new site

Go here: http://tammivsworld.wordpress.com/
(the old posts previously posted here also exist on the wordpress site, so no worries)

home-leaving, home-coming

Frankly, my dear ... oh wait, that's not how this begins. Being in another country, which should be home and is partially still but isn't at all anymore, is confusing to say the least.

Frankly, before departing my current home - Stuttgart, I was worried about what I would experience emotionally/mentally upon arrival and limited stay in Texas - my once home. Maybe worried is too strong; I was in deep consideration and mental introspection. I think I was expecting something similar to my culture shock and general uneasiness that occurred after returning from my six-month stay in India. I've been in Germany longer and I know that I am returning there shortly. So I know that I am not returning home in this trip, but simply here in familiar surroundings for a total of eleven days then back home I go (via Berlin for a class excursion for a week).

I arrived in Houston at some point ... time travel confounds me to no end, especially since according to the airline, I ate dinner at 10am and a midnight snack at 4:30pm, and it was all still happening on the same day that I left. Thus far, it has all felt exactly the same to me. I hadn't planned on this. Besides the particular activities I am doing or not doing, nothing is different, not even my perceptions - no cultural shift necessary. I don't find myself longing for the U-bahn or being surrounded by German talk & text or whatever else defines my newest reality. (oh! but that first taste of brisket was heavenly.) My sister has commented on a few things that I have said or done that are funny to her - one being my speech patterns: my english is different from being around people whose native language is not english, and I also have two other languages swarming in my head constantly. But why do things feel as if the last 9-10 months don't exist?

But that's me. I know life goes on. And really, my life has too traveled from that past into the present, but it's like I have compartmentalized my experiences. hmm.

I am not a loud person. I am not one that jumps into the middle of the circle or enjoys being the center of attention. I am in country for a specific reason: to be very present and supportive before/during/after my sister gets ordinated (I'm pretty sure that verb doesn't exist in the manner I use, but it works for me - ordination in the United Methodist church as a full-blown elder/clergy/pastor/etc.). That's why I've flown over. So when we were going through the schedule of my time here, I was glad that I was in essence staying away from my old city and old church (sorry gang) because the swarm of people is not my style. I like business-as-usual gatherings, either my presence doesn't change the stride of the conversation or it's like I was never gone. Silly to dream such things, I know. But now that I am here, I find myself not minding if I could meet up with friends on this side of globe. We will see; we will see.

In summation: I left "home" confused and have arrived "home" opposite-but-equal confused. Life is grand, ain't it?

texan

No matter the language I'm speaking or learning, no matter the types or nationalities of my friends, and no matter where I "hang my hat" - you can never take the Texan out of a girl.

I know, I know, sounds silly coming from a partial émigré living in Germany with prospects to be all over the world, but I’m beginning to see the truth in it.

Why? I have had various country songs spring into my mind at all hours for the past months. The recent culprit: “I shoulda been a cowboy / Shoulda learned to rope & ride / Wearing my six-shooter, riding my pony on the cattle drive / Stealing young girls’ hearts / Just like Gene & Roy / Singing those campfire songs / Oh, I shoulda been a cowboy.

“I mighta had a side kick with a funny name / Running wild through the hills chasing Jesse James / Ending up on the brink of danger / Riding shotgun for the Texas Rangers / Go west young man, haven’t you been told / California’s full of whiskey, women and gold / Sleeping out all night beneath the desert stars / With a dream in my eye and a prayer in my heart “ (Chorus again)

Besides the tunes on my lips, nachos & chili run through my veins. I don’t want to deceive anyone – I am no cowgirl. I don’t own Stetson or Wranglers; I don’t have the boots or the shiny big belt buckle or the perfectly formed hat. But it doesn’t mean I haven’t before or don’t dream about it now.

There’s just something about the Texan lifestyle/culture that I’m thinking will never leave me. And I’m quite glad about that.

Makes me think about how my dad would answer and end a telephone call ... always: "Yellow." "M-bye." Texan born and bred.

multi-personality pics

I was browsing through my collection of digital photographs that I have taken through the years (probably being distracted from some other thing that I should've been doing), most taken on travels, but some are of everyday life. And I noticed something.

My photographs show rather clearly that when I hold a camera, one of three personas becomes dominate: the Chronicler, the Artist, or the Observer.

The Chronicler: As a child, my sister was the family photographer because she was the only one willing to walk around with the beast of the thing that were cameras back then. But I also think psychology inserts itself here too because (I believe) she knew the value of that treasure - having tangible memories of time past. She acted (and still carries forth) like a middle child, although there are only the two of us. She's the peacemaker, the stable soul seeking stability. Now, I was the younger sister and played that role as best I could, causing grief to her daily. But I've always been fiercely loyal & protective of her too. As a pre-teen & beyond, I imagined that if she ever found herself in a fight (which of course is preposterous being a peacemaker) or was ever bullied in any fashion, that I would utterly destroy the perpetrator; she is, after all, my sister to mess with and make cry (sorry Kelli) and nobody else's.

All this to say, that I was not born chronicling, but have stumbled into it with perceived necessity. I've written before about memory and my amazing lack of it, so having a visual story-line that I can refer to as a manual recall of memories has become of great value to me.

(Summer studio 2007; Noragachi, Chihuahua, Mexico; process to make adobe block)

The Artist: these are the pictures that I most love to take. Some, without labels, I can't even identify what or where in context. My favorite topics: repetition, shadow & light, detail mechanisms or textures, and human interaction (though I have the guts to take far less of people because I don't want to intrude on someone else's moment).

The Observer: this is when I realize I have nothing to show for an event/occurrence/situation. I simply forgot I had a camera, maybe took a shot or two then simply observed in real time with both eyes. When I let the observer in me take over, I know I catch far more beauty in my mind's eye, and must then rely on some stray thought to recall them back from my disastrous filing system of my long term memory (or on someone else's pics).

However, if someone else has a camera, mine may never see the light of day. Maybe I'm an observer first and foremost, down to the bone, but I let the other me's come out and play.

sleep, sleep, slumber deep

Holy Week this year is like no other I have experienced. Yes, I now live in Germany, which I suppose would change things, but not all can be directed at location. In 2008 I lived in India ... and yes, those Easter-related observances were quite different as well. But this is different from my time in Texas and different from that Indian different.

I really do understand that the Lenten season is a mental and spiritual journey, but this time around, I think that I missed it.

Even though, while in India, my friends and the culture were newer to me by several months than my familiarity with my world here, I was in an intensely Christian environment. We were all missionaries doing missionary work. To do Easter et. al. with them was natural and built into our small community.

Germany is not a Christian-hostile country, but it appears like a Christian-ambivalent country. Most of my friends (from all over the world) are religiously ambivalent, non-practicing whatevers. Some of our discussions when a few gathered for Kuchen/cake baking (and a 2 hour walk waiting for said cake to cool) was about how inconvenienced we were since everything seemed to be closed for the government holidays. And I was right there with them when we set our hopes on finding an open ice cream kiosk after our walk under the warmth of the sun. I did not go to services.

Back in Texas, I was very involved in the church, especially during Lent. Lent was always busier than Advent (leading up to Christmas). The prayer times and bible studies. (and of course Fiesta is thrown into the mix.) Oh, and the orchestra, my beloved music: the centering music at Ash Wednesday, the celebratory anthems of Palm Sunday, the heart-wrenching tones of Good Friday, and the joyous revival of life found in Easter carols. Playing those put me right there. But not this time ... none of it.

It's like I have fallen asleep and adopted the ambivalence of the world around me. A good friend asked if my faith was wavering. And no, no it's not. My answer: it's like it's waning. It's becoming devoid of passion and value.

It's this odd place I find myself this Holy Saturday, between the darkness I didn't experience of Good Friday (Karfreitag) and the joy of Easter (Ostersonntag).

future found!

Have I found my future this very night? After hours and hours, weeks upon weeks of sifting through oh so many governmental agencies and international organizations, have I finally discovered a kindred spirit?

The United Nations Development Programme, Bureau of Crisis Prevention & Recovery: helps countries prevent and recover from armed conflict and natural disasters. (http://www.undp.org/cpr/)

This is exactly/verbatim/wholly encompassing of the direction I have wanted to take with my upcoming master's thesis project, and thus with my future career. Because my thesis semester is still one year away, I need to work it so that vielleicht I can collaborate my personal project (yet to be decided) with them so that then they can know of my awesomeness and hire me.

hmmm ... I need to discover the best medium and diction to illustrate my thoughts of "pick me! pick me!"

flying blind

Okay, not literally flying blind, but it's called Blind Booking. The air carrier GermanWings offers incredibly cheap flat rate flights from certain destinations (one of which is Stuttgart) to a handful of destination cities. The trick: you choose when you want to fly & they choose your destination (obviously based on seats they have left). When my friends first mentioned Blind Booking I was extremely intrigued by the notion. It fascinates me because I like adventure and simple clueless wanderings, and it's just enough unknown to make the Type-A planner-to-the-last-detail in me squirm.

From Stuttgart, there are four groupings available to choose from: Culture (Barcelona, Budapest, Dresden, Leipzig, Lisbon, Rome, & Vienna); Metropolis Eastern Europe (Belgrade, Budapest, Dresden, Leipzig, & Zagreb); Metro Western Europe (Barcelona, Berlin, Lisbon, London, Rome, & Vienna); and Party (Barcelona, Belgrade, Berlin, Budapest, Lisbon, London, & Vienna).

For 30 Euro (really twice that due to taxes) you can fly somewhere. Where? Well, that's where the fine print comes in.

For a few weeks now, I've been waging a battle within me about how much planning should be allowed in preparation for this trip. Is it cheating to plan ahead on what's suppose to be an unknown adventure? When my sister came here after Christmas, I had already booked lodging in every city, train tickets purchased, maps w/ locations & directions highlighted, and a semi-rough itinerary laid out. Part of me wants to do that for each possible city that I could be shipped to. But that goes against the attraction of Blind Booking (besides cheap airfare). A friend last week pointed out to me that I could narrow down the possibilities even further through exclusion (pay €5 fee per city excluded) and I could check to see which cities don't fly on certain days (i.e. there is no flight from Stuttgart to Lisbon on Apr 4).

I am disappointed to say that it's not as mysterious as I imagined. I romanticized that the airline would let you know your destination when you showed up at the airport to claim your ticket, or in the least the day before (realistically better so that you'd know when to get to the airport).

But not so.

Apparently when you book your flight dates and chosen destination group, the confirmation email sent immediately after informs you of where you're headed ... which sadly leads ample time to Type-A plan. Na gut.

In any case, it's a pretty sweet deal, still slightly enigmatic, and something fun to do during holiday. Now, Eastern Europe or Western or maybe Culture? (if Western, I'm excluding London & Berlin ... been to both & will be back in Berlin in June ... I want to go somewhere new and, please God, warm.)

ends & beginnings

The end of something will always mean the beginning of something. Sometimes we forget this.

I am most definitely at the end of something, though this "end" has been happening for quite a while.

Even before moving (and planning to move to Germany) I have felt that pull of needing to conclude a chapter in my life, to move on to something new, though I knew not what "new" meant. I still don't, at least not entirely. I have ideas, I have leanings, but let's just see where the path leads, even if cut my own path.

That big "end of something" was huge. I gave away my stuff. I packed away my life. Became literally homeless. Quit my job, which was so much of who I was for years. Cancelled accounts/services. Truck-sold. Motorcycle-sold. Honestly, the hardest for me was losing my bike. It became an extension of me, of how I learned to define myself. I had this not-so-secret hope that maybe it won't sell by the time I visit Texas in June so that I could hop back on and ride. Just ride. But alas, ends are not discriminatory. (Did you notice my chosen diction of "visit"? I'm not returning home for a week. It's no longer home.) The "end" was huge. And strangely I like it.

There's lots of types of ends however. There's the big, final, life-altering ends, then there's the short transitional ones, like my present situation. My first semester of graduate school in Germany is [quickly] coming to a close. Only three more exams (out of 11) then next week begins a month off awaiting the beginning of the summer semester. It seems both quickly passing and forever in frozen time; both the desire to move time along and an eagerness to slow its haste.

Time is truly measured. The measuring stick seems to be just beyond our comprehension, but we know it's continuous. Time marches on despite those ends. So there's beginnings. New semester, new chapter, new life definition.

singing

Music has been an integral part of my life, well, for roughly my entire life.

I remember moments growing up where we would be in the car with country music on the radio and just singing it out. Those songs, when heard again, are dear to me. And if it wasn't country, it was classical music - with the powerful melodies or strong brass lines or dream-like flutes and strings - a place where my imagination could flutter away.

When I was a little older and my classmates were talking about and singing this classic rock stuff of the early 90's, I would "stealthily" listen to a radio station in my room when I thought nobody would hear. I still don't know why I thought I had to listen to it in secret, like it was against the rules or disloyal to like another genre. Strange kid, I know.

Middle school band changed my life. Seriously.I was the shyest introvert ever, but when you have to play and express yourself out-loud, whoa. And as a teenager, my French horn has been an outlet of expression for me when I didn't have any other way.

But you know what I miss? Today, while going to class on the U-bahn/S-bahn (local train) with my iPod streaming music into my ears, I miss singing out loud.

Back when I would drive to work in a self-contained vehicle and when I had my own apartment, I would sing along to the radio (or whatever else was playing in my head). Or start up iTunes and just have a field day with my favorites. I don't do that here. But I wanted to today. I really wanted to. I even walked to the edge of the train platform where nobody was just so that I could sing softly. I feel like I don't want to disturb people, and I'm sure self-conscientiousness plays a prominent role. But it's such a deep urge within me, that I only identified today.

I also miss worship music that I allow to impact me. It's like I've shut myself off from that type of emotion because I just don't want to deal with it right now. I miss music, and I miss music that impacts.

ich habe eine Idee / i have an idea: thesis thought

One of my classes for the first semester of studies in this master's program is Power demand, supply, & distribution. Part of this class is presentations by fellow learners about their home countries' power situation (i.e. electricity). For the most part, I find this time rather interesting considering we have the United Nations represented in young minds right here. We have examples of countries with so much demand that it's pitiful when compared to the rest of the world (i.e. USA), countries that have an increasing demand as the country develops (i.e. many Latin American countries), countries that a minority percentage of households have access to electricity and even that the country cannot supply (i.e. Nepal & India), and countries that have an incredibly low population with access to "daily" amenities (from the eyes of an American) and seem to be okay with it (i.e. several African countries). It truly is fascinating to me - the world.

This last student presentation session was about different countries demand's for commercial nuclear power (as in non-military) and hydro-electrical power production. One person's presentation in particular struck a chord of some sort within me: Afghanistan.

But to back-step a bit, the country right before was Nepal and their extensive use of hydro. Some 40% of the small population (it is a small country consumed by the Himalayas, so the small population part makes sense) have access to electricity, and the government can only provide those with power for half the day - morning and evening/night. From living in India, power cuts are of no great surprise to me. But with Nepal in my head, Afghanistan was next.

In the mid-20th century, Afghanistan, with the aid of a few industrialized nations, developed quite a sufficient infrastructure including several hydro-electric dams. However, due to the Cold War fought on their soil, then civil war, then once again this "War on Terror" against Taliban forces, they are broken. (I'm not entirely sure who "they" is - the infrastructure, sure; the nation, maybe; the trust of the people, seems reasonable; the people themselves, I hope not.)

14% of the population have access to electricity. Wow. When asked about that percentage, my Afghani classmate responded that during times of war, when bombs and bullets are a daily sign of life, it is expected that one would give up on luxury items. Naturally. My bigger "wow" moment occurred when he talked about how his government is trying to rebuild itself. One problem with that: hydro-electric dams have huge up-front costs, and no financier will provide the government with a loan. In their [World Bank & Bank of China] eyes, the country is too unstable and a guarantee cannot be provided that their investment will last long enough to get a return.

This all makes sense, but it's devastating nonetheless.

So my internal wheels started turning. "War-torn and unglued: redevelopment after war and natural disasters." My thesis topic for next year popped into my head (well, potential topic, anyway). This is a good fit to what I've done, where my heart is, and where I am thus far. I want to study, and subsequently put said study into practice, how countries/nations/people-groups rebuild their lives, their homes, their world after disasters - human caused or otherwise. How do we get Haiti back on her feet after the devastating earth-quake or gulf coast regions on the U.S. after hurricanes or Afghanistan after decades of war or Rwanda and Sudan after genocide or North Korea ... does it finally make sense to me why I've wanted to go there? How did Germany and other Eastern Block, previous Soviet occupied countries rebuild after WWII and beyond?

I think I've figured out what I want to do. It's a good thing I'm studying in Germany, so part of my [potential] thesis research is at hand. And a bonus (though my friends might not consider this a positive), long-term travel can be arranged while in the thesis semester ... so I can go to other disaster-laden lands and see what I see.

memory

I don't remember.

I caught myself looking at two pictures that I have in my room - one taken the day of my sister's high school prom (so I was a freshman in h.s.) and the other ... I think at someone's wedding several years ago. But I just don't remember. And I don't remember him: my dad.

The memories I have seem so few when I try to recall them, and when I have a moment in mind that should pertain to him, it's just a faceless individual. It's like I'm looking at a stranger, just trying to make it all make sense. I know that I can remember some moments or words or even feelings that happened years ago, but it's all very abstract - like it never happened, like I haven't lived a bit of it.

It has been over three years since my dad died, and for the most part, I feel nothing. I am saddened when I think about the life he is missing, the pride he is missing in watching and being present in the significant moments in my sister's and my lives. But I don't miss him - the person. It's like I don't even know him or that he was never even alive.

(I don't know. It all doesn't make much sense in my head, so why would any of it make sense using confining, limited words.)

But see, that to me hurts more. Not that my father is not here, but that he doesn't exist in my memories. In fairness though, my memories don't really exist in my memory. Chronology is a terribly difficult thing for me to grasp.

"Was it a year ago? No? Ten years ago? Really? Wow."

"What happened last week you ask? I know I did something."

"What did I eat on Monday? When was Monday?"

It is strange because in grade school, I was very good at those memory games. Maybe the physical stress I purposefully put my body through over the years is taking its revenge.

I must say, this kind of scares me a bit. I feel like I need to hold on to photos or samples of my middle school writings or journals or calendars because without them, I will not have a past. What happens to life without a past?

Maybe it hurts worse because Christmas is oh so very quickly approaching and that doesn't even feel real. This is new territory; though I suppose each step in life is new ... and yet incredibly familiar. Or maybe it's because this Christmas feels just as real as that first Christmas without him.

becoming German-minded

I don’t know if I’ll ever be a true German. Don’t get me wrong, now – I am well on way to integrating, but there are several things that restrict my full conversion.

As for products and shopping, I am golden. All of my bath products and kitchen supplies and food (minus the handful of spices that I love that I brought from the U.S.) have German labels and instructions. I am learning the metric system, especially volume, when I use my mL measuring cup. I am now aware of my German shoe and pants/skirt sizes (which seems like too large of a number since I am use to the single-digit numbers from the U.S.). I have also traveled around on my own, navigating transportation, site-seeing, eating out, etc. to various places inside Stuttgart and other cities. So what’s holding me back? Mein Kissen/my pillow. The standard bed pillow size is 80cm x 80cm. That is 992 sq. inches of pillow surface. This is one crazy awkwardly large size. I probably use 10% of the floppy thing. Why would one make this standard?

Okay, obviously that’s not a real reason.

Living a separate, private life is a very German cultural custom placed in high importance. I too enjoy it, but I must resist. I know me. I know how I respond, react, or initiate. At first arrival to my flat and the town which I call home and upon learning about the rules pertaining to the student flat, I wanted to move out. (I use “Student flat” as opposed to the U.S. term of dormitory because it’s more like a shared apartment keeping in true German style of high privacy as a necessity.) I have lived in an apartment by myself for the majority of time since the 2nd year of college. Even growing up, I had my own room. I like having my own space that I can put holes in walls and paint and make my own. I like being separate and away. And because I know me and what I prefer, I also know this is not the best solution.

If I moved, I would most definitely move out of this retirement suburban community of Mӧhringen and into Stuttgart proper. I like city life and the noise and the people watching opportunities. This would mean moving quite a ways from nearly all of my fellow classmates/new friends. If this were so, I would almost entirely shut myself off from social interactions and sink into a depression if left up to my own devices. So I have decided to work against my nature and hang around here. Advantage: actual life with multi-national friends and my sanity. Disadvantage: little to do in Mӧhringen, have to decorate using sticky-backed hooks instead of nails, and little reliance on German because English is the common language. The extremely high commission to a 3rd party renter agency paid on behalf of the renter (as opposed to the free service provided in the States) also aided in my decision to stay put … for now.

There's also this thing in Germany called Winter, which I've been told lasts 4-5 months. But I think this is just a hoax.

spoiled

I am spoiled. The people that I come from (my home country – the U.S.A.) are also spoiled. This concept is reinforced nearly every day in most of my classes here in Germany.

The classes that I take are geared toward infrastructure systems for developing nations (e.g. a large portion of the world and its inhabitants), and many of my fellow classmates are representatives from these developing areas.

So the running joke is that the U.S. is number 1 … number 1 for the most wasteful clean water users, number 1 in power consumption per capita, number 1 in waste generators. Well, now … isn’t that lovely. So what if we (my representative country) water lawns with drinkable water, fill swimming pools, take long showers, have pre-packaged everything, and have 18 different electronic devices/appliances running at one time per room. Oh yeah, the U.S. is an urban sprawl master (which is not necessarily a good thing).We have room to grow out our cities and expand ever further into the frontier, sure. The area covered by our large cities out-pace probably every other city of the same population. As a wanna-be planner, this is a nightmare – the lengths of pipe, power/telephone lines, and roads needed just to connect one sprawled neighborhood with that picturesque hill country/beach/mountain/river view (until of course, you are staring at the next development that comes along) to everything else is … well … sad. But I have grown up in this culture. I like going out for a drive (or more precisely, a ride on my motorcycle). I like the idea of having space around me to move and breathe and make noise without disturbing your neighbor one shared wall away, or the ones above & below you.

But those aren’t the only reasons I am oh so spoiled. Take English, for instance. That is my native tongue. My classes here are all taught in English. Easy peasy … for me. Even with the required level of understanding of English to be accepted in this program, I can’t help but think about all of my friends who think in the Indian languages, Spanish, Mandarin/Cantonese, Russian, and can’t forget the immense number of African languages. Most people around me speak at least 2, 3, or 4 languages. Me? I speak English. Yes I know enough German to get me in trouble (and probably not enough to get me out of it) and a very little bit of Spanish, and even less (= a selection of words & phrases) of Hindi. But I am pretty much a master of the English language (until I can’t remember what something is called. But just don’t ask; it’s embarrassing). Not even talking about my classes though, I have this assumption that people will understand me while in a foreign country. My first go here is Deutsch, aber naturlich. But when I get stumped … “sprechen Sie Englisch, bitte?” And for the most part, it works.

I find myself living in an odd paradox. My life here in a typical European metropolitan city (if a typical does exist) is like a novelty. Not having my own transport and relying on a very efficient domestic rail and bus system is different and enjoyable – not something I would’ve chosen, but I gladly except because “when in Rome …”. The other end of my quaint little paradox is something I’ve mentioned before. How I’m living feels natural, feels ordinary. An ordinary novelty. I thing that might explain me, as well.

happy birthday

Thus concludes the first day of the 26^th year of my life. I actually aged quicker this year than the others, since I am living in the Central Europe Time Zone instead of Central Standard Time of the U.S. But no matter.

Birthdays can be like New Years. They are a fresh start in a new beginning. But I am not one for New Year’s resolutions. (Well, for that matter, nor do I get all excited about celebrating my birthday.) With new promises or goals, why wait for a particular day in the future? Eh, this is of no consequence either because this soap box is not the subject of this post.

I am remembering when I was preparing to leave for Germany to start this new thing. Amidst the stress of closing out accounts, opening new ones, and packing woes and worries, I remember a statement I made to a friend. I have a unique opportunity to become a new me, to reinvent myself. I am living in a country seven time zones away without previously knowing a single person that I am going to be spending many hours over the next couple of years with. How are these people going to perceive this person called Tammi? Do I want to be more out-going and girly? How about more knowledgeable about pop culture? Well, the perfect chance to make a new you is after you depart people who can predict the old you and before you meet people who don’t know the old you. There is just one problem with that which I encountered. I am still me. Not that this is bad. It’s just an observation. Coming from a self-proclaimed lover of change, I did not change. It makes me wonder if we can ever really turn away from ourselves, those characteristics that others and ourselves use to define what kind of person we are.

I think it’s like my writing. I naturally write in small block letters. I taught myself over time to write block print instead of lowercase print (and especially not script), but since learning how to write as a wee little tot, I have always written small. I have the ability to write larger, but there is no much concentration that has to go into it that as soon as I stop focusing, smaller and smaller the letters go. I possess the capability of being talkative and overly lively or dolling myself up and primping into gorgeousness, but when it’s just me being me, this isn’t me.

So, hi. My name is Tammi, and I now (and for now) live in Stuttgart, Germany. But I’m also Tammi from Texas.

auf Deutsch

I must say it is quite exciting (and brings about a smidgen of pride ... okay, more than a smidgen) when I am mistaken for a German by a German ... or ein Auslӓnder (foreigner) for that matter. While wandering about in Ulm, DE, a guy stopped me and started talking to me auf Deutsch (in German). From what I could understand, he wanted to persuade me to sign up with the Democratic Party in Germany. After he did his spiel, ich hat gesagt, "Ich bin eine Auslӓnderin. Es tut mir leid aber ich kann dir nicht helfen." (I had said, "I am a foreigner. Sorry, but I cannot help you.") I must admit, once I caught on to what he was asking of me, I stopped listening fully so that I could formulate my German response.

I also had a street evangelist come up to me as I was eating lunch in front of the Ulmer Münster. She was speaking more quickly and with German words that I don't know yet, but she fully thought I could understand her. My last example of pretending to be German is while paying for anything - like a book or "dreihundert Gramms Rauchkӓse, shnitt, bitte" ("300g smoked cheese, cut, please.").

Just don't expect me to be able to hold a flowing conversation in German (though I was never really good at that in English either) because there is preparation that goes into sentences that aren't a part of my now nature vocabulary. Although my German edifice is ruined when I mis-interpret what the other person is saying.

expectation

I feel like a small child on Christmas Eve- waiting, dreaming, drifting. The first snowfall of the season is supposed to happen very soon in these early a.m. hours. I want to be excited about it now because soon I know I will frown the icy crispness as I am forced to leave the warmth of my covers and head for morning classes.

To say that I am unaccustomed to a Winter season would be an easy answer, however nearly 3 years ago I lived for a spell in the Himalayan mountains of India. I arrived at the brutal end of winter (mid-late January), experienced near frostbite, and then enjoyed the loveliness of Spring and Summer (then, oh the joys of Monssoon) in the mountains. So I know that this coming winter will arrive and will leave in a similar non-dramatic fashion. One day, I'll look up and realize that the sun seems wonderfully bright today and wonder how long it's been there.

I would like to go into this with that awe, that level of expectation. I will be able to make a snowman and have a snowball fight with fellow classmates from South America, India, Mexico, Russia, China ... okay, well my Russian friends might think we are all a bit odd for being so enthralled with this cold, white, fluffy substance that though falls from the sky, will actually stay on the ground.

I would much rather find myself sitting on the floor, in front of the window, gazing blankly, waiting for little white particles to become visible (while listening to Christmas music, of course; it seems only natural). Otherwise, it's far too easy to find bits of misery to focus on.

My first potential White Christmas, I eagerly await thee. Please don't disappoint.

travels 2 (Ulm, DE)

Ulm, Deutschland: Quite a small city. When I got off the train at the Bahnhof (train station), I found a map of the city and decided to snap a quick picture of it just in case I needed to refer to it later on. I over-exaggerated the scale. To those playing at home, what this means is when wandering (which I am apt to do), the appropriate distance that I thought I needed to walk in a certain direction was FAR greater than the distance I actually needed to walk to get to where I was trying to go. It simply boils down to: I saw more of Ulm than I had anticipated, which I am not complaining about. And really, when in Ulm, all one has to do to get back on track is either look up and find Ulmer Münster steeple standing high above anything else in existence or find your way to the Donau Fluss (Danube River).

From the Bahnhof (Train station) towards Ulmer Münster.

These are all of Ulmer Münster.

Ah, the Danube River (Donau Fluss). Very tranquil.

While walking along the river, I went up into a Rose garden park along the water. There I happened upon this hidden little gate at the end of the park. I just had to see what mysteries lie within. It turns out, it was just a workman's shed to tend to the plants.

After doing the river thing, I decided I wanted to make my way north to the city's old cemetery. I read something about it on the internet when I was figuring out what I might want to see. It turns out, I was further west than I had thought ... which was fine enough because I explored a bit of Ulm's business district and Congress area. I walked thru green areas and cute residential streets.

(Just really enjoy this pic with the colors, et.al.)

Well, as it happens, I walked too far north (right off my map) because I was too far West. I found the Alter Friedhof (old city cemetery, which happens to also be a park with walking/biking paths and kids' play areas) flanked be two churches.

I then knew that I wanted to go into Neu-Ulm directly south of Ulm across the Donau (and in the state of Bayern instead of the state that Ulm is in: Baden-Württemberg.) There should have been many clues along the way that I was indeed not walking South but instead walking East, but alas. There seems to be quite a bit more of Ulm to the East of the Bahnhof than I though ... especially since my map stopped at the train station. But I found it. I'm also pretty certain I would have continued walking in this fabulously wrong direction if it hadn't been for a road sign pointing a different direction than the one I was traveling to get to Neu-Ulm. I always thought I was actually pretty good with directions; this obviously doesn't put a vote of confidence in my favor.

(From the South Bank of the Donau in Neu-Ulm)

Then I headed back across the river to explore some more and kill time until I needed to check into the hostel. I went to Marktplatz which has the old Rathaus (government building) and the Stadtbibliothek (city library - a glass pyramid of 5 levels and a reading cafe on the top). I sat in the library reading eine Zeitung (newspaper) von Stuttgart for about 1/2 an hour.

(Alt Rathaus - detail work)

Fischerviertel (Fisherman's Quarter) - quaint & historic part of town with the Blau Fluss (Blue River) running thru it.

Then I wandered through Fisherman's quarter, on my way to Neu-Ulm to find dinner and check into the hostel. 'Tis all for Ulm. I "slept" horribly. Had a minor headache - just enough to be a bother, and the guy in the bed across the room had a cold so intermingled within his snoring, he coughed. Hearing my watch beep every hour away became very frustrating. When the sun came up, I decided to get on my way out and catch an early train onto Lindau am Bodensee (on the Boden Sea), the next destination ... which I will post those pics soon.

travels 1b

(Heidelberg pics from 18Sept 2010)

Heildelberg, old town.

The international student affairs office set up tour guides for our group. So we walked through the old part of the city getting history and humorous German biases. I don't remember which church this is (I'm thinking Catholic). There are 3 in the the old city, each a different religious affiliation. Apparently, this part of Germany did not choose to follow the reformation and remained Catholic. Much later in the timeline, the governor of this city-state gave people the option ... hence the other 2 churches.

I think this is the Jesuit church. There is a partition in the front of the nave because there is another denomination that uses this church ... at the same time. So instead of becoming one body or alternating worship times, they put up a divider. Now, isn't that nice.

From across the Neckar looking out on the old city. A couple of friends and I decided in our free time that we would climb up to the "Poets Walk". Climbing the never-ending stairs reminded me of India (in Hardiwar, climbing up to Chandidevi Temple). I think we did 8 min. on the stair climber before we reached the top. And it was a lovely view and contemplative walk (Mark Twain did a stint here, among other thinkers). So lovely, in fact, that we kept walking - all the way into new town.

I like Europe for this. Different styles, different colors, even the horizontals don't align - and it's all good. In the U.S., we try to have everything neat & tidy. I like this.

Thus concludes excursion #1. Hopefully I'll be posting Ulm and Lindau/Bregenz/Boden Sea before classes start up.

travels 1

Tonight I have returned from "ein Ausflug" (short excursion). As my German final exam on Thursday of last week began to approach and knowing that my full course load of graduate classes begins on the flip side of that Thursday (in one more day), I decided I wanted to get away for the weekend. How did I choose where to go? Looked at a map and said "uhh, there! oh! And I can go there too, just so that I can say I've been to Austria." So Friday morning I hopped on a train and was in Ulm in 1 hour. I walked ALL OVER the city (quite literally walked off my map in the East, North, and West directions. Then explored a bit in Neu-Ulm (which is technically in the state of Bayern and not Baden-Württemberg ... I didn't know that). I reserved a hostel several days before, stayed there over night (notice I didn't say sleep ... had a horrible headache and didn't sleep but 2 hrs). Next destination Lindau, Germany on the Boden Sea and Bregenz, Ӧsterreich (Austria) also on the water's edge. Then back to Lindau to catch my train home to Stuttgart.

I'm breezing through this weekend because it wasn't my intent to post stories or pics about my most current adventure because I haven't even looked at my pics yet ... I've been home maybe an hour.

I wanted to post about an excursion I did back in the middle of September (hosted by the international student affairs office) to Neckarsteinach and Heildelberg, both of which are just a small drive away.

Neckarsteinach sits on the Neckar river and is known for it's castles, one of which a ruin. Heildelberg, also on the Neckar, is a much larger city, has a university, medical research facilities, and use to be the King's homestead until early 1900s. Anyway, pictures can speak louder.

Ruine Hinterburg (literally "castle ruin in back"), looking out on the Neckar River & the town of Neckarsteinach.

Vordeburg (built in 1200s) ... literally means Castle in front. They named the 4 castles based on their position on the hill from the town. Ingenious, I know.

Altar area & stained glass of the church just a couple blocks from the water & city center.

Neckarsteinach downtown.

We took a boat from Neckarsteinach to Heildelberg. Yes, I'm a whimp. But he's from Russian and she's from the Ukraine, so I'm not doing so bad.

verbundpass

I am not sure what kind of luck this is, but if you want to ride any of the public transportation with me in Stuttgart, have a ticket or pass.

The city busses and trains don’t have a place for you to “check in” or confirm that you are allowed to ride. You just hop on then hop off when it’s your Haltastelle (stop). It is quite an organized system, I think. And as Germans go, things are very punctual. However, there are VVS (the government sector that runs the transport system) workers that are dressed in plain clothes that “randomly” do spot inspections of all the passengers for a few stops before they move on to a different line. (I say random because they have a schedule; it’s just not posted for everybody to know when to avoid them.)

I have friends who have been here from 1 year to 4 years that have told me that they have been subject to the spot inspection once or twice in their entire tenure. I have been here 17 days and once again today, I was checked – making it my 5^th time, and one of those days the week before last, I got me twice. That’s averages nearly every third day that I should expect to be inspected for having a pass. Luckily, I am an owner of a month pass to every form of city transportation, and as soon as the semester begins here, I will purchase a student semester pass … otherwise it could get rather expensive to move about.

The sad part of this story is that my first time to be inspected (which happened to be my third day in the country), I did not purchase a ticket. I thought I could cheat the system. I had bought €6 ticket each day prior that allows me to travel as many times as I want in one day (you could also buy a ticket for a single ride for only about €1.40 or something like that). The guy stopped me on the last leg of a several leg journey that day as I was about to exit the bus for my friend’s house who was hosting me before I could move into my dorm room. That fine was only €10 thankfully, but he entered my passport information into the system. So before I was even registered with the city as being a new resident, I already had a file with the government. From then on, out of shear fear for getting a second fine (which jumps to €40), I have always traveled with a ticket/pass.

Moral of the story: if you want to live dangerously and not follow the rules, don’t ride with me; you will get caught.