Happy All Saints Day...

Bavaria is a pretty Catholic place. That said, Religion is Europe is pretty different from Religion in America- My friends here won't believe me when I tell them about the Singles Nights and Basketball Teams and HALO sessions which American churches organize in a desperate attempt to convince the masses that Jesus is Hip, and so is our particular interpretation of What He Said. But although the European churches lack the youth culture and (Poland excepted) the political clout of America 's religious right, I would venture to say that religion is no less culturally pervasive- in Munich, at least. From the general greeting "Grüß Gott" (God's greetings- only really used in Bavaria and Austria) to the law that no building in downtown Munich may be higher than the Frauenkirche (Church of our Lady), the message is overwhelmingly: "It's okay that you're not Catholic. But WE ARE."

Me, I can live with that. I think it's nice that everything is closed on Sunday, and so people are therefore forced to actually spend time with each other (dare I even say their families?), and I benefit from the religious Feiertage, such as today when, as on Sunday, everything except restaurants are closed, and nobody goes to work. (Although I must say, I feel a little bad about taking advantage of a holiday that is so clearly meant for a religion which I am not... but I guess that sort of works into the whole business of being a Catholic state: Those who are Catholic enjoy their day off, those who aren't, feel guilty about it.) Seeing as when you register your address with the local authorities, you have to also register your Religion for tax purposes (a percentage of your earnings then goes to support your particular source of spiritual enlightenment), I suppose they could say that since this is a Catholic holiday, only people who are paying the Catholic Church Tax get the day off. They'd probably get a lot more converts that way.

So onto the story of This Particular Day, which inspired the post. All Saint's day. As an American (it's unavoidable, sometimes I just have to be one), I am a bit scandalized that even though by government mandate, the day after Halloween is always a holiday, this wonderful tradition still hasn't caught on. Yesterday, I did my American Duty and taught all my students Halloween vocabularly, and dedicated a part of each of my lessons to talking about Halloween. This was probably the first year in my life when I haven't had a costume, and it was a little depressing- on the way to a free concert at the Musikhochschule, I missed a train and therefore came late, so that I could go to a bakery and buy a Jack o' Lantern shaped baked good (I had to go to three before I found anything)- which turned out to be some sort of sugar covered Challah bread- not exactly American, but it made me feel a little more festive.

But I digress: Yesterday, in all of my lessons, when I asked my students if they ever did anything for Halloween the answer was uniformly "No, it's not really celebrated in this country," but then when I said something about Halloween parties, one of them let slip that on religious holidays such as All Saints day and Good Friday, there is a Tanzverbot- dancing is forbidden! Sure, nobody can stop you dancing in your own house, it's prohibited but in all public places. Clearly, my immediate reaction was "What is this, Footloose?" Upon further research I have discovered that most discos obtain "Special permits" to have dancing, anyway. Still, it begs the question: where is Kevin Bacon when you need him?

Anyway, I slept in until 10am, and it is a gorgeous day outside, so I am going to take advantage of my ill-gotten day off, rather than spending it in front of the computer. Auf wiedersehen.

Ja, ich weiss schon, dass ich nichts geschrieben habe, aber es bedeutet nicht, dass nichts passiert ist!

So. Just over two months after my last post, I return once again to blog-land to inform my probably dwindling public of events in my life. I do have a good reason for my absence, though: I have been writing personal e-mails. If you have not received one, send me one!!! Personal correspondence is much more interesting than blogging into nowhere.

So what have I been up to in the past 2 months, you ask? A lot of teaching English, a lot of learning German, as well as singing, Oktoberfesting, moving into my new apartment, fretting over the mundane, wasting time, discovering Munich... the list goes on. One of my favorite things to do is to get on the Tram and take it to some place I've never been, and try to reorient myself. It's so exciting when I finally make a new geographical connection- and I hope that the day never comes when I cease to be amazed by this city.

Teaching is going well. Right now, I am teaching only business English in various companies... which is not what I prefer... but it could be worse. Anyway, my students are for the most part good... there is only one "problem class"... and I continue to think of that as being my fault as a teacher... though I also have trouble understanding why these people are so slow on the uptake. Altogether, though, it is not a bad job. Much less stress than something like waitressing... although most waitressing jobs don't involve getting up at 6am. I'm working about about 28 hours a week (give or take), and I am hoping that I can continue with this pattern- it leaves time for me to sing and live and be something other than an Englischlehrerin. It's my opinion, anyway, that 14 different classes ought to be enough for anybody.

My apartment has its good and bad points. It's farther outside of town than I would prefer, and a lot of young couples with screaming children seem to live in my building (they bring said screaming children into the playground in the courtyard outside my window)... but my roommates (I have 3) are all friendly. I also really like my room, now that the walls are painted (light green), and it is all decorated. I made my own curtains out of a silk sari, which I think, in Jane Austen terms, makes me an "accomplished woman." Anyway, I am happy enough that I can foresee staying in this living situation for at least another year, if only from the fact that I am SICK and TIRED of moving.

So I think that is about it... Well, it really isn't... there are a lot of things I could say: For example, it snowed this past Sunday... and I went to a special night of Museums on Saturday evening... aber das reicht schon für Heute. By the way, I was not joking about the e-mails. If you write me one, I will write you back.

Erfolg!.... endlich

After almost 2 weeks of waiting, my computer's power cord finally arrived, and I can now get free wireless internet for the price of a cup of coffee. Actually probably more per hour than I was paying at the internet cafe, but in much more comfortable conditions. Therefore, I can finally update my readers (most of whom have probably presumed me dead, from lack of blogging) on my european adventures.

I'm working now at inlingua, a language institute, as an English teacher. That's going pretty well, and I'm hoping that I will be able to pay my bills with just that, and let the waitressing job go. (Though the food I got from it was uncommonly good.) Altogether, I'm still in the settling in process, but that is likely to go on for some time. German is always improving, thanks to chatty flatmates and New German Friends.

Bureaucratically, of course, it's a nightmare... enough said. German culture isn't really all that different from American in the sense that there is plenty of the same consumer frenzy, though the percentage of sensible people who live on an even keel seems to be much higher. A few funny things, though... no all night diners, and no thrift shops. Which is a pretty large blow to my wardrobe, as for the past 4 years, I have been cultivating the Salvation Army Chic look. On the other hand, you can buy good beer at the movie theater for 2.80 euros. It's a trade off, and I'm happy to do my thrift shopping when I go to Scotland.

Musically, life has been a bit of a bust, so far. Practicing has been alright, though I still don't have anywhere to do it, other than my cramped bedroom... but I haven't had much success finding a teacher. Though honestly, I have been too busy setting up my life to do a whole lot of searching. But man, do I want a voice lesson.

Other than that, life is full of running errands, going out dancing until 6am, sleeping in, (so far, I am only teaching evenings, though that is likely to change eventually) and lesson planning. Not a bad life, altogether. Here are some pictures of the apartment, where I will be moving in September. Not as much counterspace as I would like, but they make up for it by having an on-the-stove espresso maker.

Okay, okay, I'm not storming the Bastille, here.

The above has become my mantra for the past couple of days as I navigate the intricacies of living, getting a job, getting a bank account, and getting a cellphone, and dealing with various bureaucracies- all in German, if possible. Not to mention the German keyboard is all different and confusing, with the Z where the Y ought to be... but now I'm just whining. Actually, things are going pretty well for me here. I have so far managed to register my address with the local authorities, so that I can get a bank account (tomorrow, hopefully), look into cellphone plans and generally understand what is going on, and find a few job opportunities.

My absolutely WONDERFUL hosts, Johanna and Theresa, have helped me correct my CV and letter of introduction to Inlingua, a language school... so that hopefully I can get at least an interview for a job as an English teacher. I have also had some success with inquiries into jobs at a couple of restaurants, but I'm planning on telling one I'm not interested- in general, I just get a kind of bad feeling about the place- like I would really hate working there. The other is a Vegan restaurant, and I will hopefully go for an interview sometime in the next couple of days.

So... for two full days in town, I'd say that's not so bad. It's a strange feeling- I keep having to remind myself that that I actually live here. I think once I put down a few more roots, it will feel less strange. I REALLY need a place to practice. On Sunday, I am planning to go play in a pick-up Frisbee game in the English Gardens.

Altogether, I'm happy to be here, and my German is actually better than I thought it was. I just really want to feel settled. I don't miss my life in America much, but I do miss good friends, practice rooms, the irresponsibility of University life, and Home Grown Cafe.

Current Music: Benjamin Britten's "Winter Words" / Current Mood: not quite awake.

At the proddings of some good friends (Ashley: "update your blog, asshat...." Evan: "We need to know what your current mood is and what album you are currently listening to."), I am resolved to stay home from an Outing Into Town and give you, my faithful readers, something of an account of my adventures in Italy and Skye.

The day after my last post, Adam, Johanna and I flew to Italy, where we spent a week getting to know our cousins a bit better, meeting new family, eating and drinking beautiful food and wine, overloading our brain with gorgeous scenery. I will not give a day-by-day account of what happened, but I will try to give you some of the highlights. The ultimate for me was attending the opera in Verona. We saw Nabucco at the arena- a collusseum-era building in the center of town. The voices were good- particularly that of Nabucco, himself- and the sets were a bit too sparse/modernist for my liking, but what really made the experience rich was the audience. They knew the opera and loved it. (We even heard voices singing along during the chorus of the Hebrew slaves. Afterwards, there were calls for them to sing it again, which they did!) For them, opera wasn't something pretentious and strange- it's part of their life, and where they come from. It left the realm of the obscure, and was no longer, as opera singers across the world today fear, a dying art, but one which is relevant and beloved.

We also spent a day walking around the back streets of Venice, of course, which were beautiful, but incredibly hot, and inspired much eating of ice cream. A great deal more happened on the trip- walking in the Alps, attending a fabulous Italian family gathering, swimming in pristine lakes... To make up for the lack of further writing about this trip, I shall post a fabulous picture of all the cousins:





Last weekend, Johanna and I set out for Skye, a large island off the west coast of Scotland. Friday, we took a lovely walk along the coast of a western peninsula, on beaches made entirely of crushed shells, surrounded by clear and cold water. Johanna took many a picture of the local geology, and I took many a picture of her in her native habitat. That evening, as we sat at the harbor of Portree with fish and chips, the seagulls squawked persistently. As my attention was focused on one walking near us, another swooped down and snatched a chip (and my chip fork) out of my hand, hitting me on the head with his wing. I hope he choked on it. Anyway, these seagulls looks pretty well-fed, and not because of their own fishing efforts, I am sure. That evening, we visited a pub, where some local music was to be played, only to find a septuagenarian and his grandson playing a cover of Pink Floyd's "Wish you were here." When they moved on to "Freebird," we moved on to other entertainment. We had also heard tell of a ceilidh in town that night, and managed to get there about an hour before it ended. For those who do not know, a Ceilidh is like a Scottish dance party. People of all ages get together and do various highland dances, accompanied by fabulous music, and sometimes singing. The kids usually know the dances better than anyone else, but the forms are always explained at the beginning. At this particular ceilidh, the band was a group of high school students who seemed to be on a tour of Skye. The level at which they played was a testament to the emphasis which is placed on musical education- particularly on traditional music. These kids were accomplished musicians. While everyone caught their breath between the dances, young girls sang solos a cappella in Gaelic. Their ages ranged from about 8 to 12 years of age. Some voices were better than others, but they all sang on key, and, for the most part, with admirable poise. Altogether, it was wonderful to see.

Saturday, we climbed Sgurr Dearg, a mountain in the Black Cuillens mountain range. It was a foggy day, and had we actually seen the mountain we were setting out to climb, we probably would never have attempted it- certainly not with me only wearing my running shoes. Having misread the map, we believed it to be 900 vertical feet, whereas it was actually 900 vertical meters. Anyway, the going was fairly easy, until the trail deteriorated, and we had to pick our way among fallen rocks, searching in the fog for cairns- piles of rocks left by previous hikers, to show the way. Visibility was no more than 20 or so feet in any direction. Eventually, we found ourselves climbing over often wet boulders, as I wondered which would give out first-the tread on my shoes, or my unsupported ankles. When we finally reached the top of the ridge, the wind was incredible, but we couldn't see anything of the supposedly wonderful view. We took shelter behind a large rock, and devoured our bagels, before heading back down (picture of us on top of the mountain posted below). On the way down, we decided that instead of trying to descend the boulders backwards, to try and shimmy down a pebbly rockslide, hugging the edges, and trying (in vain) not to fall on our butts. Anyway, about six hours after we set out, we reached the car again, with shaking legs and reproachful feet. After the exhaustion died down, I'd be lying if I said I didn't look wistfully at the mountains we drove past. Although I'm a far cry from understanding those mountaineers who keep going after losing their friends and their fingers, having Sgurr Dearg wear me out somehow left me wanting more.



So that about brings us up to date... on Friday, Johanna and I go to Perthshire, on Saturday/Sunday, we will be in Edinburgh, and then it's on to London Towne.

Eurobeer!!!

Just a quick entry before I head off to bed... I'm at Adam's flat in Edinburgh, and we're leaving for Italy tomorrow morning, meeting Johanna along the way. There, we'll meet up with our Aunt and Uncle and cousins, who live in Trento. Plans include trips to Milan, Venice, and the Dolomites, lots of great food, and molto vino rosso. Also, I'm hoping some of my Italian might come back, as it hasn't been doing much since the spring of 2005.

Saturday night, I had my first ceilidh, which was a great time. The Stramash was my favourite dance, which basically involved bouncing around the floor with your partner and crashing into lots of poeple, on the way to meeting up with other partners. My calves are still sore. One of the most fun things about going out and about in Scotland has been taking a look at what people drink. At the ceilidh, for example, I noticed, amid the various wines and McEwans and Smirnoff Ice, someone had pulled out several ice cold Budweisers (glass bottles, no less). I almost fell over, and had to restrain myself from asking him if he knew what American beer had in common with having sex in a canoe. (It's fucking close to water... I'm afraid I can't take credit for that one- it's from Monty Python.) Anyway, I figured I'd damaged my reputation enough by asking them if they drank Irish Car Bombs ("Oh, I suppose we're all the same to you?" was the response). I also have noticed both at the ceilidh and here in Edinburgh that Staropramen, a Czech beer which we drank in Sweden, is fairly popular and can be found on tap at local establishments. Another American classic, which I observed at Tesco was Miller High Life. Adam had never head of PBR... the fact that he had also never heard of hipsters can only mean that PBR-drinking really is somehow connected with eyeliner and absurd looking boys in tight shirts.

Well, I don't suppose they drink beer in Italy, but I'm looking forward to trying some of the local wines. In other news, I'm hoping I won't come back with a broken ankle... you can't go to the fashion capital of the world and leave your stilettos at home.

My run-in with cows... and the sun comes out!

If you've never stood near the fence of a pasture with twenty cows staring at you, then you can't imagine just how intimidating it is. Yesterday we drove to Cotterton, where Daddy and Amber were meeting someone (a particularly cheeky Scotsman) about installing a Franklin Stove in the living room. While they worked out the details, I decided to take a walk down the road (much like the bear who went over the mountain) to see what I could see. Cotterton Cottage is situated on a dirt road that goes between fields containing alternately cows and sheep... and one, with both (I don't know whether they got along, but the cows seemed to be playing shepherd, standing in the middle of the flock, and looking very tall). As it had done nothing but rain for the past week, I had to walk in the middle of the grassy area to preserve my shoes. As the road progressed (deteriorated), the possibility of stepping in some sort of animal droppings increased, so I eventually turned back. Anyway, as I walked back through the drier areas of the dirt road, I saw a herd of cows ambling towards me (we were separated by a fairly shoddy looking fence... no real obstacle for the determined bovine). They stopped near the fence and stared. And stared. That kind of eye contact from twenty-odd creatures ten times my weight brought to mind various images of my mangled body lying in the mud, having been thoroughly trampled by this who-knows-how-easily spooked herd. ("I've got so much to live for!" thought I, as I walked quickly away.) Suddenly, they all took off running in the other direction, only to reassemble further down the fence... where I was still walking. They did this a few more times, and by the time I got back to the house, I was half-relieved to be there, and half wondering, seriously? I'm afraid of cows? (I think we'll leave that one open for debate, as I really do like them a lot when they're not all staring and stampeding.)

This morning, the first thing I noticed upon waking up was sunshine peeking around my curtains. Sure enough, after almost a week of completely dismal weather, it was blessedly "partly cloudy." I'd completely forgotten how gorgeous the view is, when the sun brings out all the various shades of green and blue and yellow and purple. I couldn't take my eyes off it, for fear the clouds might change their minds, and cause the sun to disappear for another month. After breakfast, I headed out on Amber's bicycle for an adventure of an hour or so, which was absolutely wonderful. The power of Vitamin D is not to be underestimated. (Nor are the benefits of huffing and puffing your way up a hill that seems like a mile long.) When I came back, I showered and had probably the best practice session I've had in about a month. Probably a combination of the weather, the cardio (which I firmly believe is good for singing), and the past few days spent on getting the kinks out of my voice. I noticed a few of the highland cows looking up at my open window, as if they meant to be my audience. Well, I'll take what I can get. Anyway, as great as singing felt today, I'm still not particularly interested in a human audience yet. I began work on "Zeffiretti lusinghieri" from Idomeneo, as I'm fairly interested in Mozart, these days. We'll see. But as I know my party of readers is probably not so interested in a treatise on my practice sessions, I'll let this entry go for now. Suffice it to say that given a sunny day, a great bike ride and a fulfilling practice session, I feel human again.