Die Fuggerei

Saturday morning. A quick stop at the bakery for a Milchkaffee and a pastry before heading off to Augsburg just over an hour away. No particular reason. Just want to see what there is to see. We do this a lot and inevitably, when we are about half an hour away from home, I say, "Scheiße, I left all the guidebooks at home." I have at least four of them for Germany. Big, thick ones. Filled with lots of pertinent information that would come in handy when one is exploring unknown territory. Rick Steves. Lonely Planet. DK. Frommer's. I have them all. At home.

Fortunately, Augsburg is a big enough city to warrant an Information Center. With free walking maps. And lots of pamphlets on local points of interest that I am sure would also be noted in my guide books. At home.

One of the most notable attractions in Augsburg is the Fuggerei, the world's oldest social living complex. Founded in 1516 by the wealthy Fugger family, the Fuggerei is a small city within the city. High walls and gates at the four compass points surround a collection of single family row homes, a church, a bier garden, a museum, and a bomb shelter. Even though the Fuggerei was heavily bombed in World War II, it was restored outwardly to it's medieval appearance.

The concept was that the Fuggers, bankers by trade, and Jakob Fugger The Rich specifically, felt it was their obligation to help the less fortunate. They built, at their own expense, the Fuggerei to house some of Augsburg's neediest citizens. The Fuggerei is still in operation today and the rent is the same as it was almost 500 years ago - 1 Gulden (basically 1 Euro) a year plus three daily prayers for the founders and current financiers of the Fuggerei. To qualify you have to be Catholic and poor. With 67 houses and 147 apartments it's not going to solve the poverty problem but certainly it is a role model to aspire to. Truly, it's a pretty amazing concept. Just try to imagine any of our bank presidents, so predominant in the news for their outrageous bonuses, deciding to take some of the money from their own heavy pockets and use it to house and educate those in need. For the next five hundred years. Not. Going. To. Happen.

I thought it was so beautiful that every door bell in the Fuggerei is different. When the residents had to make their way home along the unlit streets, they could literally feel their way home until they got to their doorbell. I think TK outdid himself with this shot.

On our way back home, I started browsing through the pamphlet we picked up at the Information Center and it turns out that we missed two important things while visiting the Fuggerei.  There is an apartment whose interior is a reproduction of what the living quarters would have looked like in the 1500's and another apartment that shows an apartment today.  That's exactly the kind of thing I love - voyeurism passed off as the quest for knowledge.  Yeah, we spent all our time in the bomb shelter.  So guidebooks, pamphlets - makes no difference - they're all wasted on us.  But now we have a reason to go back again in the spring when everything is in bloom.

MIA

Yeah, it's been awhile. A good long while. Too long. The last six plus months have certainly been filled with ups and downs.

I finally started to make some friends in Munich. We're a small, very international group who met in school. We get together for lunch, dinner, coffee or to go to movies (kids movies, of course, because that's all our language skills can accommodate). We represent America, Spain, Japan, Greece and China. Pretty cool. And what is really great is that German is our only common language so we are forced to speak it (or mutilate it). It's always funny to watch the faces of people around us when they clue in to our rudimentary language skills. I'm sure that it must be painful to listen to and that is saying a lot considering that German is not known for being particularly melodious. It helps tremendously to have someone to interact with and it helps all of us in becoming more confident speakers. I think we've found that the subjects of men, food and drink are truly international.

In August, Thomas and I got married in Maine surrounded by our immediate families. It was perfect in every way - and that includes all the imperfections. We rented out a bed and breakfast so we were all together. We hiked, went kayaking, went bowling, had a BBQ, went to our favorite lobster place in dirndls and lederhosen and just enjoyed a lifetime of memories with our families.

In November we lost my mother to breast/metastatic bone cancer. It was almost a year to the day of her diagnosis. She didn't suffer and we are so grateful that our whole family was able to be with her for her last days. Still, nothing can prepare you and some days it feels as though nothing can comfort you. You were a GD jewel, Joy.

Oktoberfest 2009

We've been prepping for months. Thomas has not allowed any wine to be imbibed in the house. Only beer. All beer. All the time. In mugs. Granted relatively small mugs in comparison to the Maß (meaning "measure") liter-sized mugs we will be drinking at Oktoberfest but it's akin to starting with a 1 lb. weight and working your way up. First, a little history courtesy of Wikipedia - because there is an actual premise behind Ofest. It wasn't created just to justify guzzling massive quantities of beer.

Oktoberfest is a 16-day festival held each year in Munich, Germany, running from late September to early October. It is the world's largest fair with over six million people attending every year, and is an important part of Bavarian culture. Oktoberfest, traditionally, takes place during the sixteen days up to and including the first Sunday in October. The festival is held on an area named the Theresienwiese (field, or meadow, of Therese), often called d’ Wesn for short. Visitors eat huge amounts of traditional hearty fare such as Hendlchicken), Schweinsbraten (roast pork), Haxn (knuckle of pork), Steckerlfisch (grilled fish on a stick), Würstl (sausages) along with Brezn (Pretzel), Knödeln (potato or bread dumplings), Kaasspotznpotato pancakes), Sauerkraut or Rotkraut (red cabbage) along with such Bavarian delicacies as Obatzda (a fatty, spiced cheese-butter concoction) and Weisswurst (a white sausage). The original Oktoberfest was held in 1810 to commemorate the marriage of Crown Prince Ludwig I and Princess Therese of Saxe-Hildburfhausen (namesake of Theresienwiese).

Alas, the marriage was not to be a happy one. Turns out Luddy was a bit of a player. I know that's hard to believe what with that styling hairdo pictured to the left. But throw in a few country houses, some jewels and an unlimited clothing allowance and dude was smokin! Ludwig's most scandalous affair was with Lola Montez who was not only significantly younger, a mere dancer but also gasp! of Spanish/Irish decent. Apparently she was a first-class beatch to boot.Did you ever hear the saying, "Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets." Yeah, that's Lola on the right there.

Anyway, back to Ofest. We were psyched that our friends Trudy and Mark made the trip in to celebrate with us. Our friends, Julika, Aldo and their son Vladi were also in Munich visiting family so we had lots of great company. Since we didn't have tent reservations, we went during the day when it is a lot less crowded. Good call because we actually got a seat, instant service and halfway decent air quality.

Welcome Home Honey

Thomas enters the door after a long, hard day at work and I greet him. No, not with cocktail in hand and freshly applied lipstick. With homework in hand and crazy hair held together in a pencil bun.

Me: This makes absolutely no sense. (Waving papers frantically.) Can you please explain to me why you go "IN the work" but you go "TO the supermarket?" Why do you live "IN Holzstrasse" and not "ON Holzstrasse?" And why for the love of all that is sacred do the genders have to change more often than Cher at a comeback concert?

Thomas: Hi.

Me: Do you know I spent two whole hours trying to figure out what the difference is between "I gave Peter the book" and "He gave it (the book) to me"?

Thomas: Are you going to hit me?

Me: Hit you? How can I possibly hit you? I'd never be able to conjugate the verb "hit" correctly so what would be the point?

Feel my pain - which verb form of HIT (schlagen) would YOU pick????

Indikativ Präsens	Indikativ Präteritum	Indikativ Futur I
ich schlage	ich schlug	ich werde schlagen
du schlägst	du schlugst	du wirst schlagen
er schlägt	er schlug	er wird schlagen
sie schlägt	sie schlug	sie wird schlagen
es schlägt	es schlug	es wird schlagen
wir schlagen	wir schlugen	wir werden schlagen
ihr schlagt	ihr schlugt	ihr werdet schlagen
sie schlagen	sie schlugen	sie werden schlagen

Indikativ Perfekt	Indikativ Plusquamperfekt	Indikativ Futur II
ich habe geschlagen	ich hatte geschlagen	ich werde geschlagen haben
du hast geschlagen	du hattest geschlagen	du wirst geschlagen haben
er hat geschlagen	er hatte geschlagen	er wird geschlagen haben
sie hat geschlagen	sie hatte geschlagen	sie wird geschlagen haben
es hat geschlagen	es hatte geschlagen	es wird geschlagen haben
wir haben geschlagen	wir hatten geschlagen	wir werden geschlagen haben
ihr habt geschlagen	ihr hattet geschlagen	ihr werdet geschlagen haben
sie haben geschlagen	sie hatten geschlagen	sie werden geschlagen haben

Konjunktiv I Präsens	Konjunktiv I Perfekt	Konjunktiv I Futur I
ich schlage	ich habe geschlagen	ich werde schlagen
du schlagest	du habest geschlagen	du werdest schlagen
er schlage	er habe geschlagen	er werde schlagen
sie schlage	sie habe geschlagen	sie werde schlagen
es schlage	es habe geschlagen	es werde schlagen
wir schlagen	wir haben geschlagen	wir werden schlagen
ihr schlaget	ihr habet geschlagen	ihr werdet schlagen
sie schlagen	sie haben geschlagen	sie werden schlagen

Konjunktiv II Präteritum	Konjunktiv II Plusquamperfekt	Konjunktiv II Futur I
ich schlüge	ich hätte geschlagen	ich würde schlagen
du schlügest	du hättest geschlagen	du würdest schlagen
er schlüge	er hätte geschlagen	er würde schlagen
sie schlüge	sie hätte geschlagen	sie würde schlagen
es schlüge	es hätte geschlagen	es würde schlagen
wir schlügen	wir hätten geschlagen	wir würden schlagen
ihr schlüget	ihr hättet geschlagen	ihr würdet schlagen
sie schlügen	sie hätten geschlagen	sie würden schlagen

Konjunktiv I Futur II	Konjunktiv II Futur II	Partizip & Imperativ
ich werde geschlagen haben	ich würde geschlagen haben	schlagend
du werdest geschlagen haben	du würdest geschlagen haben	geschlagen
er werde geschlagen haben	er würde geschlagen haben	schlage, schlag
sie werde geschlagen haben	sie würde geschlagen haben	schlagen wir
es werde geschlagen haben	es würde geschlagen haben	schlagt
wir werden geschlagen haben	wir würden geschlagen haben	schlagen Sie
ihr werdet geschlagen haben	ihr würdet geschlagen haben
sie werden geschlagen haben	sie würden geschlagen haben

Get my point? I did however manage to learn the word for gun cuz' momma' has a feeling she's going to be needing one real soon. Just in case you are curious, it is die Waffe or die Pistole. Both feminine nouns. Interesting that.

The Feldmoching Marder Strikes!

So, waaaay back when I was trying to get a handle on moving to Germany, I was glued to the Internet trying to find out anything and everything about Feldmoching, the town in which I would be living. I found one thing. One. And this is that link. Feldmoching did not bode well for BMW's which I promptly pointed out to Thomas. And yet, here we are.

What is a marder? A marder is faster than a speeding S-Bahn train. A marder crawls into spaces molecules find to be a tight fit. A marder is stealthier than 007 squared. Marders are everywhere. Always. What do marders do? Eat. Sleep. Nest. Oh yeah, and eat through car wires and hoses. Lots. All at once. They are greedy little fuzzers. Marders are widely purported to have summer homes on Lake Fasanarie and have developed a taste for the finer things in life. Why snack on a Skoda when there's a BMW in the neighborhood?

Thomas' car got hit - or, more accurately, bit last week. Six hoses. We don't know if it was a local marder or if it happened when he parked his car somewhere else for a few hours. They are very territorial buggers. If a local marder had marked our car with his scent and then Thomas parked the car in another marder's territory, the encroached upon marder eats through all the hoses to destroy the "home" of the rival marder. The day Thomas brought his car in for service there were 16 other BMW's getting replacement hoses after marder attacks.

Whether or not another attack can be prevented is debatable but Thomas has built this nifty mesh wire contraption in our car park to thwart further attacks. Supposedly, if the marder runs across the mesh they think it is a trap and will abandon ship. Supposedly. We'll have to get back to you on that one. In the meantime, the device has given our neighbors something to talk about. Always happy to oblige.

Viva Italia

Long weekend in Germany = another country off our checklist. This time Italy. We were torn between heading north to the German coast or heading south to Italy. When we found out that our friends Nadine and Mathias were headed to Molveno, Italy for a few days, we decided to tag along for some camping and hiking. Mathias and Nadine are paragliding enthusiasts and take advantage of every weekend to feed their passion. They'd already been to Molveno numerous times - a popular place with paragliders because of its location in the Dolomites alps.

Besides paragliding, another really cool thing about Mathias and Nadine is that they own a completely restored 1966 VW Camper Van. My dream. As I lay in our chilly little tent, I zipped the flap down so I could stare enviously at the warm glow emanating from the VW - knowing that they were sleeping on a mattress with custom-made pillows to match the curtains. Sigh.

The next morning we got up early and hiked to the top of the alp that Mathias and Nadine were using as a jumping off point. It was a decent-sized hike and I'm becoming increasingly convinced that Thomas keeps me firmly on a "need to know basis" when it comes to hiking. He's big on the "It's not too steep, it won't take too long" trail descriptions. Because he knows that once he has me halfway up, I won't wuss out. Lucky for me, we made lots of photo stops because the scenery was just so outstandingly beautiful. And, of course, we had lunch at the top. But instead of Kasespaetzel and beer, it being Italy and all, we had polenta. And wine. Nice.

After lunch, we got to watch Mathias and Nadine do their thing. How one trusts a piece of fabric and some strings to hold you up when you are higher than the highest alp is beyond my comprehension. Practically beyond my imagination. They were so, so, so high. Thomas' pictures are misleading but know this - he was using a super, duper long lens. Those kids were make me sick in my stomach just watching high.

On Saturday we packed up our tent and headed to Verona, the city of Romeo and Juliet, to celebrate my birthday - hotel style. We spent the time seeing the sights - the Roman amphitheater which was gearing up for a production of Aida, romantic Piazza after romantic Piazza, narrow alleys, Medieval castles and inspiring churches. That night we serendipitously found a great place for dinner, shared a bottle of wine, shared our three course meal and then stopped (twice) for gelato on the way back to the hotel. Sweet.

Day Zwei

Okay. I have sorted this out. The reason that I couldn't understand anything yesterday is that in my class of 18 people, there are 16 different countries represented. Each with their unique way of pronouncing German. I had not had time to acclimate myself to the individual accents. Now I am starting to figure it out. The woman from Columbia runs every word together without pause. The girl from Spain can't make the "sch" sound. I can't make the "cht" sound. And so on, and so on, and so on. It's a comedy of vocal errors.

I sit next to a girl from China who is a super-smart, classic over-achiever. She's completed the vocabulary worksheets for the entire class the first night. That's approximately 500 words, folks. I did only the requisite 25. She understands grammar. She studies grammer - oops there I go again - grammar. But god love her, I can't understand a thing she says. She has a hard time with "r's" and adds a vowel at the end of every word. This is not good as we are always together for partner exercises. It goes something like this...

China- DasE istE einE HotES Fahhat.
Me - Wie bitte?
China - DASE istE einE HOTES FahhAT.
Me - Noch einmal, bitte?
China (with frustrated hand-waving) - DASE ISTE EINE HOTES FAHHHHAT. FAHHHHAT!
We move on to pictures and pointing.
Alexia - Ohhhh! Das ist ein rotes Fahrrad (that is a red bike)??
China - Ja! Ja! Das habe ich gesagt (that's what I said).

And it goes on like that for most of the class. The girl from France can barely understand the guy from Iraq. The girl from India plays the same call and repeat game with the woman from Russia and the teacher tries to remain patient as she corrects us all. We are a speech pathologist's nightmare.

Okay, I have to go finish my homework. Yeah, that's what I said. Homework. People over 40 should never have to utter the word homework unless it is to one of their children followed by useless threats. Homework does not get easier with age. Homework STILL sucks.

Lunchbox Packed

Today was my first day of German school. Four hours a day. Five days a week. My head hurts. I am old. I have not kept my brain oiled with Sudoku and such. Instead, I have petrified my brain with InTouch Weekly and such.

I do not understand English grammar. I do not even know how to spell grammar (thank god for spell check). How I ask, how??? am I to understand the difference between the Accusative case and the Dative case? And why, I ask why??? does every German verb have 50 different variables? Why do nouns have to be masculine, feminine and neuter? Why can't they just BE? Haven't we, as civilized humans, moved beyond that need to slot everything into a neat little category? And how can a Bikini possibly be a masculine noun while a tie "die Krawatte" is a feminine noun? Unless, that is, you refer to a tie as der Schlips and then we're right back on the masculine track. If you love me, you will send me Advil. Lots and lots of Advil.

I did the first level of the class at home via a self-study program. I had Nutella nearby in case I needed to kick-start my brain, I had warm slippers and hot tea, and the best part - nobody EVER called on me. That, my friends, has changed. Most of the people in the class took the first level together so they've already spent two months together. I am the new girl. So while they were busy chatting (in German) about their weekend, I was busy trying to cherry-pick out words that I know like "das Wochenende." Yup, I know, even a moron could figure that one out. I believe I am one step beyond Moron level. I'm not quite sure what that translates to on the Goethe Institute scale but I see an aspirin addiction in my future.

Berlin - Bring It Baby.

This was my second trip to Berlin. The first time, Thomas' best friend Marc gave us a great whirlwind city tour of the top sights complete with a stop for that Berlin specialty - the Currywurst. This time, we spent the whole weekend with Thomas' Aunt Gabi and his cousin, Carsten. And we had a blast.

How exactly is Berlin different than Munich? It's hard to describe except that, to me, Berlin feels more like a proper city. And Munich feels more like a postcard city. There is seemingly more diversity in Berlin (along with more poverty) but also more of an appetite for life. I felt like the energy was completely different than Munich - of course, this could have been influenced by the numerous caipis I consumed while there. But more on that later...

Berlin has a strong bohemian artist community, a great music/club scene, museums, architecture, cafes, shopping. It's bigger, it's dirtier, it's louder, it's crazier, it's funkier, it's cooler - it's just different than Munich. And I love it.

The annual Karnival der Kulturen was taking place while we were there and we spent the entire day at the massive street fair. Caipi in hand. Or Corona. Or Prosecco bottle. Pick your own poison. The event boasts a parade that lasts over six hours with representation from every continent. There were Brazilian dancers, rasta guys, Thia, Indian, you name it they had it. All along the streets (and rooftops) every kind of person imaginable was celebrating life by dancing, drinking, eating, smiling, laughing. Girls pulling up their skirts to pee behind bushes, dogs underfoot searching for dropped delicacies, kids on shoulders, crazies collecting bottles, teenagers flirting, adults flaunting flabby tattoos. Great. Just great.

We had a very NYish asian fusion dinner while there (oh, how I miss my spicy girl roll), had a coffee under the Deutscher Dom, met Thomas's sorta' kinda' cousin Franziska and her boyfriend Uwe for a yummy Italian dinner. And basically filled in all the spaces with lots and lots of walking. On our last night, we were fortunate enough to be the last group of people allowed into the Reichstag Building and despite the rain, Thomas managed to get some nice shots.

Reichstag at night.

Cygnets!!

The last week has had it's sweet moments and it's sad moments. I was not the only person anxiously waiting for the swan eggs to hatch. There are several other people that are lurking around the nests waiting for the first crack to show. One, an older gentleman, has become a Bekannter (acquaintance) of mine. We try to piece together my poor German and his rudimentary English to make swan talk. He's retired so he's been spending almost every waking moment there - camera in hand. While I was somewhere shoving another Bratwurst down my gullet, he was there capturing every small detail of the first hatchlings. And hatch they did.

I arrived on Monday to learn that one of the mothers had four new baby cygnets. Her last egg is still left to hatch. It's was hard to get any pictures since the babes spend most of their time under the mother's wings but I managed a few.



And now the sad part. The other Swan Mother had just two eggs. Now she has just one. Apparently, yesterday some teenage boys were showing off, being stupid or whatnot and decided it would be fun to try and steal the eggs. They got one of the eggs and when people nearby tried to persuade them to put the egg back, the teen's response was, "here, you put it back." And then he rolled the egg on the ground like a bowling ball. Of course, it smashed.

When I heard this, I started to cry. I was so upset that I had to call Thomas at work. I've done that only once since I've been here. The news hit me so hard. It was just such a cruel, senseless thing to do. The egg couldn't have been more than a week away from hatching. That mother has sat there day and night, through all kinds of weather, only to have someone destroy her family. For no reason. I feel like they should find the kids and arrest them. But they bolted and my swan friend thinks they'll never find them. They better hope he doesn't recognized them around the lake because he was as mad/sad about it as a parent protecting a child. Here's the mother with her lone egg. It still breaks my heart.


UPDATE: The egg of the second swan never hatched although she sat on it for a good three weeks after it should have hatched. Finally the man I call the Swan Professor (he visits them every day, knows everything about them, names them and basically just loves and cares for them) had to remove the egg so she could get on with her life. Heartbreaking.