There is no such thing as a sidewalk.

Did you know that in China, the cars that want to go a little slower than normal traffic drive on the sidewalk / bike lane?  Do you know where the bikers go then?  Yep, in between the slow cars and the pedestrians.  Guess where the pedestrians are.  Yep, everywhere!  Sean (the other English teacher here at Zhengzhou middle school No. 47) and I agree, crossing a main street is more adventure than most thrill-seekers ever know.  Literally, the goal is dodge the cars.

(I know my mother won't enjoy reading this post, but it's unforgettable that it just deserves a note.)

Later Days,
Rick

P.S.  As you note from this, I went to the hub of the city I'm in (Zhengzhou) and, let me tell you, it is exactly the chaos you envision.  Woah.  (Philipp or anyone who wants to visit, if you read this blog, get ready for it because you know I'm dragging you there as well.)

Always stay flexible...until da2 han1

I'm here in China! Yep, that's right.  For one week I've now been in the most populated country in the world.  1.3 billion Chinese, a handful of westerners, and Rick.  

I'm doing my best to embrace the "This is China" attitude, where odd events will occur, but you just need to accept it.  The most common is the random Chinese person who clearly has the camera pointed at you/your group of Westerners because they honestly are shocked to see a white person.

My travels best demonstrated the, "be flexible attitude".  I was flexible when
*my connecting flight to San Francisco was 1/2 hour late, causing me to run through the airport and security; when
*I got seated on the place next to the window behind a curtain, unable to see any of the movie on the central screen or unable to see the attendants as they passed by to request anything; when
*I arrived in Beijing late, hoping my ride would still be there; when
*None of my luggage arrived and I had to file a claim in Chinese; when
*The driver (fortunately was there) took twice as long to the hotel to pick up some other people; when
*I had to order dinner all in broken Chinese; when
*I fumbled with chopsticks as the child at the next table blatantly stared; when
*I ordered beer (to help me fall asleep and fight the impending jet lag) and it came back room temperature; when
*I finally fell asleep only to be woken by an arrogant roommate arriving at 1:30 a.m.

Up until this point, I had always send, "I'm flexible.  Things will work out."  I had little sleep, no luggage, some food, but was safe in Beijing with at least a bar of soap and something to have eaten.

Then da2han1.

Da2han1 = snoring

My roommate fell quickly asleep and snored louder than a raging bull in sporadic spurts, not allowing any senses to adapt and drown out the sound.  Nope.  That's when I couldn't stand it.  Nope.  I went down to the front desk and asked for a new room.  Struggling with the Chinese, there was nothing they could do, but I was moved the next day, drowsy and irritable. 

Fortunately, I met the other participants, ate delicious food (below, a table with a lazy susan in the middle where the dishes are set as soon as they come out and diners spin it around to take bits for their plate--I loved that idea.)

I traveled with the group on the day before the program started and we went to the Forbidden City downtown Beijing.  We didn't go in, because as we neared it some soldiers were gathering and some tanks were rolling in, and the Chinese girl in our group understood a soldier sounding over a bull horn "Get everyone out of here."  Well, you don't have to tell me that twice in China!

We saw a shopping district opposite the Forbidden City, which, of course, had some familiar sights (look closely). 

I saw things that distracted me...

And, of course, we saw traditional Chinese architecture in stunning detail.  This is the ___ temple (I can't remember... :-( 


After two days in seminar, we were to fly to our home towns.  I am now slowly settling in here in Zhengzhou.  More to come about the apartment--a surprise (in a good sense). 

Remember, fear the da2han1!

Later Days,
Rick

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.

Enter your e-mail in the box on the right hand side of this blog to receive updates when new posts appear. 

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