Under the Weather and Talking Up a Storm.

The last two days have been fantastically sunny. There have been no overcast skies, no constant drizzle, no intense wind. Unlike days past, I wake up with the sun illuminating my room. But at 51° N latitude, where the sun never gets above 9 AM height, sunny days mean only one thing… IT WILL BE FREEZING COLD. After the departure of our cozy cloud blanket, temps plummeted, and left us with a nice frost Friday morning. For me, this leaves one option… take pictures. I left for school early, camera in hand, results as follows:

These are the kinds of things I get to see as I walk to school. At home, I drive everywhere. Look at what I would have missed out on.

Friday night and all day today I wore my infamous “toe-shoes”:

 

(No, this is not an actual picture of me. No, my legs are not that smooth.)

I have decided that these may be the best invention in shoe history since the Jesus sandal. For those of you that do not know, I have a bit of a problem when it comes to shoes. In much the same way junkies need crack, I need shoes. “But you are a guy! Certainly this can’t be true!” I hear you say. In response I can only refer you to Exodus 20:17. That having been settled, lets proceed. These shoes tend to attract a lot of strange looks, though I cannot imagine why, and despite what you think, I do not enjoy these looks. Nay! I do not enjoy them nearly as much as I enjoy catching those giving them. All it takes is a direct look in the eye, and the tiniest smile, and they know they’re busted. The best part is that in this country I don’t even speak the same language as those I bust, but they know it all the same. How joyous.

Speaking of language: I have decided that the strangest part of returning home will be understanding what is being said by those around me. I have grown accustomed to not knowing what the person next to me is talking about, or how to read street signs, or advertisements. In my room I have satellite television. 80+ channels of gibberish. Last night I watched a movie in English, and it already seemed foreign to me. Sure, those who I came with speak English, but to only be able to converse with a small group of people-THE SAME PEOPLE-everyday is strange. I tried to strike up a conversation with a girl on the bus yesterday, and she just laughed at me (which, oddly enough, didn’t seem abnormal… ). I am assuming she had no idea what I was saying, but who knows. I fear this lack of auditory interaction may be killing off the few social skills I previously possessed, though I have no way of knowing for sure. On the contrary, this conundrum has been enlightening me to the incredible possibilities of nonverbal communication. I have always had a respect for body language, particularly with good friends. There have been people in my life who, with only a look, knew exactly what I was trying to communicate. During the days of the rock ‘n roll phantasmagoria that was Not Quite 7, we communicated through eye contact, musical inflection, and body movements, making previously undiscussed musical decisions on the fly. All of this came naturally due to the impossibility of verbal communication brought on by Stix’s incessant crash cymbal use. We seem to always choose to converse verbally if the opportunity is there. Only when speaking is not an option (whether due to high decibel levels, or being in a foreign nation) do we take advantage of our silent speaking skills. Whether it be a smile on a subway, or pointing to the panini I want for lunch, sometimes we say things most effectively by saying nothing at all.

 

Recess is for kids… and I’m a kid.

Sometimes you just have to stop taking yourself so seriously, go outside, and play. Yesterday was one of those days…

All day.

Exhibit A:

Yesterday was an entire day of camera training. This guy named Jens (“yens”), the bearer of a SWEET footy-mullet came in from Berlin and talked to us for hours about shutter speed, aperture, white balance, color temperature, aspect ratios, and framing. These are all things I enjoy from photography, an art I have grown increasingly interested in. We also learned about the way a digital camera actually records images. This was all new information, and even more awesome due to my nerdy love of physics and the electromagnetic spectrum. These facts are of absolutely no importance to this post. After about 3 hours of aforementioned training, we took a lunch break, which really means “jack around time.” It was a nice day outside (the first since we’d been here), so we took advantage of this kind gift, and went out to play.

This past semester, at the ripe age of 20, I learned how to do a cartwheel; no small feat for a 6′2″ character. I am sure you are all shocked. I can hear it in your mind: “He can do a cartwheel? But I can’t even do a cartwheel!” “O con trier!” says I. If someone like me can do it, you can as well…

Probably.

AND NOW… FOR YOUR ENTERTAINMENT:

Now aren’t you impressed. No? I wouldn’t be either, but thats okay. (Photo credit: JWS)

Exhibit B:

Yesterday also included a professional füsball game. Düsseldorf “Fortuna,” played Munich, and we went to along for the ride. There was yelling and singing, and general rowdiness. It reminded me of home. I have no loyalty to anyone, but found myself yelling at refs, and cheering “FOR-TU-NA” along with my semi-inebriated German brethren, all the same. What a grand experience.

Exhibit C:

Sometimes work is play. Monday we had our first Architecture history class. My favorite. In the scope of 6 hours, we covered 2 semesters’ worth of course material as a crash-course review. I was probably more giddy than anyone should be when we talked about the classical orders, and the makeup of gothic cathedrals. I have considered going on to teach arch. history, but that would involve and Ph.D. and a lot a work.

Dr. Kornegay… that sounds nice.

No nonsense today; I am terribly sorry. I’ll do my best to come up with something entertaining for next time. I believe it is time to color. I do love to color.

Oh, I’ve also taken up flying:

A house, a home, or a place where I live?

I have decided that this “blog” will be less about what I am doing, and more about my thoughts on things I see and do. This will make it less mundane for me, and will give you a window into the black abyss that is my mind. DO NOT BE ALARMED! There will be recaps of what I’m doing, ect. just as information, and so I can remember everything, but I refuse to let this become more boring than it already is.

To the subject of this post:

I have now been living in my new… place of residence… for five days, and am not sure what I think of it. Even if I am referring in passing, what is this new place called? My house? Certainly not “home.” Home is thousands of miles away. Even Google Maps, the knower of all things directional, can’t tell me how to get there. I have decided that it is this which makes my semester so incredible. To be living so removed from all I have ever known that carrying on as I did before is an impossibility. Fantastic! All my life I have lived in an average size house in the disgusting suburban sprawl of Dallas’s ever expanding waistline:

My thoughts on suburbia in the US are a post unto itself, but in short:

The wasteful inefficiency of what is considered the American “norm” is sucking the lifeblood out of those who live in it. The ownership of a 1/4 acre of Bermuda grass (or St. Augustine if you so choose), and a 1500-4000 square foot stick-frame house is nothing but a show of carelessness. This is not to say that I don’t see the personal benefits of such a life. Home ownership is a good thing, creating strong credit, and net worth, and raising children in a “safe”and “quiet” suburban town seems like a great idea, but what are you missing out on? I have, in recent years, developed an intent to live in a dense urban area as soon as possible. I hope to live in a small, modern apartment located near my place of employment. I have no need for 4 bedrooms and 3.5 baths, or a 1/4 acre of grass just big enough to be useless as an outdoor space. I hope to be connected to the street, the people, and the world around me. This is living.

The point:

I am residing in a house that is large by German standards. Three floors of thoroughly efficient space with a fantastic spiral stair connecting it all. It is attached to the houses next to it on both sides, and in place of a “yard” has a small fruit and vegetable garden from which I have eaten every day. To get to school I walk, ride two trams, and then walk some more; something I would have thought to be terrible. Having left my preconceived notions in College Station, I have found this to not only be a great way to start the day, but a source of entertainment, as there are always interesting people to see. Walking in the cold with layers of cotton and polyester warmth, and music blasting in my earphones has brought nothing but joy on a daily basis. Commuting is not a chore as it is in my own car, it is an immersive cultural experience filled with ever changing sights and sounds (and sometimes smells, but that is a different topic).

Based on watching my host family, living in the city is not a hindrance on family growth, but an opportunity. They resemble every family I have ever known, so I will take this part of the post to fill you in on them.

1. The father, Uwe, is jovial, to say the least. His English is decent, not perfect, but we can communicate.
2. The mother, Maria, is kind, and a good cook. I have eaten some things I would never have at home, but this seems to be the best opportunity to be culinarily (I just made up that word) open minded. My dinners have included:
   1. Lasagna with spinach and mushrooms – fantastic.
   2. A creamy soup with onions, potatoes, some other vegetable I couldn’t put my finger on, and hard boiled egg – sounded awful, tasted good.
   3. Meat balls, semi-mashed potatoes, and “red cabbage.” Dessert: grits, but not watery-ish like ours. They were fluffy, almost whipped, with raspberry sauce (fresh from the garden) on top. – awesome.
3. The youngest daughter, Daria, is maybe 14-15-ish? She speaks English well, but is quiet. She says I look like “…the boy from…what is it?… O.C. California”
4. The next daughter, Miriam, I have only seen once. She just got back from Australia.
5. The third daughter, Nicole, lives here in town, but I have never met her.
6. The oldest daughter, Yvonne, is married, and is Jacob’s host mom. Haha.

What I have been doing:

Last week consisted of touring the city (see facebook for pictures), and a “cultural studies” class, which was really just us discussing our first few days’ experiences, and adapting to cultural differences. This included a rather depressing video by a past film student about culture shock and the emotional swings of living in a new place. It put things in perspective. Tomorrow starts real course work. We have also purchased tickets for all of our weekend travel. Digital money makes spending so much less painful. We bought train tickets to Paris in two weeks, plane tickets to Italy over spring break, and Spain over Easter. I’m excited. From what I can tell, the only Western European nations I will not have seen by the time I leave are Ireland and Wales. Odd, considering the UK tends to be the first place American tourists flock to.

This is all for today.

 

 

Hello, my name is Geoff, and I’m an internetaholic.

After being prodded for days about this whole “blogging” thing, I have now officially caved and am writing out my life in digital format to be hosted at an invisible location somewhere in this maze of nonsense call the “internet.” I will try to be as concise as possible, keeping your precious screen real estate free of any unnecessary syntactical fluff, grammatical decor, or useless rhetoric (this is a lie).

If you:

1. have lots of time on your hands
2. have no life
3. have nothing better to be doing
4. actually care about what I have to say or
5. are avoiding homework and facebook has run out of things to offer you (impossible)

then by all means, read on. If you do not fall into any of the preceding categories, please click here, and continue to the website of your choosing. That having been said, let’s get started.

Background:

1. This semester (Spring ‘08) I am living in Düsseldorf, Germany, a city of 580,000 located on the Rhein about two hours West of Paris and two hours South of Amsterdam.
2. This is exciting.
3. ich spreche Deutsch nicht (I don’t speak German)
4. I love adventure.

They love me here. I should start putting an umlaut in my name.

Start: Informative section of post.

On Thursday Jan. 10, 2008 Gavin and I left Dallas for the Great Unknown, a.k.a. Brussels (that’s in Belgium, for the geographically challenged). We spent three days there, and took a day trip to Antwerp (see facebook for photos). We saw a few old churches, urinated on one, went to the modern art museum, ate waffles, saw Manneken-pis and of course, I bought a soccer jersey for my collection. Check.

*For more information on this subject click here*

On Monday Jan. 14, 2008, we caught our high speed train for Düsseldorf. These trains have assigned seats, a tidbit we did not know until we had already boarded… the wrong end of the train. Out of necessity, we proceeded to walk the entirety of the train in search of our seats while carrying 60 pounds of luggage, producing lots of rather angry Europeans. Oops. After locating our backsides’ temporary abode, I pulled out my book, The Witches (yes, I know it’s a children’s book), and read the whole way. We arrived in Düsseldorf, and caught a bus to the hostel we booked the day before, only to find a sign reading “Hostel closed for holiday.” Awesome. Now what? Start walking. Long story short, tomtom shows us the way, we walk about a mile to the AIB (our school), and ring the doorbell. Luckily someone was there. Selene, our new best friend, shows us around, books us another hostel, shows us where to get some food, and lets us use the internet. That worked out well. So we spend our first night in Düsseldorf in a rather nice hostel hijacking internet from the neighbors.

Jan. 15, 2008 we get up early (not by choice) and decide to walk the city. We spend 4-ish hours just roaming through parks and pretending to be German. At noon we go the AIB and meet up with our friends (hooray) . Our host families come to pick us up, and we say goodbye.

This post is getting too long, goodbye.