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.