Health Care--a Model for Obama's Worries

Two weekends ago (yes, I fail at being prompt to write, which I attribute to the growing indifference and apathy I'm slowly collecting every additional day from work. Others have it worse though,)

Two weekends ago I caught a cold. Some claim it's the aftershock of the festival season, which I refuse to admit as that would indicate that I'm not capable of keeping up with the Germans.
Being knocked out of work for five days, my frustration and pain reached the level where I abandoned home remedies and sought out to visit the doctor. My mentality is that of an American where we expect an exorbitant fee and overpriced, under-effective prescription prices on top of which.

Germany, however, has a beautiful health care system. The doctor asked for 10 Euro (1 Euro = $1.5.) I later learned that that $15 is good for 3 months! Further, if I transfer to a different doctor within that time, they will wire my $15 to the new guy and I'll be free of the charge.

The doctor was the first hurdle overcome, next followed the prescriptions. Penicillin as an antibiotic (while I thought it to be rather outdated, much like everything in the doctor's office, for $15 I didn't need anything cutting edge) and something for the sore throat pain. The pharmacist is directly across the street from my apartment and I bring in the two forms. She finds the medication immediately and I needn't wait more than 30 seconds. Then my anxiety rises as I wait for the bill.
"6.50 Euro" she requests from me.
Unfortunately, I laughed in her face. I worry this may have come off rude, but then after she asked what the problem was, I respond, "the price!"
"too low or too high?" her inquiry continues.
"Too low!" I exclaim.
And after talking to a German pharmacist friend of mine, she reveled in my excitement and courtesy as people typically complain to no end about the outrageous prices. I was ready for a bill around $70. And to hear less than 10% of that simply lifted my spirits and helped the healing process.

Obama, come talk to Angie again (Angela Merkel, the German leader) and figure out how she does it.

Later Days,
Rick

P.S. I will add the realist bit that I as a "poor student" already pay 100 Euro a month for health insurance and, if I had a real job, would pay twice that.

Our Sister City Crailsheim's Fraenkisches Volksfest

I spent the past weekend in my hometown's sister city, Crailsheim. Dieter, the director of the exchange program, invited me to see a real German fall festival.

Here at the left, I ran into the Chief Editor of the Hohenloher Stadtblatt, the local newspaper (equivalent of the Daily Globe for those Worthingtonians) and on Monday discovered my name in the paper "Rick Nonneman"--hey, close enough. Coming from Woo-town, it's really makes for a warm reception and great time in Crailsheim.

Here, the madman himself as we both sport our Lederhosen, Dieter. He insisted upon celebrating every night. It's the true "Work Hard, Play Hard" as these festivals originally celebrated the bountiful harvest season. (So I'm led to believe)





Always important is eye contact when saying cheers--hence the photo to the left as Kai and I look each other straight on. Otherwise, you might offend the other person as you won't "look 'em in the eye" and are, hence, untrustworthy.

Friendships from the past renewed, Milena on the left and Katrin in the center, both went to Worthington High School with me during my senior year and are from Crailsheim. To the right is Katrin's friend, Lucy. (To beat her to the punch, I expect Bridget to comment on this photo)







Monika, Thomas, and Uli. These are friends I met in the Frankisch Family when I marched in traditional clothing in the parades. Having done that, it really made this Volksfest superb, as if I were surrounded by friends that I had known for years--as if part of the Crailsheim Fraenkische Familie.

Eva also added to the extreme fun. She's eccentric, on Facebook, and a true fan of the Fest. Officially "friended" on Facebook, Eva and I will certainly have to exchange stories from the Volksfest.
As I mentioned, the sausage is 1/2 meter long (1 1/2 feet approx.) and the bun is never large enough. But after singing for 6 or 7 hours in the beer tent, a little bit of bread and little bit of ketchup and a hot dog hit the spot.

Here Dieter and I stand in front of the tree IN the tent. The tent is the longest one in Europe and held upwards of 7,000 people. Every night the tent was as packed as a typical bar on a Saturday night.

What an impressive sight as I walked past the stands of beer masses. Yes, these are the glasses they store and distribute for the beer. Note, they're almost exclusively 1 Liter. You're moderately a pain to the server and party pooper if you order anything less (unless, of course, you're watching your children, or having to drive, or reasonable excuses excluded.)


"Adios mein Engel" This was written on the urinal. Adios, (I assume we all know it means "goodbye" in Spanish) and "mein Engel" means "my Angel" which is the brand of beer brewed in the town and served in the beer tent. Basically in the urinal it stood, "goodbye, my beer"
Here is the beloved Uli as she and I say cheers or "Prost" in German. She's the leader of the Frankisch Family. Note, she's a Grandmother and still celebrating like every other. It's makes for a great atmosphere.

At our break by the beer stand, we ran into Lucy and Katrin again. And as seen here, the varieties of clothing completely acceptable and encouraged at the fest. Lucy sporting the Volksfest T-shirt, Dieter in the regional traditional clothing, Katrin in modern European wear (I say European because of the scarf, it's so often a dead give-away when distinguishing between Europeans and non-EUs), and me sporting the Lederhosen.

This wonderful woman works in the courthouse and is responsible for distributing the certificates. As one from Worthington, I was very very taken care of. I think I calculated it out to be almost 200 Euros gifted to me for coming, combined from the city's certificates, those from friends, and those from the Fränkische Familie. It made it far more affordable (as a min. wage intern) and far more enjoyable.



As you'll read, Guenther we met at the Bier stand/booth and was a hoot. Here, I decided to see what I look like in the traditional married woman's hat. It certainly covers up the receding hair line.




And here's me with an old friend, Katrin. Well, we're both young, but we went to High School together as she, from Crailsheim, came and spent senior year with the class I was in. The dress that women wear is called a Dirndl, and the men wear Lederhosen.

Here, two fellow Tracht Traegerer (Men in Lederhosen, more or less) Guenther and Andi. Dieter and I ran into them in the afternoon as we took a break from the beer tent to go to a beer stand, unlike the previous day where our beer tent break was at the beer garden. Keep up and don't be so confused.

These guys helped make the last day of the festival unforgettable as we were then with a great group of people, everyone friendly to meet each other. And Guenther was constantly in the best of moods--perfect company for such a festival.

Last comes the Festival Funeral. The procession marches in and a "priest" sadly closes the festival.

There should be more to come from the parade. This year was agriculture-themed--especially fitting for my father, the farmer, my sister, the future Veterinarian, and me growing up on the farm. The Germans certainly have a different way of celebrating, but one of really celebrating.

Later Days,
Rick

I was a Hamburger.

Always in the south, let's journey to the equivalent of a foreign country--the north. Philipp and I decided for a spontaneous trip to Hamburg. Heck, we had seen the "Hamburger Fish Market" in Stuttgart; better make it the real deal and see it on Sunday morning in Hamburg where it closes at 9:30 a.m. 9:30 a.m. It closes. On Sunday. Closes at 9:30 a.m. on Sunday. Despite the fact that with those hours they're basically TRYING to keep people away, the marketplace was full and in great spirits. So, in the last photo here--the one with the bun--i had my first Fischbroetchen (Fish Bun.) Typically there's a slab of what looks like raw fish thrown across a bun, which is far too small to hold the meat (similar to how Wurst (i.e. sausages) are sold--1 1/2 foot sausage on 2 inches of bun.)

Otherwise, you'll also see here the elaborate interior of the courthouse, the Bio (organic) market taking place in front of the courthouse, (I had to walk through, being basically opposed to the principle), the harbor--for which Hamburg is internationally known)--which flows through the old warehouse district and the new "Harbor City", attracting significant investment and real estate development right on the water's edge.

And there's me again on the edge of the docking area.

Well, short for a full weekend with great company in a new city, but neither of us were keen on photo taking and I've yet to get to the festival entry. There are 300 pictures from that, but I'll spare the majority.

Till then,
Rick

I was Georgian.

One might believe it's a boring American apartment as I mention my roommates from Georgia and New Ulm. But to your surprise, the New Ulm is the original, a suburb of the German Ulm, and the Georgia is that on the edge of Russia.

She's pleasant to talk with, but it was an awkward conversation as I asked my roommate about her home country and how many people live there.
Her answer came "About 5 million, but there are fewer now."
My curiosity continued, "Oh, is the population shrinking like it is here in Germany?"
A somber answer, "No. Russia bombed Georgia last August."
"Oh."
(How does one respond to that? )

Conversation aside, the Georgians are fun. Last Thursday after a Weindorf Kater, my roommate's boyfriend knocks on my door and invites me to a beer. Hesitation--thanks to the Kater. But I sit down to the table and am greeted with a full plate of salad, potatoes, and sausages. The sour Georgian form of ketchup accompanied it all, to which I certainly had to adjust.

But what was most significant was to learn the Georgian word for "Cheers", which I would spell out as "Cow'-mar-joz (with fist pump accompaniment)." Pago, Marie's boyfriend led every time we said cheers, as is Georgian tradition. There's a pre-determined order for things to cheer to. And clinking glasses is deceptive as you hold your glass up but frequently set it back down on the table without taking any gulp--Germans would not approve. However, when you finally commit to drinking it's all-out. There's no sips; simply bottoms up.
Well, I'm officially welcome with full accomodations in Georgia. (It may have been the bottle of vodka, 6-pack of beers, and bottle of wine talking that these guys drank.)

Yet, it's these types of experiences that make me really enjoy being abroad and encountering ever new cultures. It's something we never really have growing up American.

This would be Dieter on the right; the crazy man who invited me to attend the Fränkische Familie.

And again I joined the Fränkische Familie from Crailsheim as I put on the traditional garb and walked in the parade.

The city was 7,000 people (yet still had a beer tent with capacity of 1,000). The horse in the carriage behind us went berserk and ran away without any restraint, down the parade route and, hopefully, not doing any damage.

Here, the gown girls wear. Finally found out the reason for the different hats--I just knew girls wore the little bonnet thing and women the full-scale hat. Marriage is the difference. huh. Guess it makes sense.

So the week was a cultural experience. I watched Germans dance on their tables any time they enjoyed the song being played in the tent. I learned that they sleep under the table if they've had too much to drink. Heaven forbid they leave the tent; when they do that, they won't be allowed back in. Too much to drink calls for a pause, not a conclusion. I told my German colleagues about this funny discovery, "of course. Yeah, duh" was their answer.

Well onto the next week of a German adventure.

Later Days,
Rick

I was Fränkisch.

German offices have a wonderful attitude about personal life--it's important and they agree upon it. With current global influences transitioning Germany towards the American model, the climate is changing, but essentially it's still European. Take for example where I met my colleagues this past Thursday. A bunch of interns worked till and gathered around 8 p.m. to go to our Weindorf--the Stuttgart wine festival. As interns do, we went and sampled a few glasses of wine while trying local dishes such as Maultaschen, Käsespätzle, and Schnufnudeln. But what made it truly great was moving on to a bar and running into more co-workers. It's not just the interns that appreciate a beer after work or a Thursday night out on the town, it's the whole crew. Welcome to Germany.


And truly something German is the strong appreciation of regional heritage--the equivalent of saying "I'm from Maple Grove and damn those in Maplewood" or Minneapolis vs. St. Paul. Every small region has its own traditional clothing, called Tracht. This weekend the director of the exchange program between Worthington (where I grew up) to Crailsheim (our sister city in Germany) invited me to march in the parade in Augsburg in traditional fränkischen Tracht. The following photos depict me, the American, during my day as a true native.

The people in the crowd waved and applauded as we walked past. It was the easiest parade to date--no marching, no instrument, no paying strict attention to lines and beats, and unlike the Minnesota Marching Band which marched in the State Fair parade on the day following this Augsburg parade, unfortunately no crazy dancing to all the great Minnesota Gopher cadences.


Extremely simple as it was, the best part was the ending. Sure, before the parade there was a large island set up simply to hand out beer and pretzels to the parade participants (not apples and water like normal American, seriously beer and pretzels.) The best part was the end destination. The entire parade and all participants marched into a humongous beer tent. I envision the image from the sky similar to Animal House as the band turns the corner and follows the abducted drum major into an alleyway. So is it at every parade. The farther in front you are, the sooner you arrive in the beer tent to eat and drink till happiness.


So, I gladly took part!

That's the big news of the week. I'm back with the group this coming Sunday and, until then, enjoy the momentary chaos that is my current project leader. Smart and friendly, one marble still went missing.

Later Days,
Rick

"Drag"ging through Konstanz

About my second weekend after arriving in Stuttgart, some friends I first met in Berlin invited me to Konstanz in Southern Germany right on Lake Constance, for a celebration they were holding.

Here's Suzy and Jessica to the left.

We first met as Jeff (another Transatlantic Program participant) and I were headed to the Brandenburger Tor to watch a soccer championship. It turned out that there wasn't a showing of it, but while walking, we met these two and two others on the way there. They had also looked for this game's public showing to no avail. Anyway, we hung out with them for that night, kept in touch, and they invited Jeff and me to their farewell party in Konstanz.
Konstanz is in the same state, so I agreed to go as it'd be easy to get there.

We knew they all worked in the theater in Konstanz, but did not expect the show we went to.
After arriving in Konstanz, Jessica informed me we were going to the theater that night. I thought, great, as I always enjoy going to the theater.

The show was Jens's drag show where he played the tempermental, lounge-singing, joke-craking Tamara. I knew Jens from Berlin as well. I wouldn't have minded, if I hadn't been pulled on to the stage while only understanding 1/2 of what he was saying. (The concept of allusions common in jokes are beyond me in a foreign language.) I had the luck of arriving late and took a standing spot in the back, direct in Tamara's line of sight.

Tamara/Jens couldn't resist himself at one point in the show by looking straight towards the back and pulling me on stage.

There were jokes: there was a red couch where a cute 17-year old girl from the audience was also dragged onto the stage to accompany me; there was awkwardness of sitting awkward and unconfortably in front of 50-100 Germans.

Fortunately, the pain passed and I was then greeted with pity and mixed reception by every party attendee who saw the show. They knew immediately that I was the American.

However, as you see here on the left, that didn't hinder me from dancing foolishly. That sentence is debatably redundant. Foolish could be left out and "i danced" would implicitly carry this meaning.

Either way, everyone there grilled, ate pasta salads, and danced till the morning. We finally slept around 7:00 a.m. and I caught my train later that day.

"kohnshtahnz" (as the Badisch from the city pronounce it) was a great time. It's a beautiful city immediately at the point where the Rhein river meets Lake Constance. Tourist abound and, for that weekend, I gladly counted myself as a mitfeierer--one who takes part in the celebration.

Later Days,
Rick

The Friend that Always Wants to Follow

Short, dark, and handsome—and always with drink in hand. 56mm tall and a petite 9.6 kilograms, the Focus comes in, it glides into the room sporting a midnight blue coat with white trim and an international label that reads “German Lightweight Engineering”.

This is my graduation gift to myself. Instead of a down payment on a car for working in the US, which brings regular, irritating monthly payments, my senior-year savings contributed to a full-payment (no “down” crap around here—aside from the direction all of my bank accounts have gone since traveling abroad and purchasing such a ride in Euros.)

One month and 255 kilometers into our relationship, we’ve already seen much together, survived a few bruises through the days, and gotten lost together—following a random man in a skin-tight uniform back to Stuttgart. (It was another guy on a road bike in full biking gear—it’s more humorous to describe it the first way. Basically, I was taking a different way back; we very shortly we figured out we were both headed back to Stuttgart and he pointed out the turns to the city. It was nice having a pseudo guide to make sure I found the way safely. I found the path again, thanks to his directions, and then I zipped back on the way I knew.)

So this Sunday the 26^th, I woke up late, as usual, and with a city map in my riding backpack, I plunked my finger on my city map at places that looked interesting and said “I’m going there.”

The first stop was a look-out point over Stuttgart. Weissenburg. As you figure from the words “look-out point” and “burg” (mountain/castle), it was UP the hill. Biking that direction was initially hard. We traveled about 3 kilometers away from my apartment to this place that featured a pleasant beer garden/restaurant at the top.

Next, after enjoying the downhill ride, a few unplanned turns planted me at Marienplatz (Platz=square)—a primary subway stop with restaurants and cafes around it.

A quick look at my city map incited an interst to head off to Feuersee, (Feuer= Fire, See=Lake/Sea) (By the way, I didn’t take any of these photos, obviously. I forgot my camera, and just swiped these from online so you can see what I saw.) In the middle of this residential area with the University down the street, I arrived at a large, sandstone-colored gothic church as a peninsula in a man made lake, which happened to host an electrical model motorboat race that afternoon. Along with the café and restaurant visitors, a small crowd gathered to both observe and participate in racing the 15-inch contraptions around red and white buoys stationed in the pond.

The next large construction I was to pass was the Rotebühlbau (Bau=building), which turned out to be the finance agency for the city. To my disappointment, the area was quiet without guests, reception, or tours.

However, the next stop—Robert Bosch Areal and the Liederhalle (Song Hall)—are the locales for evening entertainment, featuring classical performances in the hall and the latest movie releases at the Cinemaxx theater.

But only around the corner, I find myself in the city park, adjoining the University of Stuttgart. On this sunny afternoon, Germans are out with beach blankets and books, most as students preparing for their final exams in the next two weeks.

And here I find myself. Alongside my blue, German stud seated calmly in a beer garden/restaurant in the middle of the park, I found it a perfect chance to detail my ride and my rad (Rad=wheel, i.e. bike).

I ride about 3-4 times a week, typically around 30 kilometers per time (approx. 18.6 miles) and am really proud of my progress to date. With my last ride of 30 Km, I averaged 27.7 kmh/17.2 mph with stop-and-go in city traffic, but, more importantly, I floated at 31 kmh/19.2 mph when actually riding. It’s not pro by any means, and it is flat riding along the river in Stuttgart—the Neckar—but it’s progress I’m proud of. I still need the glasses and the skin-tight gear to round out the biker look. But, to-date, I’m pleased and it’s still treating me well, keeping me active, showing me the city, and providing my best defense against an impending gut from the delicious meats and cheeses available everywhere along with the regional specialties—delicious but dangerous—Maultaschen and Käsespätzle.

A buddy that goes everywhere I want to, shows me the city, works out with, never criticizes, always poses a new challenge, and always looks sharp; that sounds like a pretty good friend.

Later Days,

Rick

German Grandmas Bake Cake

(i'm skipping a lot here, but this weekend is fresher in my mind)

The last three (four) days each will likely remain unforgettable. Friday remains something I have to get used to. I haven't had obligations on Fridays, basically, for the last three years (since fall of my freshman year, when I wised up to avoid having classes on Friday--ever). After 13-hour days Tues & Wednesday and an unaccustomed obligation on Friday, I seemed to seethe discontent. I left at 4:00 to ride to 4 hours to a city near Basel called Steinen, where Philipp--a great friend from Freiburg--lives.

The summary, it was extremely comforting to spend time with a good friend. Being around Minneapolis with great roommates, friends down the hall, and a small college (the business one at least), friends are always close. But I'm new in Stuttgart, and Germans are slow to befriend, so it was such a great weekend to hang out with Philipp. (Plus, I hadn't seen him for almost 2 years, so that added to the anticipation.)
First, you'll note the amazing view in the picture. It's the view out one of Philipp's balcony's. You know, it just happens to look right into the rolling hills of the black forest with (just off to the SW) a castle clear on the hillside--happenstance.

This picture also shows half of the village Philipp lives and grew up in. Awesome it's still called a village. The little white house is where his Grandmother lives.

Here's Philipp's Oma (Grandma). I was hoping she'd be the cute grandma stereotype--conversational, busy-bee, bakes a lot, proud of her family, her garden, and her cakes. She certainly was!

She's from Cologne, so she speaks her dialect Koelsch. I understood a 1/3 (at best) of what she said. Philipp can understand, no problem (despite the fact that many of the words are actually different.) But I was unable to tell that a Buggle Broden was a Tuette Broetchens. (Something to such an extent. Like I mentioned, I don't what she said.)

She was great. She was pitting cherries (very German) for a cake. And, as Philipp informed me, there will always be cake when you visit his grandma. We had 2 pieces and somehow ended up with 1/2 a cake to take home!

She was a lot of fun. (I just hope I didn't offend her when I'd screw up the formal and informal address.)

As the first photos show, I finally visited the village of Steinen, where Here lives Philipp=Hier wohnt Philipp hangs. And, as must be expected, we enjoyed a few chilled Rathaus biers simply relaxing and chatting on the balcony.

Despite my desire to adapt to Germany, to become eingedeutsched (this is the adjective used to describe english words in the German language, like Managen, and Hedge Fond). Anyway, note the food. I didn't even think about it, but Philipp called it and and laughed "ha, it's true that Americans do eat like that!" For me, these little differences are always amusing.

Philipp was a tourguide through the village of Steinen, the town of Loerrrach, and the city of Basel (in Switzerland.) I think the UofM is bigger than Steinen and Loerrach (definitely) and, with as many commuters as we have, almost as big as Basel. I grasped the size concept quite quickly and the tours were brief. Anyone remember touring the UofM as a prospective student and they tell you to plan for nearly 2 hours?

Philipp works at UBS as a trainee (i.e. on-the-job training before being a full-time employee.) Germans are great at creating new forms of education. It's actually what helped them become a leading economy--honestly, it's one of their strong points--education and Rothaus.
I basically mandated this photo. Like I said, I take no real tourist photos, but I'm always stoked to see businesses I know.

In essence, it was a relaxed weekend--visit a great friend, sit on the balcony, make some breakfast, walk around town, have some dinner, fall asleep in front of the TV as a bad French (stupid French) movie drags along, sleep in (until the church bells ring for an hour without stop), eat some more, have a beer. Yep, simple, but unforgettable.

Today still counts in the "last 4 days I won't forget". Well, it's the latest I've ever worked in the office. Granted there was the all-nighter while at E&Y, but that was at home and for other reasons. But I officially left the office on the next day. (Surbhi and other I-bankers, you're free to attack and call me out for almost whining.) It wasn't bad, but it does remind me that working late is one thing, typically very tolerable. But working late and going home when everything is closed, I mean almost EVERYTHING. Typically you could leave late and still get groceries or pick up paper towels from Target. In Germany, I feel I have to leave early just so I can beat the stores from closing before I leave work. We'll see how long I can go on 1/3 container of milk and some almonds...

Until next time (maybe I'll get around to the drag show in Konstanz where I was pulled on stage, the first days in Stuttgart, the irritation that is the Foreigner's office, or the hobos that get to listen to classical music in all the places the city doesn't want hobos hanging out. Until then.

Later Days,
Rick