizations like Amnesty International, .ausgestrahlt, to smaller groups promoting various causes. Also in attendance are the major political parties (the Christian Democrats, the Social Democrats, the Greens, the Liberals, and the Socialists), and of course…

…the Chancellor of Germany. It’s an odd mix of politics, religion, environmental and social causes. I personally spent a good deal of time talking to the people at the publicity counter for the German Parliament.

While in Dresden, I seized the opportunity to take a train southward along the Elbe and the Vltava Rivers to what some have called (perhaps just as blasphemous as calling Amsterdam “Venice of the North”) “Paris of the East.”

Ahh, Prague…

Before I continue, I’d like to note that the heat followed me to Prague. Nobody told me that the spring in Prague could be so warm (Prague Spring?).

There are several things to be said about Prague. First off, it’s not very hard to feel like a bit strange in Prague. As a tourist among many other tourists, one feels a little less conspicuous, but if you so much as take a look into a gift shop, most of which are about as wide as a broom closet and about 10-15 meters long, packed with t-shirts, kitschy mementos, and all sorts of other objects with the words “Prague/Praha” on them, you will be observed by at least one, shall we say, “watchman,” who I assume is there to protect against thieves, or give tourists a rushed feeling, therefore making hastier decisions with their money. Second, the mixture of Soviet-influenced architecture combined with the old Bohemian buildings makes for some interesting contrast in the city, more so than in, say, Magdeburg.

Third, the city is just beautiful.

Fourth, I have become infatuated with the Czech language. My experience with Czech is absolutely zero, but where’s the fun without adventure?

After a full day in Prague, I navigated my way back to the central station, and boarded the next train for Dresden. On the return trip, I got another look at Bohemia and Saxon Switzerland (not the other Switzerland):

We spent the rest of the weekend in Dresden, absorbing what was there to be seen, and visiting local attractions. When the weekend was over, we headed back in what turned out to be a traffic-filled journey, arriving back home at about 2:00 in the morning. Luckily, we had a few days to recover before we moved on to our next destination.

But that will be covered in yet another entry. Until then, tschau!

That’s basically been my internal monologue for the past month and a half.

~~~~~~~

Alright, I’m a slacker. It’s a problem. I know. Perhaps I just have too much to do. I’m not sure anymore. Everything is starting to blur at the edges, metaphorically speaking of course.

That being said, I don’t quite know where to start, since I’ve let this blog sit in decay for more than a month now. I suppose I’ll start with something I can remember very well: my birthday.

It started simple: a few gifts, a card, and a delicious homemade Schwarzälder Kirschtorte for breakfast. It was kept simple, as per request. No party, just a family thing. It doesn’t get much better than that.

But it did.

Welkom in Nederland!

Taking advantage of its relative proximity and the speed of crossing from one Schengen Area nation to the the next, we packed into the family car and beat pavement all the way to Amsterdam.

Amsterdam is arguably one of the most beautiful cities I have ever visited. It’s not as, ahem, clean as many cities in Germany, but it’s got a sort of quaint charm to it, and yet a sort of pulse of modern times. And don’t even get me started on how many tourists were there. I sometimes felt like there were more Americans and Canadians there than Dutch…

Something that became very clear to me in almost every restaurant, pub, streetcar, and chance encounter with the Dutch is that they are incredibly friendly. I found the Germans friendly enough (except perhaps in some parts of the north), but the Dutch take the cup. The French came across as nice enough as well (as long as you at least try to speak French), the Praguers were nice (at least the Česká pošta workers were), the Belgians were nice, but odd, and the Danes were, well, practically nonexistent. But that was on Christmas…

Now that I’ve filled your head with stereotypes…

We spent three days and two nights in the “Venice of the North” (blasphemy, I’m sure. Venice could just as easily be the Amsterdam of the South, I guess. I’ve never even been to Venice, unless Venice Beach in Los Angeles counts). We then continued northeast, through Hoorn, across the Afsluitdijk between the North Sea and the Ijsselmeer…

…and returned to Germany. Back to the farm in Landkreis Schleswig-Flensburg, to be precise, for the confirmation of my host mother’s nephew.

One thing I was absolutely astounded by was the marked difference in landscape. I had only ever been there once before, and there were 2 meters of snow on the ground in some spots at that time.

That being said, I enjoyed my time in the north, as last time, very much. It’s been a while since I’ve been to such a large family gathering.

Would you look at that, we’re suddenly in May. The confirmation was on 1 May, and from that weekend onward, things only got more hectic. With only one legitimately free weekend, I had a fully-booked program in May. I served as a guide to the “Hopees,” the prospective German exchange students. I wonder if I was like them before I left the USA…

Now, what I did during the weekends of the 20th and 27th requires a little bit of explanation…

Jugger.

I doubt that word says much of anything to anyone reading this. It didn’t say much of anything to me until about January. Think of it this way: combine rugby and sword-fighting, and you’ve got Jugger. Two teams of five (plus reserve players) on a field run at a “jug” (usually some Styrofoam object, for lack of a better word. Our team used either an American football or a water bottle attached to a piece of isolation with duct tape). Four from each team have “Pompfen” (weapons. I have no idea how Pompfen would translate). These weapons are made of a fiberglass shaft covered with isolating material, and held together with duct tape (it doesn’t hurt to get hit, mercifully). One player has no weapons, and is the “Läufer” (runner). Only the Läufer can take the jug. The objective is to put the jug into the goal on the other side of the field from where one starts. When a player is tagged with a weapon, they must go down for five “stones” (~1.5 seconds =1 stone). Each game is 200 stones, two halftimes of 100 stones.

For those who want more details, the Wikipedia article does a pretty good job of explaining it:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jugger

Now, this sport has a somewhat small, but loyal, following in Germany. I have joined a team which plays the sport in the so-called “Jugger-Liga” (Jugger League). On 21 May, we participated in a tournament in Villingen-Schwenningen (near Freiburg).

You know what they say about the journey being the important part? Well, our journey was less than desirable, if that was the case. A midnight train from Koblenz Central Station a city about forty-five minutes south on the Rhine, Bingen, was the beginning. Not so bad, except that the next connection southward was in six hours. Oh boy…

Luckily for us, we found a nice, empty (and reasonably comfortable) church in which to spend the night. Lucky us! I and a friend of mine stayed up through the night to make sure the other three, asleep in the church (and with all of our equipment) were not locked in by the nightwatchman. At some point, I gave up, and slept for about half an hour on one of the pews. Needless to say, by the time we arrived in Villingen-Schwenningen, we were all kaputt. But the show must go on! Shortly thereafter, we were on the field, charging at others with weapons of Styrofoam and duct tape! How delightfully barbaric!

That said, by the time the day was over, we had muscle ache in places we never knew muscles could be trained, new acquaintances in the world of the Jugger-Liga, tenth place (from twelve) and a taste of what was to come in the coming weekend in Homburg an der Saar, which was not nearly as stressful, being closer, and lacking the need to sleep in a church. We finished dead last this time, but we didn’t lose a single game to zero! Progress!

And then it goes further east! But that will be covered in a separate entry!

The week was full of activity, to say the very least. There’s only so much time to see things here, and it’s especially irritating when many places are closed before ten, but the sun won’t go down until about 21:00.

The only problem with this whole week is that I have no idea where to start. The majority of it was spent familiarizing myself with one of my absolute favorite cities, eating pretzels, spätzle, Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte. In short, it was me being a lazy good-for-nothing. But I’m break, at loose ends, and I’m willing to take the opportunity to feel a little more at ease.

Speaking of at ease, I ought to mention that the weather was unbelievably warm. Something felt very summer-y there, and it wasn’t just the omnipresent mineral baths in the neighborhood of Bad Cannstatt. And of course, I didn’t bring sandals…

Definitely not sandals.

That being said, they were useful for all the walking that took place, and not just in Stuttgart:

Herzlich Willkommen in München! The capital of Bavaria, and the home of a tricky, tricky dialect, Munich is the home of four very important “B” aspects of Germany: Bier, Brezeln, Bratwurst, BMW. All three call Munich home. In the following picture, you see all four:

The BMW is not missing from this picture, rather it permeates this picture: this is what a lunch might look like at the museum cafe. If you want the BMW experience, here you go:

Okay, it’s not full. But my camera is not fully equipped to make sweeping panoramas.

After Munich, there was a bit of family business to be taken care of…

…an Easter visit, that is. Ab nach Abstatt, so they say!

A visit with cousins related through (I believe) my great-great grandmother was a perfect way to wrap up the week. A relaxing lunch of Maultaschen (think overstuffed ravioli) was just what the doctor ordered. And the night got better yet. I followed a tradition of young people everywhere in Germany and went to a loud discotheque to spend most of the night in the so-called nonstop party mode, while risking serious ear damage. Ahh, the perks of having relatives your own age.

But it’s not over yet: upon return to Stuttgart, I was let out at the Mercedes-Benz-Arena (I’m seeing a pattern with automobiles here), and arranged for this:

My previous football experiences have been in Koblenz’s Stadion Oberwerth. It’s not been terrible (aside from losing to 1. FC Kaiserslautern that one time), but here is where you get the full package: a view worthy of a television camera, a stadium packed full of spectators, and one of the most exciting games of the season, which ended in a 3:0 win for VfB Stuttgart. I haven’t ever felt such a rush at a sporting event as I did at Stuttgart v. Hamburg. I didn’t get my voice back until later the next day.

To top it all off, I met up with my host parents on Saturday night, and went to the first day of the Stuttgarter Frühlingsfest (spring festival):

It was a week packed with exciting activities which I don’t know if I could truly do justice to in written (typed?) format. Oh well.

It also goes with a tremendous danke schön to the German-speaking relatives who helped make it as fantastic as it was.

Richtig genial. Oberknaller! However you say it, I had a good time.

That aside, it was a nice change of pace in Winterfeld. As with my original placement in Bendorf, I had good luck with my family, and instead of being the only exchange student from Koblenz to Mayen, this time I had two others in Winterfeld, and a total of four in the school in Salzwedel (two others from midstay, one as a regular).  This meant one thing: there was rarely a dull moment.

I think it’s best to give a timeline, since I can’t easily hop from one topic to another, since so much happened.

Hamburg (revisited)

As a result of a math exam, we four exchange students had a free day. Naturally we wanted to do something, so we went to Hamburg. I have only ever seen Hamburg in detail by night, so this was a new experience for me. I remember regretting not having a warmer hat with me.

(This photo is stolen from Rakel)

Quedlinburg

I have heard many a glowing tale about Quedlinburg. It’s a city of about 28.000 residents and more than 1.000 years on the edge of the Harz National Park in Sachsen-Anhalt. The old part of the city is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, and to top it all off, this is another source of family, this time on my mother’s side.

On the note of family, I occupied a large portion of my time in Quedlinburg searching for possible links for family, running from church to church with a notebook in hand. My great-grandmother on my mother’s side, and many other family members whom I never met, were originally from this city, or at least from the area. I walked away with no definitive leads, other than a few phone numbers, a website, and a possible name. I can’t say it was a total loss. Plus, I didn’t need to go out of my way to see all of the necessary sights, since almost everything was between the St. Nikolai Kirche and the St. Servatius Kirche (the St. Nikolai Kirche is the one in the picture taken from the hill).

Dresden

Let’s put this right out there: Dresden is one of the most incredible cities I have ever seen. Especially considering everything that’s been done to keep it looking that way, or rather get it to look that way again.

Look again at these buildings: by the time the Second World War was over, most of them had been leveled to the ground. The Frauenkirche (bottom) still stood, but collapsed shortly thereafter as a result of fire damage to the structure. The Semperoper, the Zwinger, and most of the city had been bombed and burned out (the Fürstenzug (middle right) survived with little to no damage, and the Hofkirche (upper right) still stood, but was severely damaged).

Many of the cities in what would become the Deutsche Demokratische Republik (commonly referred to as East Germany) were rebuilt in two styles: Stalinist, which faded out after the mid 1950′s,  the so-called “plattenbau” style (prevalent everywhere, but made famous by the Eastern Bloc). Chemnitz, Magdeburg, Gera, and many other cities which had been heavily damaged were built up with large apartment buildings. Entirely new cities were erected in this style (look up “Eisenhüttenstadt”). Dresden can be called a very ambitious rebuilding project, but the city was not rebuilt in the style of the times; most of the old buildings were restored as they were, and many buildings in the city center were rebuilt, while still looking new, in the Baroque style. Perhaps the most ambitions rebuild was the Frauenkirche. For many years, the Frauenkirche lay in ruin as a memorial to the war. In the 1980′s, reconstruction was finally talked about seriously for the first time since the end of the war, and after the reunification of Germany, reconstruction began. Each remaining piece was cataloged, and (don’t ask me how it’s possible) they managed to figure out exactly where each piece went, and where there were no pieces left, new bricks were added. The result is a fabulous church, after 13 years of rebuilding completed in 2003.

Since I’m guessing whoever is reading this did not come to read Wikipedia, I’ll continue…

Dresden was a particularly nice city for me. It ranks up there on my favorite German cities list (with Stuttgart, Hamburg, and of course Bendorf). Call me preachy, but I felt very moved by the city. The “Florence of the Elbe” had been razed as a result of the horrors of war, and there I was, sixty-six years later, an American citizen, in what I think is one of the most wonderful cities I have ever seen. Definitely one of my most worthwhile excursions.

Magdeburg

(I should offer a disclaimer: none of the pictures from Magdeburg were taken by me. I have Rakel to thank for these ones.)

There best thing about our excursion to Magdeburg was the spontaneity. Free periods in school and a couple of exchange students with wanderlust are a dangerous combination, especially with the Sachsen-Anhalt ticket at only 29€ (relatively cheap, considering there were three of us).

Between all these travels and an early bus, I don’t recall being able to sleep in until one day before I left.

After two-and-a-half weeks, I went back to Bendorf. My time in Winterfeld was an exciting change of pace, and I’m glad I went. This blog entry goes with a special “danke schön” to Familie-Schneider, for housing me while I was in Winterfeld.

But it’s always nice to be back home.

Several months ago, I signed up to take part in a so-called Midstay Program. I chose a few programs from a list mailed to me by AFS Germany, and mailed the list off to the main office in Hamburg. Sometime in January, I discovered that I would be taking part in one of my top choices, the program with the theme “Autostadt” (automobile city) in Wolfsburg, the city that Volkswagen built (almost literally).

The VW-Werk is an omnipresent force in the city of Wolfsburg. And we spent days going to the factory and learning about the Volkswagen Group (composed of Volkswagen, Bugatti, Bentley, Lamborghini, Audi, Škoda, Scania, and Seat). As proof, the camp for the “Autostadt” pulled some 28 AFSers from 16 different countries from all corners of Germany. We were an interesting group, I ought to mention. We foreigners were a popular bunch with a group of students from Cuxhaven, and it’s interesting to share a room with a Finn, a Colombian, and a Hungarian. This already speaks to the entertainment factor of exchange programs as a whole, being able to talk to people from different countries in a second language. I guess that’s how I get my kicks. But I digress…

Volkswagen itself was founded in 1937, and the city of Wolfsburg came into existence shortly thereafter in order to accommodate the factory workers. It has since grown to a respectable size of 120 000 residents in the watershed of the Weser River.

The actual program began with a tour of the Volkswagen factory. A few quick facts: the factory’s area is greater than that of the country of Monaco. Granted, Monaco has only 1,98 square kilometers (or not even one square mile), but to think of it in terms of a factory for automobiles being larger than a country somehow makes me laugh. Second, all of the parts are made in Wolfsburg, and shipped out to many of Volkswagen’s factories throughout the world (Germany, Mexico, China, USA, and many more).

The factory itself was incredibly cool. We got a guided tour through what seemed like a large area, but after only about two hours, we were told that the total amount of the factory we had seen added up to about two per cent of the entire thing. The whole time we saw machinery that threatened anyone who drove underneath it, workers moving from place to place on bicycles, and automobiles in various phases of completion. Unfortunately, for fear of industrial espionage, we were not allowed to take photographs inside the factory. Shame, I would have liked one or two.

And then there’s part two of part one: the Autostadt.

Unfortunately, this does not even come close to giving a view of the Autostadt itself. I will describe what you see here: those two towers are each 23 stories tall, and essentially like giant parking garages for the cars as they wait for their buyers.

In the Autostadt, you can also see exhibitions from the different automobile companies of the Volkswagen Group:

Volkswagen

Lamborghini

(No, the photo is not strangely oriented. The car was on the wall as a part of some laser light show. Very loud.)

Bugatti

Audi

Bentley

(Look for the Bentley behind the glass. Center left)

Škoda

and Seat

Automobiles everywhere. Not nearly enough time, if you ask me.

Personal milestone: I’ve been to almost every major automobile manufacturer’s massive museum here in Germany. Porsche and Mercedes in the summer, and now Volkswagen. The last one remaining is BMW in München.

Before I continue, I wouldn’t be doing the celebrations justice without giving the background behind these “Fressfests” (Google Translate that one).

Karneval is considered by many to be a fifth season, starting at 11:11 on 11 November. Only Advent takes more precedence, overshadowing any festivities related to Karneval for the month of December. Momentum builds up until February or March, when it all comes to fruition. This combination of traditions tied to eating oneself sick before the fasting time of Lent and poking fun at political powers (namely the French and the Prussians, in the case of the Rheinlanders, although this has since mellowed out, with Prussia defunct and France no longer occupying the Rheinland. Now the political targets are Stuttgart 21, nuclear power, and former Defense Minister Karl Theodor zu Gutenberg, along with the ubiquitous local issues) has formed into something which has become a focus point of the cultural identity of Germans from Mainz to Düsseldorf and beyond (not including the Alemannic Karneval, celebrated in Baden-Württemberg, Bayern, and parts of Austria and France).

Now then…

Upon our arrival in Köln (and slightly before, as we were packed like sardines on the train), it became incredibly obvious that Karneval is a big deal there:

It's sometimes near impossible to negotiate through the intoxicated masses. Learn to swim, boy.

Before I go on, let me mention that the weather was, while incredibly nice and perfect for the event, very windy. And I didn’t have a single windproof article of clothing on, but that didn’t dampen my spirits. We forged ahead to get a spot near the parade route, but judging by the mass of people, one would think that seeing the parade would be next to impossible. I was even told by friends that it would be a long shot to see the parade. That is why we had connections: a fellow exchange student (from Brazil, another Karneval hub) successfully staked out a spot directly on the parade route:

Floats throwing candy (most do that), bands (the second picture down on the right side is of Britain’s Royal Navy), and a Volkswagen Beetle police cruiser…enticed? If not, then eat some of the delicious food available all around the city. I found that the best combination was a nice piping hot basket of French fries and a nicely chilled Kölsch beer.

Being directly along the parade route was exciting, to say the least. I have no idea how long I stood there (a few hours at least), and when we finally decided to pack it in and head home, the parade had only just come to an end (we went back to the train station around 6:00 in the evening). I have heard that the different bands, floats, and dignitaries form a chain longer than 6.5 kilometers.

To make a long story short, I went to Kölner Karneval, I had a great time, and I survived.

I admit, I got a little bit too caught up in the dancing to fulfill the personal crusade of photo documentation, but I got a little bit of it done:

I’m pretty sure this is, more or less, all of the students in the school. This photo was taken directly after a message came over the intercom, directing the students to stand up, head out of the classrooms, and dance through the hallways in a school-wide polonaise, as dictated by tradition (exactly whose, I’m not sure).  The headmaster officially allowed everyone free shortly thereafter.

Along with several friends (and, by the looks of the crowds, everybody in the school and their brother), we made our way by foot up a hill that never seemed to end to the nearby town of Weitersburg. Crowds of people kept on celebrating what has evolved as a symbol of the identity of the Rheinland gathered at this intersection in particular to watch parade and pass the time with friends, food, and drinks.

They manage to work in a little political commentary and fun-poking as well, with each of the “cats in the bag” carrying a sign on their back with a political “hot button” on their backs (Stuttgart 21, nuclear power, etc.). It was a lovely respite from the many campaign signs filling the streetlights this time of year.

Bratwurst, beer, and sweets thrown from the floats are the food and drink of choice, the party lasts well into the evening, and continues on for days.

I have to say that I found the celebration fantastic. And with Rosenmontag still around the corner, there will be more to be told.

I’m not sure what it was that spurred it. Perhaps it was the return to a nippy -5° C, or maybe there’s just something about bus rides (or train rides) that jars such thoughts. Whatever it is, after I got off the bus this morning and started heading up the hill to school, it hit me: German no longer seems foreign to me. I find a “foreign” language more or less as “normal” as my mother tongue. I still do not understand every last word I read or hear, but somewhere along the way I reached a point where German is no longer “foreign” to me. I process it in terms of German instead of German into English.

I suppose such a realization is a good thing, considering that I have recently passed the halfway mark of my ten months here. I’m still trying to wrap my head around that concept, since it seems like just yesterday that I was gearing up for the remaining six, seven, eight, nine, and ten months. It’s an unsual phenomenon, and one I don’t really know how to explain. I suppose it’s more or less the normal passage of time, with a slightly augmented realization of the sensation.

Sometimes I feel like I should be counting down, but I refuse to. Counting down seems to give a rushed feeling, or an unnecessary sense of urgency. Life will move along at its own pace. There is no need to change that. Instead, I’ll enjoy it as it comes. And I’m glad that the last five months were in Germany, and that the next five months will be in Germany.