Next stop, China!

It's official, I'm off to teach English in China for the coming school year.  I finally secured my working visa for China this Friday and subsequently booked my flight to leave on August 22nd. 

I'll be teaching in Zhengzhou, a 2nd/3rd tier Chinese city with only 7 million people.  I've been warned that a city that small will have very few western influences so I should get ready.

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Zai jian!
Rick
(or by my chinese name Lĭ ruì -- 李 睿 )

Juxtapose me.

I begin my evening by testing the newly-released Pinot noir of a vineyard I regularly purchase.  Like a scientist, I cannot appreciate it until I have a control--mine tonight is a shiraz of the same vineyard.  It is perplexing that I find and taste these opposites.  Their tones compliment each other completely; as the pinot noir introduces itself to the tongue with a broad tone, it bows and disappears among the crowd.  Conversely, the shiraz forgoes any introduction to only make its bold appearance in the middle of the event.  This, (I thank my English teacher for educating me to the definition of the following word, (rock on, Mrs. C)) is my real-life juxtaposition.

The Pinot noir complimented a film excelling in the art of juxtaposing beauty and horror.  I viewed "Cranes are Flying" and note the two most memorable scenes first as the despicable pianist blares an empowered performance against the backdrop of a soulless air raid and, second, as the protagonist discovers the tragic loss of her beloved as her countrymen are gleefully welcomed home.

I extrapolate this to the motif of many recent journal entries made since my college commencement.  I find myself in an exceptional land, one that demands a broken assumption.  My American upbringing mirrors this ideology and my American education enables me to accomplish this.  Yet, I, like any, ultimately face my anonymity.  This is my real-life juxtaposition.  In a land of gold-painted streets, and natural laws defied, "I strive for progress, but when I progress this not, I must push only that which I know--my microcosm."

What to do with these common ingredients? Please suggest!

I'll lead with my feeble defense that I believe I can cook. What I can cook is simply limited. Most often dinners are the result of sporadic creativity and curiosity. Now I'd like to learn other ways of preparing ingredients to broaden that fundamental repertoire, answering the question, "What can I do with this?"

Thus, I plan to undertake a learning experiment, selecting one very simple ingredient as the representative of the week and exploring ways of preparing it, learning foods with which to pair it, and cooking recipes that contain it.

I mean very simple ingredients, and my selections are such:
1) Eggs

2) Bread (not baking it, but using it)












3) Lemons











4) Potatoes

5) Beans

So I ask you, what should I do? Do you have a recipe with one of these ingredients? Please, do share and, well, advise!

If I had children, I'd want them to date at the library.

This past week I rediscovered an institution that made me feel good about myself and helped mitigate my distaste for our society's creation of things like Jersey Shore or Tool Academy (despite my hidden enjoyment of these shows.)

I was assuaged in my concern by visiting the public library--an institution that just exudes wholesomeness, in my opinion. It seldom changes over time; there are still the pleasant older women there to greet guests, recommend books, and gawk at the young man looking for American classics for pleasure. As I checked out To Kill a Mockingbird and classical music CD's, I like to believe that they were compiling lists of young single women for whom they had someone to introduce--so go my delusions. That or they wished they were years younger, similar to the words of my 7th grade science teacher who once regretted she wasn't my age and was hence unable to date me. Only in my old age do I now question that comment's appropriateness. Hmm.

During my visit, I saw a most peculiar event: two teenagers, clearly dating, were flirting with books in hand in the seats across the way. Innocent and pubescent, I couldn't help but wish to compliment their parents. No chaperoning parents in site, which would have been unnecessary as these two were doing nothing crude, simply conversing at a polite decibel. Had I kids and I accepted the fact that teens date, I couldn't think of a better place for them to loiter than inside the public library. Heck, I'd drive 'em.

I best relate to middle-aged women.

As I continue my job search, I find myself with ample time in the days. Chinese lessons, job searching, and correspondences fill only so much time. So I spend my time "becoming cultured". This overstatement simply means I'm reading again--items such as stage dramas and Sedaris--watching foreign films--thank you Netflix subscription--and cooking--random selections of vegetables, starches, and meats collide and simmer in a pan. To keep sanity I also leave my place at least once a day. I am still befuddled that I look forward to my one errand of the day. Today, I couldn't even fill that and simply went to a coffee shop for a change of scenery. And as I sat reading my Minneapolis fiction, I noted many others around me doing the same. It is the middle of the afternoon as the sun slowly sets and casts warm rays on one's shoulder sitting in a comfy leather chair. I enjoyed this along with a multitude of others--the middle-aged women doing the exact same thing. Really, no men; no one under the age of 30. And for this afternoon, that was my peer group.

It's a simpler pace at the moment, one I can certainly enjoy and respect. Soon, I hope, I'll be back in chaos mode tossing around lines like, "I just don't have the time." But for now, it's new to admit, "yep, I do have the time for that."

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