Waschen und Trocken

So today was my first experience with the laundering of clothes in Germany. I'll give you a little hint as to how this turned out:

I've been on the east side of the Atlantic for a little bit more than 10 days, which is about for how long I packed. The heap of clothing at the bottom of my closet had grown and perhaps began to to generate some heat, so I thought it time to venture to the laundry room. One must buy "tokens" from the Hausmeister, because the machines do not take Euros (this is mostly so they can jack up -erm, adjust- the prices of the laundry machine with great ease. When I first moved in, I was told by my tutor that the tokens were 1€ each, but the Hausmeister charged me 1,50€. I wasn't much in a mood to argue (much less in German, which I think he knew and took full advantage of, considering his glowing disposition). All was fine - I had bought laundry detergent previously to avoid the convenience-fee price of detergent in the dorm, stuck my clothes into the washer, and said "go." I was then overwhelmed by two things:

1. These washing machines are tiny. I have made a habit throughout my days of pay-per-load laundry of stuffing and stuffing until absolutely no more clothes can fit. This usually sorts my 2 1/2 weeks of dirty clothes in the US into 2 loads. Here, with my 1 1/2 weeks of clothing (and that's with wearing my jeans on average 2 days longer and sweaters twice as long as normal) barely fit into two loads. One looks into the front-loading washer and sighs - "is this really it?"

2. They take forever. In the US, I've become accustomed to the convenience of 20 or 30 minute wash cycles. Here, even with the smaller-than-anticipated size of the machine, it takes 50 minutes (for a light wash - read "rinse") or 70 minutes (for heavy-wash, which still didn't get the dirt out of my handtowels.) One could attribute this to the German desire for green-ness. By making smaller machines, they use less water, but does this counterbalance the 70 minute long wash cycle?

When my clothes were all washed (or at least finished with the washing machine - cleanliness will be assessed later,) I opened up the dryer. Note my use of singular. I should have assumed something was up when there was one dryer for the three washing machines (which service a 3-building apartment complex.) I loaded up my first load of clothes, all ready to go, but the machine didn't take my coins. I thought this was a bit peculiar, so I asked the resident-assistant, who told me that Trockentokens (dryer-coins) are different, because they cost differently (which means twice as much.) I had no cash and no desire to pay 3€ for one load of drying, equaling 9€ for the whole of my laundry (the dryer machines are even smaller than the washing machines.)

So I removed my clothes from the dryer, stuck them in my suitcase (which I used to haul my clothes down the street because I have no laundry-toting-things), and proceeded to hang my clothing around my room on every surface capable of holding laundry. All of my shelves now have clothes hanging off of them. I now see why drying racks are such a hot item here.

So apparently drying is not necessary here. People enjoy having wet clothes and hanging them out to dry. Yay.

Looks like I'm going to IKEA again...:/

Kaufen

I've already told of a few shopping adventures in the Land of Deutsch, but I figured that I could write a bit more about it, considering the purchasing of goods is an essential part of life, however banal and monotonous it may be.

Aside from the unrefrigerated milk that is good for months (which, by the way, gives me the urge to stock up and fill my cabinets,) the experience is largely the same. However, there is one main difference: size and selection. Obviously, everything is sold using metric divisions. For example, one buys a liter of milk instead of a gallon/half gallon, 500 mL of Coca-Cola instead of 20 oz. But on a more interesting level, I’m interested in the sizes of the store, particularly in how these stores remain small but have the best prices in town. In the US, we sacrifice many a dollar when we shop at a small supermarket and save many a dollar when we partake in the big-box stores such as Wal-Mart or HEB. Oftentimes, these savings come when the company (for example, Wal-Mart) buys products in bulk from the supplier. This large purchase gives Wal-Mart the dealing power to lower the prices of the supplier and pass on those savings to the customer. They organize everything in such a large web and divide labor to maximize efficiency and save money. Because its cost-cutting emphasis is placed on the supply chain, Wal-Mart can offer products (let’s say, Toilet Paper) of many varieties (cottonelle, charmin, quilted northern, great value, etc.) and in different quantities (4-pack, 8-pack, 12-pack, etc.).

In Little-ol’ Wuerzburg, I have found that the larger (in size) stores (Tegut, Kupsch) charge much more for their products than the smaller (in size) stores like Lidl and Aldi. As a reciprocal to Wal-Mart (and most other big-box stores), these supermarkets have everything you could ever need, but often only in one variety or size. For example, one can purchase toilet paper in one brand (let’s say Samtess) and only one size (the 4-pack.) This doesn’t mean that Aldi and Lidl’s supply chain network isn’t tight, because I’m sure it is. This emphasis on smaller selection means that these stores don’t have to “rent out” shelf space to a variety of products with competing prices. In fact, Aldi removes the shelving altogether; instead, it just places the big boxes in which the product arrived at the store. With less real estate to manage, they need fewer employees. Never (I know, in my whole week here) have I seen more than two employees at the Lidl store. When both registers aren’t open, the other cashier becomes the stocker and zoner. When there is a rush of customers and the line exceeds the 3-people-in-line rule, the other cashier leaves the sales floor and opens up another register. The cashiers don’t even help you bag your stuff. If you can’t keep up with how fast they’re ringing up your items, it’s your problem. As soon as the cashier hands you your change, the next customer’s stuff comes down the gangway. The rush to push customers out the door comes not from a consciousness that we all have somewhere else to be, but because you taking your time stuffing your toilet paper into your backpack is costing Lidl money; the cashier (who is being paid to sit there) could be reducing inventory and increasing revenue, thus making his/her wage a worthy investment for the store. By forcing the auxiliary cashier to tidy the store (if you really want to call it “tidy,”) Lidl doesn’t have to pay some schmuck to make the rows of toilet paper flush with the edge of the shelf. With a one-way shopping experience (you come in and have only one path option) where everything is obviously displayed, Lidl doesn’t have to pay someone to help you find the toilet paper. By keeping a shop with a low ceiling, Lidl doesn’t have to pay as much to keep the customer warm. Lidl isn’t a cozy experience, but we shop there because their stuff is cheap in price, but not in quality.

Now clothing stores really can’t skip on variety – not everybody wears the same size. Given that it’s really, really cold (hovering around freezing in mid-day with wind to make the panhandle envious) and also given that my good coat currently closes with only one button, I decided to look for a new, warm, functioning coat. I didn’t find one that fit my fancy (or price range), but I had a very inefficient time looking for coats. The sizes are all European, and a conversion chart is not always given. So I had no idea what size of coat to try on.

I guess I’ll just be cold for another day. I’m going to curl up under the covers next to the heater with my book that I just bought. I’m sure it’s really peculiar when somebody buys a book in German, but has the greatest anxiety speaking German with the cashier at the bookstore.

Spaß Machen

So, I’ve been in Wuerzburg for a few days now. I’ve had my victories, I’ve had my stresses, and they’re only yet to begin. But, however, hope that I am done with the bureaucracy and the overwhelming interaction with other people. From now on, I hope that it’s a little bit difficult, but not a wash of German, of which I only understand bits and pieces, usually only the last word of a sentence. So now I chronicle my experience thus far.

Wednesday, March 3.
My train from Brussels left at 7:25am. I got to the train station way too early, expecting travel like in the USA. Not comparable. I could have showed up at 7:23 and been perfectly fine. Now I know. The trip was actually pretty pleasant. The ICE trains move very quickly, very smoothly, and very quietly. I had plenty of opportunity to snooze a bit, which I did. As we pulled into the Cologne Hauptbahnhof (main train station), the Cologne Cathedral came into view. The Cologne Cathedral was the only building spared during WWII bombings (not by some miracle, mind you, but because it served as the landmark from which planes distinguished other targets.) It was magnificent and exciting, but I was dumb and had left my camera in my suitcase, which I stowed in the baggage rack. From Cologne, the train made its way to Frankfurt am Main. The city is actually very beautiful and reminds me much of the Dallas skyline (but with a population like Austin.) There, I changed trains (very quickly, because my first train was running slightly behind schedule thanks to a holdup in Belgium) and found my seat for the last leg of the trip, Frankfurt Hbf to Wuerzburg Hbf. The scenery was beautiful. The train weaved amongst forest and hill, fields of green and fields of grapes. As we entered the city, I noticed the imposing Festberg (tower on a hill), which pleased me greatly.

When I got off of the train, my contracted Tutor was there to meet me. Immediately, those German classes failed me. My tongue froze and I couldn’t even utter “Hallo, Ich heisse Adam.” Nonetheless, after a bit of coaxing, I could mutter a few coherent sentences. My tutor drove me to my Wohnheim, which, contrary to what they teach you in German class, is actually more like an efficiency apartment than a dormitory. First, I have a room to myself; second, I have a private bathroom and shower; third, I have a private kitchen, refrigerator, and storage space. My flat is newly renovated, so it’s nothing like the Wue-tang Clan of last summer described. The Hausmeister was not in (and not answering his telephone), so my tutor basically broke into the office and retrieved my key so I could move in (with my two bags).

After plopping my bags down, we went to a grocery store, Tegut. Besides the fact that everything was in German, priced in Euros, and weighed in grams or kilograms, it wasn’t that much different than shopping at a grocery store in the States, except the selection was much less and the store much smaller (this was one of the larger supermarkets I’ve found – there are others, Aldi and Lidl, which have an even smaller selection and even smaller stores, but the smallest prices.) So I bought a box of cereal, a liter of milk, and a few things to make sandwiches. Of those things, the most striking is the milk. It is (1) served out of a box carton and (2) not refrigerated. This is most peculiar, and I haven’t quite figured out why this is. I’m sure that it’s perfectly healthy, but I feel really weird stuffing milk into my backpack and not running home to get it in the refrigerator. Also, the checker people do not stand. They have swively-chairs, make no eye contact, and just mutter sechzehn und dreizig, expect you to hand them correct change (otherwise they give you the most annoyed look ever). After they hand you your change (if you had the audacity to as for some), they say Tchuess very quickly, shove your stuff to the edge of the counter and start checking out the next person. They give you no bags (or charge anywhere from 10-50 cents if you want one), so it is expected that you pack all of your stuff yourself and with your own bags.

After my shopping excursion, I had the rest of the day to myself. I walked down to the Stadtzentrum, or downtown (which in itself took about an hour.) It was very surprising to me how vibrant and “hip” downtown was. As with most cities, this is the hub for shopping, eating, and hanging out, except, unlike the US, most everything is affordable downtown. Wuerzburg is a city about the size of Amarillo, so it has a respectable array of options should I decide to go on a shopping frenzy, but I haven’t really found any restaurants that whet my palette, because everything is either a Doener shop or a Biergarten. I found the ubiquitous American chains – McDonalds, Subway, and Pizza Hut, but went to a bakery. I successfully ordered a sandwich with some ham-like product with only minimal frustration on both my end and the server’s. After some walking around and unsuccessfully finding a Deutsche Bank (from which I can extract cash from the ATM with no fees), I was tired, so I took the bus home after paying the 2.20€ bus fare.

In the morning, the real fun began. I had no idea where the international office was, so I thought that I would go to the campus in the center of the city and walk around. Luckily, I found it fast enough. There was a tutor anxiously awaiting an incoming student. I said hello and thus it began. I filled out a gigantic application for admission and was whisked away to take care off all of the things that needed to be taken care of.

1. German Healthcare. All citizens in Germany are covered under a comprehensive government-funded (thus tax-funded) healthcare system. Since I am neither a German citizen nor a German taxpayer, I could have paid 64€/month to subscribe to the German healthcare system, but I had to politely decline because I had already paid a much higher sum for private international insurance in the States (thank you, Study Abroad Office for this gem of awful advice.) They printed off a form that basically says “this fool is going to use private insurance. Make sure to run every test available and charge his American insurance company as much as you can justify.” Great.

2. Bank Account. In Germany, people don’t write checks. So for the big purchases in one’s life such as his monthly rent, tuition (which, by the way, is only 500€/semester) and a car, funds are transferred via a wire. Wiring money in the States costs a lot of money, but here it is both expected and free. So to pay for all of these things, I had to set up a bank account. I finally found a Deutsche Bank (oddly enough, right next to my bus stop downtown, where I had stood for 10 minutes the night before), but they wanted a minimum of 12 months and a fee of 5€/month just to have the account. That did not please me, so I went to the Sparkasse Mainfranken Wuerzburg, which has branches all around the city. At first, my experience was a wash of German, most of which I didn’t understand, but my tutor sat back and explained everything in clear, well-enunciated (and most importantly) simple German. Eventually, I signed my money away, wired my student fees for the semester, and gave permission for the dormitory people to withdraw my rent every month.

3. Registering/Student Visa. This was the worst. First, I had to pick a number and wait 30 minutes. Then, I sat down in front of this large man with a very low voice and have him proceed to ask me questions about my business here. I had to give proof that I could support myself for 5 months here, sign a paper acknowledging that I couldn’t use any civil services unless I pay an income tax (which I am not eligible to do since I have no work visa), and then he proceeded to flip through my passport and spout many incomprehensible sentences about how he can’t find my visa. This really started to worry me, since I was told that I don’t need one. I landed in the UK, so I have an entry stamp from there and a stamp from the French saying that I had entered the Euro-zone, but nothing from the Frankfurt Airport. Apparently this guy (who works in the office of immigration and registration) was unaware that Americans don’t need a visa to live in Germany for less than one year. Many levels of stress caused because this burly German man didn’t even understand his own bureaucracy. Great. He then proceeded to ask me questions, such as where I was born, what I do for a living (student?), and what my religion is (which I found very peculiar.) I then had a sheet of paper saying that I was legal. Yay.

4. Immatriculation. Once again, stand in line. I handed a lady a giant stack of papers as required of me, and she printed off my student ID card, which is really just a quarter of a sheet of paper. How exciting.

So now I have an apartment, a student ID and a cafeteria card, but no internet. I have to wait until Tuesday or Wednesday for the internet guy to come (the arranging of which was an ordeal in itself.) So here I am.
Stay tuned.

First few days in Deutschland

I'm here!

I was met at the trainstation by a "tutor" from the International Office, who helped me get my room key and such. Turns out, I have a decent-sized studio apartment.

Today, I did all of the annoyingly german bureaucratic things, and tomorrow I'll make my way to Ikea and get a few things, namely a frying pan, a table for my alarm clock, a trash can, and a lamp.

Besides the fact that it's incredibly frustrating to deal with people in German on a continual, all-day basis, I'm enjoying myself. Würzburg is a very beautiful city, and I can't wait to share some pictures with you.

Hopefully I will have internet in my Apartment (tomorrow? if not, monday), when I will upload like crazy.

Until then, I'm going to nap. My brain has done enough functioning for one day.

France, but not really.

Today was my grand exodus into the land of other languages. I checked out of my room (bed?) around 9:45, took the Tube to St. Pancras, where I checked in for my trip on the EuroStar. I was frisked by the French Border Patrol and had my passport stamped with a Euro-zone visa, in of all languages, French. Not the souvenir of my voyage across the channel I had always hoped for, but it’ll do. As the train left the station, I was excited about a last sweeping vista of London at 300km/hr, only to discover that the path from central London to the country surrounding London was underground, so the long-anticipated view was really just a black void.

As we submerged from the underground of London, the train zipped past a Ford factory. I might have giggled a little. For the next (brief) 30 minutes, I had the opportunity to see the rolling hills of the lower British Isles, and it was very pretty. Their grass truly is greener than most of what I’ve seen in the US, and that’s probably because the climate is perfect for that green stuff, while most of North America is suited for that yellow stuff. I would have taken pictures, but my first attempts were blurs. The shutter was too slow for the train. As I enjoyed the partly cloudy skies and sheep gently grazing the green grass, we were sucked into another tunnel, this time under the English Channel. There’s really not much to say about it. It was a dark tunnel. The train was moving through it very quickly. It was the perfect time for a nap and/or some serious thought.

So I thought about the Chunnel. Back when it was being built, it was said that the lack of direct connection between the two largest capitals in Europe was in itself an economic burden. For hundreds of years, the only way between London and Paris was the Thames and the Seine, and only recently Heathrow to de Gaulle. Then I started to think on a much larger scale. If the Chunnel opens up markets never really before realized, what does the EU mean for Europe? Such integration and open commerce really is a new thing for the Continent. For hundreds of years, goods would cross borders only after being taxed heavily and their goods searched. Does the creation of this Economic Community mean the dissolution of the import/export ratio amongst countries if they all function under one catch-all marketspace? Is this necessarily a good thing? Does it take into account the strengths (and most importantly, weaknesses) of all of the Euro-club? Is this EU a good thing?

But once again, the topic of a book, not a blog.

And then we came out of the tunnel and the sun shone onto my face in such a bright fashion that I came startled from my almost-slumber. I was now on French Territory, at the mercy of the Republic. The lady next to me was taking up the armrest, so I was glad to see her get off at Lille. I then had a 30-minute joyride into Brussels (the “other” extension of the EuroStar train). I got off of the train and the stress began. I really had to pee, I had no Euros, and I don’t speak French. Even though Dutch (the other “official” language of Belgium) is basically German with some weird throat sounds, I don’t dare attempt it. Trying to find the bus station was taxing. Some signs and a picture of a bus, but most were just a jumble of French words and arrows. I had about 20 GBP (10 of which I found later), so I converted that over to Euros so I could buy bus fare. I got off the bus where the map told me to, and I walked in a circle. The streets are not very well marked, so I was relying on the map in my mind’s eye. I eventually found my residence for the next two nights (not shabby, much better than the one in London), checked in, and realized that I was hungry.

My first attempt at an ATM was disastrous. I typed in the wrong PIN number, so my card was declined. At first, I thought this to be no big deal, but when my card was declined at other ATMs and at a restaurant, I realized that something potentially disastrous was happening. Because I had put the wrong PIN number, my card was frozen. It took me about 3 hours (while I was very hungry) to sort it out over a payphone in the center of the city. I could imagine the next few days in Brussels, only 3 Euros to my name, and food here is really expensive (and you thought London was bad.) At least breakfast is served at the hostel, right?

Well, it all got sorted out and I bought a Belgian Waffle covered in chocolate. It was a justified treat. I then hopped on the Metro (subway) and whisked myself away to the site of the last World’s Fair Exhibition. I saw the Atominium statue all lit up, and then I went back into the city for a few hours. Now I’m at my residence (with free internet, but not reliable internet, I might add), ready to go to bed. I’m museum hopping tomorrow – Beer, Chocolate, and the Guilds.

Last Day in London

Today was my last day in London. I did an impressively small amount of things. I woke up really late (10am) to the sound of St. Paul’s bells. Really, this was amazing. I threw on my flip-flops and coat (I really did look like a stupid American) and ran outside, around the corner towards St. Paul’s and took in the sounds. Imagine the UT carillon at 1pm on Wednesday, and then add about 5 times the virtuosity. It was like a Bach organ piece in bells and over the entirety of central London. When it was over, I hauled booty into the shower, ran into the local Tesco grocery market, grabbed a few rolls and a banana, hopped on the tube and made it into Westminster Abbey just in time for the Eucharist. So yes, I went to church in London.

Service was what I expected, except they used a real boy’s choir (apparently a world famous one at that, who knew?). The interior of the church was sort of disturbing to me. Some people thought that they were surrounded by immortals; I thought that I was surrounded by rotting corpses. It’s ok, though. I got over it. It was, actually, quite amazing and humbling. We weren’t permitted to browse (since it was a Sunday and the abbey is not open for sightseeing), so I took what I could really quickly.

I then walked around and got lost, in true Adam in London fashion. Eventually, I wound up somewhere west of Kensington. My feet hurt, so I hopped on the tube (to the expected confusion for all of the closures) and hopped off just in time to attend an organ concert in St. Paul’s. Peculiar that I’ve been sleeping in the former choir house of and within 100 yards of said cathedral and had not yet been inside. It was impressive, just as people said. The gold mosaics were very byzantine-esque and really raised questions about the sympathies of the Anglican Church and how it views itself (St. Paul’s is not a remnant of pre-Henry VIII times), but that’s a topic for a book, not a blog.

I then really had nothing else to do. I had crossed off everything from my list, and it was Sunday, so everything was closed. I cleaned up my stuff, organized everything, and am now ready for my voyage across the English Channel. My train leaves in the late morning. Updates later.

Bon Voyage, English-speaking lands. I’m about to venture into uncomfortable territory. Eeek.

Saturday in London

First, the tube is a nightmare. L Today, two lines were shut down altogether and a third had a long stretch in which no stops were made. Naturally, the area I decided to visit today was the worst hit. Such is my luck, right?

This morning wasn’t so bad, though. I finally made my way to the Barbican District. I once read a joke that said Londoners get lost in the maze of the Barbican, resurfacing only after years of foraging for food and thinking that Margaret Thatcher is still Prime Minister. This first led me to think that this was a literal labyrinth (in true London fashion), but it was instead a complex of apartment buildings built in the 70s connected by a series (maze?) of raised walkways that circumvent a pond built in the center. At first, it looks like a simple cube. As I entered from London Wall Street (as one would suspect, the former site of the Roman wall surrounding Londinium), I had no Idea that I would turn right so many times and only find myself in the center. Frustrating? Perhaps. I did, however, find some remnants of said wall. It was a nice little experience. I also found the performance hall, where the LSO plays. Nobody would have guessed that it was a performance hall. 70s architecture seems to mask function rather well.

When 10am finally rolled around (I woke up obscenely early), I made my way to the City of London Museum, which, like the tube and a few other museums around town, was partially closed. The open exhibitions only went up to the Great Fire, which is about where my interests first start. Sad and disappointing.

Shortly thereafter, I went to the Globe Theatre. Even though it was built in 1997 and 150 meters away from the original location, it was still cool. They were rehearsing the end of Macbeth, so no pictures were allowed (bummer.) I guess it just wasn’t the proper time or place for tourism.

I then hopped on the tube in Southwark towards South Kensington (again) to see the Natural History Museum. The queue was long…out the doors and spilling onto the street. After about 20 minutes of waiting to get in, I realized that the place was beyond capacity with children screaming and running amok. 30 minutes was beyond enough for me to give up and leave. I then walked over to the Royal Albert Hall, Royal College of Music, and Hyde Park (the original one.) I walked up to Kensington Palace, realized it was another astronomical fee to see a place of celebrity (plus, it was closing), and walked on. Hyde Park was a beautiful example of English grass, the green of envy to most of North America. On top of that grass, I saw a swan chase after a little girl (don’t feed the swans, they will ask for more.) Then began my quest to return to the city center. The tube station directly next to the park was closed, complete with metropolitan police standing firm, not offering advice as to alternative transportation. I waited for a bus, but even the bus stops were closed. Even if they were open, they were too full to sit comfortably. I walked down a street (which was surprisingly well organized – obviously a city planning product of the 19^th century), eventually finding a District Line station, but it only went in one direction, which was the direction I didn’t need to go. Out of exasperation (and hunger) I walked into a curry restaurant in the near vicinity, much to my stomach’s dismay. It tasted OK and was reasonably priced, so at first I was content. I then proceeded to take three trains in the place of one, only to get to my hostel and feel my stomach churning. I stopped at a grocery store to get some water, drank it and sucked it up to go over to the Tate Modern (which is open late on Saturdays). Midway through the surrealist gallery (and after seeing a quite disgusting film involving mutilated bodies and bar-b-que sauce), I just had to go to bed. And now I’m awake at 1am after the brief stomach storm.

Tomorrow is my last day and is lightly scheduled. I’ll see what I can find.