The big grill out - meat and "smares"

This past weekend, we grilled out with our upstairs neighbors, Jonas and Tina (yes, her name is also Tina), and their friends from Frankfurt, Christoph and Simon. The guys had been mountain biking around the Odenwald all day. There really are some incredible places  to hike, bike, tour, climb around us.

Our backyard here at Beinengutstrasse 45 is unique in all of the neighborhood. We actually have trees, grass, and wildlife (including a recently dead bird and a hedgehog who lives in the yard clippings compost pile). German gartens (a.k.a. "yards" for my American friends) are immaculately kept, seldom are vast and natural, and sometimes substitute pebbles for grass. I could go on and on about this -- as could Tina -- and at a later time, I will devote an entire blog to the Yards of Bensheim (complete with a photographic tour).

So, all this to say that we have a really wonderful backyard, which is perfect for grilling out in the summer. Folks here call it "barbecue-ing," which causes me some cognitive dissonance. I think that they should eat some BBQ, and then they'll know the difference! :)

Here was the menu (in order and cooked in phases on the open-fire pit grill), all purchased from the Metzgerei (the meat man): wild boar sausage, bratwurst, lamb, pig stomach, and ribeye steaks. No side dishes except bread with herbed butter, a caprese salad, and a cold curried vegetable salad. It was so delicious!Of course, it was accompanied by a lot of beer, radler (beer mixed with lemonade), wine, and a mixed cocktail the boys drank with campari, vodka, and peach juice. Hm.

Jonas (l) and Christoph (r) pre-smares

For dessert, Tina suggested S'Mores. "Smears???" Christoph asked. "S'mores," I said. "S'mmm huh???" he continued. "SSSS'''''MMMMOOOORRREEESSSS" I slowly pronounced, "as in 'give me some more' chocolate with marshmallows." Seeing that familiar look of lost-in-translationness on his and the others faces, I said, "it is like mehr auf Deutsch. Mehr (my sidenote here -- this word is pronounced like "mare") ist more in English. S'more!" The lightbulb dawned over my German friends' heads. Christoph said, "Ahhhhhh, okay, s'mehrs!" 

So...here is a photo of our first ever German smare. Eventually, the cookie proved to be too thick. We couldn't find graham crackers at the local Edeka. As a substitute, the group opted to put the chocolate piece inside of the marshmallow, and to roast it that way. It was a great idea! "German engineering," Jonas reminded me.

A great evening with some great new friends. Lucky us. Enjoy!

Jakob Backerei

We are really lucky to have the Jakob Backerei right next door to our house on Beinengutstrasse. In the mornings, the smell of bread wafts through our open window. The smell of car exhaust comes along too as people throughout the neighborhood come to the Jakob Backerei  for their daily fix.The ladies at the backerei see me often, and they have learned that I am not a "native speaker" :). What I love about them is how friendly they are, an how we have begun to enjoy a little connection.

This morning, I prepped coffee in the french press, and then slipped off next door while the beans did their magic. Hair wet, wallet in hand, sandals on (finally warm enough), walking past bikes, a motorcycle, and people with the familiar bread bags in hand, I arrived in a few short steps to the Jakob. Speaking of familiar bread bags, I love how they "tuck" the bag around the bread or sweet or sandwich. No one else does that quite like the Germans. Nice touch.

A younger baker woman was there this morning. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail, and the loose strands fell around her face (she's in the back on the photo). My guess is that she'd been there since early morning. On her exposed arms, she boasted a slew of tattoos. My baker has tattoos! Now we're talking! I started to place my order, and couldn't find my German words, so opted for a smile and "ich spreche nur ein bisschen Deutsch" in an apologetic tone. She smiled big and said, "I speak some English!"

As soon as we began our transaction, other baker ladies gathered round. Other customers would have to wait. The one with the short red hair whom I see all the time joined her colleague trying her own English and smiling as we all participated in the buying/selling bread project. I said in German that I think she might remember me? And she said in German, "yes, the one who likes ham sandwiches!" Big laugh for all of us.

Another baker lady joined in the fun (in the photo, she's the one in the glasses). While she unloaded a haul of baked goods onto the shelves, she told us in German about traveling to Canada where she learned how to speak some English. She said that she spoke a lot there, but then returned to Germany and couldn't remember a stitch of what she learned. All of the backerei-frauen giggled. I did too! I said in German to the ladies that I will come to the Jakob Backerei to practice my German, and they can practice their English with me. "Ja!" "Ja!" "Ja! Das ist gut!" they said all around.

The tattooed baker finished my transaction - bread (with "sunflower seeds!" the red-headed baker lady piped up proudly in English, looking up from the counter to smile at me, to which I replied smilingly, "genau! sehr gut!"), some sweet something for my breakfast, and a small sandwich thing with spinach in the middle, which I'll eat on my way into town.

Bread, totaled: 4,53 euro
Hanging out with the bakery ladies: priceless

Berlin

A portion of the Berlin Wall near Bernauer Strasse

We have returned from four days in Berlin, where Tina had lived from September 2012 until she arrived in Bensheim in February 2013. During our winter visit, when Gavin, Mom, and I visited with the Bovermanns in the Czech Republic, Tina and I had come to Berlin for two days. I loved it then...and loved it again this time around.

Berlin, Paris, New York City...somehow these are all sympatico. Busy. Full. A feast for the eyes, the skin, the belly. Better walked than ridden through. Smelly. Human. Alive with diversity in all its forms - languages, food, posters, neighborhoods.You don't close your eyes for a minute, or you'll miss something. Heaven for photographers and tourists. Layers of history and people. Complicated twists and turns. Perfectly large yet navigable under and above ground train systems. Places to which you can return over and over and experience them for the first time.

Bernauer Strass

Neither Paris nor New York have captured my attention like Berlin. I'm fascinated by the Berlin Wall, which fell as I was reaching the end of my senior year at the College of Charleston, but whose story was so far from my understanding as an American 20-something. One street Bernauer Strasse is of particular interest. Seen left in this photo, it was a place where the street itself was Western occupied and the apartment buildings were Eastern occupied. You jump from your window...and you are free. Many did before the Stasi eventually caught on and bricked up the apartment windows. Inches from one another, families and friends were separated by a 12' tall concrete wall. So common and base. A wall. And though you could climb over with the help of a ladder, no one did...because a "death strip" awaited you on the other side. And very few...if any?...made it through. 

I drank beer at every turn. When in Berlin, do as the Berliners do. It's a city where people walk around with open beer bottles in hand, sipping as they go. Other places in Germany, of course, love their beer, but this (even Tina said) was highly unique. Had my first dunkel heffeweizen. Didn't even know they made dark wheat beer. It was great! Drank plenty of pils, local and not so far off brewed. Between the beer and the pommes, the Turkish kebabs, pastries, and wurst, I'd be big as a house if I lived in Berlin.

A squatted community on Köpenicker Straße

The city is full also of little communities that are "squatted," where people committed to difference, anarchy, self-governance, shared living come together and make a village out of boxes, recycled goods, and come what may. When I return to Berlin someday, these are the communities where I'd like to spend more time. Tina said that they put on plays and concerts for the neighborhoods, and many are known for being welcoming. A place of refuge for any and all people...no matter who you are. It's not idyllic by any measure. Rats, smelly trash, and general disarray are part of the squatters homes. However, also part are art, play, creativity, critical thinking, freedom at all costs, and openness. So....next time I've had a deeper look.

If you'd like to see the album from Berlin, have a look here. Thanks for reading!

3,50 for a grocery cart??????

One of the things that I expected to be similar in Germany as it is at home in Atlanta is grocery shopping. I mean, grocery stores are grocery stores are grocery stores, right? Carts are carts are carts.

On Day One of my sojourn in Bensheim, I decided to dive head first into my new life by doing something that felt most like home, where I could go at my own pace, and where I'd feel less conspicuous than say asking questions of the strawberry lady, the meat lady, or any local Bensheimer. I'd go shopping! Within two blocks of our home on Beinengutstrasse, I arrived at the Edeka.

As usual, it was raining. Tina told me to carry my backpack and some additional cloth bags, because they don't give out grocery bags here. Hey, that's the same as at home! No worries, I thought. Buy only what is needed, and remember that Edeka has no little hand baskets, she continued. Once I began shopping, I soon realized that I needed more than my hands could carry. Between bananas, milk, cheese, peppers, and asparagus, I really need a grocery cart. Enter "der Einkauswagen."

The Einkaufaswagen is familiar to us all probably (see left). What is unfamiliar to me is having to PAY FOR an Einkaufswagen. I must have already been at the Edeka for 30 minutes, but set aside my food gatherings and went outside to quickly grab a cart. There on the handle I saw pictures of a 2 euro coin, a 1 euro coin, and 50 cents. What??????? You have to pay 3,50 for an Einkaufswagen. No wonder these people only bring backpacks to the store! Who can afford this place Edeka! I rambled along in my mind. Crazy Germans! Who in the hell decided this was a good policy??? I continued my silent exasperation.

I came to terms with the cost, and vowed to NEVER get a grocery cart in Germany again. Going back into Edeka, I purchased some chips in order to have change enough for the Einkaufswagen. The cashier didn't understand me when I asked, "wie viele kostet das cart???" He looked at me in a way that is now becoming familiar to me when I speak to people in Bensheim: the turn of the head, the squint of the eyes, the glaring question mark and confusion between us. Well damn. And off to spend 3,50 on my cart I went.

Fortunately, a very lovely older gentleman arrived to the cart house as I stepped up to pay. And fortunately, I had the courage to say, "wie viele kostet das?" He smiled and chuckled along, "ein euro." Ein euro? I asked for clarification. Nicht drei euro funfzig? The man politely showed me how to place the coin in the slot, pull on the handle, and release the cart free.

After two hours, I was finished shopping for about 20 things. It took me forever. Not only because of the 3,50 mistake I obsessed over, but because it took me a long time to understand the difference between sahne and sauresahne; between mittelsarf and sarf; between BIO and regular milk. By the way, why is milk not refrigerated here? Anyhow, that also stumped me and kept me staring at the boxes of milk for 10 minutes or so.

I proudly walked out of the Edeka with all of the other German shoppers, and put my cart into its house again. One euro isn't so bad for a grocery cart, especially when you need it.

Later that night I recounted my story to Tina. She asked if I got my euro back. What? You get it back? I couldn't believe it. It was for FREE!!!! Just like in the States. You actually get the coin back when you set it back into its place. We laughed a lot, and she committed herself to re-telling "the take of the 3,50 Einkaufswagen" to her colleagues at work on a day when they all needed a lift.

In the Fields

Painting by Harald Boehm, an artist born in 1965 in Bensheim

On Saturday, the cold and rain halted long enough for us to take a long bike ride (and rollerblade) through the villages -- Lorsch, Heppenheim, Bilbis, etc. - and fields of Bensheim. We knew that Sunday would follow with unending rain, so the sun that poured onto our shoulders was a welcome relief. 

Tina flew along on her rollerblades, happy with the sun and the wind. I followed along but stopped often to appreciate streams, horse farms, stray cats, a birds flying overhead, graveyards, and the fields of grain. We couldn't decide if the grain was rye or barley, but it seemed soft enough to hold us for a nap. And the rapeseed (from which canola oil is derived) bloomed all around with yellow flowers.

On one of our stops, Tina said that when she was a girl growing up in Moers, she'd often grab her rollerblades or bike and disappear for hours in the fields around her town. I can imagine now how comforting that must have been and how easy it was to get happily lost so close to home.

Nature heals. No matter where I am living - Charleston, Tennessee, Columbia, Atlanta, or Bensheim - being outside makes me feel peaceful and alive.

Simple Beginnings

Friends and family are swimming in Atlanta - literally. They wear shorts and t-shirts, picnic at Piedmont Park, and have pizza parties outside under the trees to celebrate the end of the school year.

Here in Bensheim, however, it's 50 degrees and raining (again). Tina and I hope to climb the Kirchberg this evening, and I expect we will press on regardless of the weather. A true-ism about Germans -- weather? what weather? -- come rain, come shine, come blizzard, come high winds and storms...we walk! It's actually quite nice.

When you are in relationship with a German person for several years, have traveled to her home country a few times, immersed yourself in a German family life, and have learned the language with devotion, you might be tempted to think that you have a  pretty good grasp on German culture. Enter Bensheim. Wow. Ich bin ein Kind hier! So as a child, I have broken down my initial observations in simple form: the important B's.

BIKES -- We are not in Amsterdam, but to a car-obsessed American we might as well be. Why drive when you can bike? And you must have gear: a seriously fortified bike lock, a second lock contraption on the wheel, a basket or rack for whatever you tote, a bell, and for various necessities such as a wet seat (see above), you have bags. That brings me to...

BAGS -- Plastic bags, canvas bags, camping bags, backpacks, school bags, hand bags, lunch bags, bread bags, bags for your shoes, bags for your fruit and vegetables, bags for your bags. Need I say more?

BREAD -- The French have nothing on the Germans in this category. German bread is dense and has gravitas. It's fresh, natural, and prolifically available.

BABIES & BUGGIES -- In 2012, Germany had the second lowest birth rate in Europe. So when babies are born here, it's a BIG deal. Amongst other things, what follows are generous family leave policies, a preponderance of wooden handmade toys and organic baby food, and the opportunity to travel in style in a top of the line baby buggy.

BANKS -- Everything is online here, but that doesn't mean one can just get an account. In common German fashion, one must show this and that document, stand in this and that line, and pace through this and that step in order to be verifiable. 

As I learn, Germans are highly procedural but not legalistic. And once it's done, it's simple and fantastic. It's true for the immigration system, for education, for registering as a citizen, for daily life. The United States seems quite the opposite: highly legalistic (you are in, you are out, this is okay, that is not okay, do this, don't do that, be this, don't be that, etc.) but not highly procedural.

Today I met Sophia, who is from Finland. Her husband is Egyptian. They have two children, and have lived in Germany for 13 years. Tomorrow morning I will go to Sophia's German class at the Casalenguas to see if it's a good fit for me.

Outside of the Sprachschule building, I asked her why they chose to live here. She said that her father is German, and she wanted to be close to him in Bensheim. Will she ever go back to Finland? I asked. "No," she said. "My work is here. My children and husband are here. Their school is here. Our home is here. Your life is where your family is."

I am thankful to be more fully in my life now. So glad we are together, and eagerly look forward to Gavin's arrival soon.

Arrived: Union in Europe

Gavin and Tina in Czech Republic, 2012

 

 

...and so begins the adventure of life in Bensheim, Germany.

When my German partner, Tina, couldn't secure an H1B visa (not for lack of opportunity but for lack of reason and fair-mindedness on the part of the U.S. Immigration system), we made the decision to move to her home country.  Since 2009, Tina, our young son Gavin, and I have lived rootlessness and the deep uncertainty that accompanies it. Building a family is beautiful and delicate business, which requires constancy and time. Saying goodbye incessantly doesn't help.  And so as other families across the United States who are unable to marry as a same sex couple, we have for now chosen union in Europe over disunion in the U.S.

Bensheim is a town of 40,000 people, located a short drive from cities such as Frankfurt, Mannheim, Darmstadt, Lorsch, Worms, and Heidelberg. It sits along the Western edge of a pastoral area called the Odenwald, which is a wine-rich region of castles, rolling hills, and tiny villages strung together along the Bergstrasse (mountain road). As I've read, our city dates back as far as the mid 700s AD. I am from South Carolina, and have lived in the deep South of the U.S. all my life. The age of Bensheim is difficult to comprehend.

I'm an American in Bensheim. Over the next eight months, I'll let you know how it goes. I'm already two days into the journey and have lots of share. Bis bald!