Bye Bye Berlin... Belatedly

Tonight I was perusing a book from the library entitled Alone in the Kitchen with and Eggplant, and the introduction by the editor Jenni Ferrari-Adler brought up some intense memories, thoughts of the cramped kitchen in Berlin, where I felt I was alone, despite my three roommates. In the apartment I had company, but in the kitchen I felt alone, missing my college friends, for whom and with whom cooking was a great joy. Like the book's editor, I felt loneliest when contemplating how to feed myself. I would get hungry, but not feel the inspiration or motivation for preparing a proper meal, and instead opt for a slice of cold-cut turkey and cheese, rolled up and eaten with my fingers. I don't know how many times Alex would scold me, after finding out my evening nourishment consisted only of popcorn, or müsli and tea.

For some reason this started me thinking of this blog, what it has meant to me to keep it, and how I left it, abandoned with so many posts imagined but left unwritten. Naturally, my readers have trailed off after months without posts, but this post is for me, for the blog, even if no one else comes to read it. Despite my dislike of the word "blog" itself, writing this record has been one of the most rewarding and illuminating tasks I have undertaken in the last 18 months. It has brought me to the realization that I love to write. I love to analyze life, people, cultures, everything. I love to ruminate on complicated topics, trying to distill them into something understandable and thought provoking.

I left off writing in the last two weeks before my move back to the United States because of some shocking news, the worst kind of news to get when you are far away. My mother had breast cancer, and was going to undergo a double mastectomy the day after I was scheduled to arrive home. I was crippled by worry, by the distance that separated me from her and the consolation of seeing and feeling that she was alright. I found out when I was in Venice, visiting my friend Monica who was indulging in a passionate affair with a good-hearted Italian man she had met when she vacationed their months before. Unfortunately I got the news right as I was packing up to return to Berlin, and thus I missed out on the in-person support Monica could have offered. I was, however, relieved that I had not found out sooner, since I knew my vibrant and traumhafte time in Venice would in that case have turned to ash. From the moment I got the news, I just wanted to be home. The sadness and deep regret I felt at the thought of leaving my home, Saalestraße 38, 1. Etage Rechts, evaporated in the face of my urgency to get home and be with my family. Part of me knew that my mother was holding up well, and had lots of support. But the selfish part of me that wanted to comfort myself by being home to do small things to feel helpful and supportive, that part was stronger. I knew I couldn't save her from the hardships of recovery, but at least if I were there I could load the dishwasher, something, anything.

These thoughts propelled my through my last days, energizing me as I dismantled my room and packed my things, keeping notalgia at bay. But now, six months later, my mother healthy and heroic in her recovery, I return to that nostalgia, to the Heimweh I knew would accompany me after my departure from Berlin. I think back not just to the practical things I miss, like the unparalleled public transportation system and recycling programs, but also to the sensations of living in that, my beloved city. The feeling of pounding the cobblestone sidewalks to catch the bus, of looking forward to sitting down to a big bowl of vietnamese curry at my favorite restaurant My Hamy, and reading a book there over my solitary meal. I even think back to the solitary meals I prepared for myself in that narrow little kitchen, chopping vegetables on top of the washing machine. I think about the hours spent listening to This American Life and NPR's Kitchen Window podcasts as I painstakingly cleaned kilos of spinach bought at rock-bottom prices from the Turkish Market, dealing as patiently as possible with the many stow-aways that were often the real cost of those cut-rate comistables. My go-to meal when I felt I popcorn was not going to cut it? pasta with vegetables (spinach if I was lucky) and feta, tossed with a bit of olive oil and salt. Or, during Spargelzeit, a big plate full of white asparagus peeled and boiled with butter with a salad on the side.

It's probably not surprising that food has finally brought me back to provide some closure for this blog, and this singular time in my life. I feel, however, that this isn't really the end, but a commitment that there will be more to come. In my heart I hope providence will bring my back to Berlin. For now I am committed to seeking the next opportunity, the next adventure wherever that may be. Perhaps it will soon be Z in Brazil, or Z in Berkely. Time will tell, if only I can stay patient enough to let it have its say.

Nougat und Fußball

I just finished a bowl of Nougat Pillows. What could that possibly be? you might wonder. Well, it's a cereal that I have been suspiciously eyeing since I got here which is best described as, well... a pillow, crunchy and chocolate filled with Nutella (Language Note: If you're in Germany Nougat=Nutella, always. Do not expect the fluffy white filling of a Snickers bar, you will be confused when your dessert comes). This is no stingy American "filling" like that of strawberry shredded mini-wheats which leaves you doubting its existence even after you have bitten the little guy in half and examined the cross-section. In fact, the cereal, in typical German style, guarantees the consumer proudly on the front of the box that the pillows are comprised of 40% Hazelnut Cream Filling! It makes me wonder whether there was a boardroom discussion somewhere about exactly what percentage of filling the discerning shopper could reasonably expect. Germans want to know exactly what percentage of the principle ingredients make up their food purchases. If you purchase fruit Müseli, the percentage of dried fruit will be prominently displayed. If you order a glass of wine, or even seltzer water at a restaurant there will be a line on the glass showing you the volume of the contents. This is German law. I like it. There are no discussions. The customer, no matter how crotchety and cranky, cannot quibble on the quantity of beverage they have been served. The line says it all. So anyway, the Nougat Pillows are kind of tasty. They are strange, and go against a lot of my ideas of what a breakfast cereal is, and what it is not. The idea of Nutella in milk is somehow a bit unsettling. They do require you to broaden your breakfast food conceptions a bit.

The Nougat Pillows have stolen center stage. What I intended to write about was another German fascination: soccer. Not playing it so much as watching it. Soccer is a sport played by quite a few boys, but as I've been repeatedly informed by my students, it is a boy's sport. It's not at all for girls. No one could explain to me what it was about that Y-chromosome that made it so essential to playing soccer in Germany. I told them that in the US soccer was just as popular among girls as boys. They simply can't believe it. It shocks them just as much to learn that I played soccer for many years when I was little as to find out that I'm a boxer. I do not get it. Tonight is the Euro Cup final, and it is the single most important thing happening in the country. It's like the Super Bowl, only with lots of national pride sprinkled in to spice things up.

Flags have sprouted up all over they city, flying from little car window attachments, from windows everywhere, and even draped around the necks of many a citizen. As many of you may know, the previous World Cup was held in Germany, which led to a revival of national pride which has been taboo ever since you know who was toppled from power by the allied forces. But now national pride, flag waving, spontaneously breaking into the *gasp* national anthem has become acceptable... but only in connection with soccer. It's a little exception clause in the doctrine of national penance. I've heard all sorts of opinions on the matter. Some laugh, shake their heads, and say it's harmless fun. Others see it as a slippery slope leading to all out nationalism. Still others with a more socialist leaning philosophy see it as a tool of the capitalists which serves to keep the exploited plebeians distracted and content. My own feelings about it are complicated. It is true that it makes a lot of people happy. But I don't see the need for all the nationalist paraphernalia. The German National Anthem focuses my discomfort. When the crowds spontaneously start singing it, it puts me a little on edge. Why does it bother me so much? Isn't it only natural to love your country? Maybe it's because the anthem hasn't been changed since the Nazi times, except for the deletion of the lines which refer to world domination. Maybe I just distrust national symbols which as Germany's history shows, can easily be put to nationalist causes.

Reading news of the presidential election at home incites similar feelings in me. There is so much attention put to proving or disproving a candidates "Patriotism." A term which is used in the media and by politicians which refers to a persons ability or willingness to wear and/or display the American flag and to say things like "I love America" and "I'm proud to be an American." People treat this like it's an important test of a candidates suitability for office. In fact it does not take any particular ability or intelligence to love where you come from, on the contrary it is what a human is hard-wired to do. Belief in the superiority of the group you were born into is innate, which is why racism is one of the most consistent traits of people world wide. It is something that must be overcome if there is to be any hope of peace and understanding between different groups of people. Moreover it is one of the most difficult things to eliminate from your mind. It requires thought and deep self-examination, and incredible humility. Perhaps I'm being too hard on patriotism. Maybe it can also be used to unite people of all colors and creeds with a sense of common identity. I do actually hope that there is a thread that unites us as Americans, as different and diverse as Americans are. I hope that paradoxically by cherishing our diversity we can be united. My problem must not be with Patriotism per se, but with nationalism. Patriotism needs to be pried from the claws of nationalism. It needs to signify once again the willingness to tirelessly expose and ameliorate injustices and inequalities which plague your compatriots. Only I don't think that's enough anymore. Patriotism today should include compassion and consideration for our world neighbors. After all, it is impossible to have a truly peaceful home while your neighbors languish, their homes rocked by violence and poverty.

Anyway, if your looking for something to do, tune in to see if Germany beats Spain tonight to become Euro Cup Champs.

Update: The Spaniards beat the Germans 1-0, and as much as I hate to admit it, rightly so. To their credit, the Germans were great losers, congratulating the Spaniards present in the bar where we watched the game.

Spring Fever and Wanderlust

May has gone by in a flash. From the very first day of the month, there was always something going on. The first of May meant a huge street demonstration in Kreuzberg, our neighboring barrio. I was told it was going to be big and crazy, and it did not disappoint. It's easy to get the impression walking around Berlin, that it's gotten pretty polished lately. There are posh boutiques and cafes in even the most traditionally modest neighborhoods, even in my neighborhood, Neukölln, which traditionally doesn't have anything you could call a "scene". Rent prices are rising fast. These days you have to look a little harder to rent a room in a shared flat for less than 200 EUR a month (including utilities naturally). Even beer prices are skyrocketing, well above 2.50 EUR for a half liter in some bars and clubs! With these sorts of developments as well as the gentrification of Kreuzberg and the former Eastern districts, it's easy to think Berlin is fast loosing it's poor, punk edge.

The First of May celebrations, however, convinced me that Berlin is still keeping it weird. Berlin's very handsome and openly gay mayor Klaus Wowereit infamously stated that Berlin is "Poor but Sexy". May Day proved him right, my goodness there are a lot of good looking young people in Berlin! Of course, I only took pictures of the weird ones, who were out in full force. As far the part about being poor is concerned, my roommate confirmed that when she told me that she, earning net 1,500 EUR a month, belongs to the highest earning 20% of Berlin's population. That doesn't seem to keep the population down too much though, because at least for the moment, life remains dirt cheap in Berlin.

So, while I did not see the open warfare which I have been told often breaks out on May Day here, I did see a wild group of people, lots of near altercations, and many many many riot police. I was told that there were up to 8,000 police on duty, including a special Anti-Konflikt team. It was strange to see people pushing their baby strollers past the groups of police in full riot gear. As we did not care to see for sure if violence would indeed break out, we did as all nice kids on May Day, and got the heck out of there before nightfall. Here are some pictures of the scene for your enjoyment.

The Scene on Kottbusser Tor. Imagine loud socialist hip-hop in Spanish (the language of left in Europe it seems) to complete the scene.

Lots more people on Oranienstr. Less militant and more curious onlookers.

Aren't they lovely?

Barely managing to stay upright, and looking good doing it.

I nice little line-up, Anti-Konflikt Team on the job.

Now that you've had a taste of down and dirty Berlin on May Day, I'll write about a different sort of German experience. Train travel in Germany is notoriously expensive. A two hour trip which would cost you 4 Euros in Italy, costs 100 Euros in Germany. There's one little exception to this rule, the Schönes Wochenende Ticket, a wonderful ticket for a poor student (or TA) and four of her friends which allows her to travel as much as she wants in Germany on a Saturday or Sunday for only 35 Euros. Split between five that makes for pretty cheap travel. One catch is you've got to use regional trains, which more than double the time your journey takes. No problem for us though, we're in no hurry. On this past occasion, we set out for a little place called Quedlingburg, which is a town so old, not a building in the place stands up straight. Some of the houses were so narrow, people with a more generous modern girth would have a hard time turning around in them. I'll spare you too much more talk about it, and just get to the pictures...





My final adventure this month was also the greatest. When Alex came to visit, I planned a surprise for his birthday: a trip to Italy. I got a good deal on tickets to Pisa (cheaper than a German train), and since that was near the area I'd been farming in a couple years ago, I knew a couple places to go. I decided to revisit Cinque Terre where I had lost my camera on my first Italy trip, and to visit Lucca, a place I'd never been. I got Alex to pack his bags for a 6 day trip to Hamburg, but when I got him there I gave him the tickets and we flew to Italy the next day. It was all very exciting. I think again, the pictures say it best.

Pisa

Lucca

Aren't they just so Italian?

Cinque Terre

Riomaggiore, the town we stayed in on our last night

Coming soon....

Dear family, friends, blog readers, I've been ruminating on lots of ideas for upcoming posts, but because I've had such an exciting and action packed month, I haven't yet managed to pound them out yet. I have decided that in these next couple days my main goal will be to get writing. As an insurance to make sure I stay true to my big ideas, I am making my declaration public. Also, I don't want you all to give up on checking in for lack of new material. Recently I have realized that this blog has ended up being the main product of my time here. I had lots of photographic and cinematic ideas, but technological and cultural challenges have made that road a little difficult at the moment. I am not disappointed though, because this space has given me ample opportunity for expression. And in my last month plus here, I hope to fill it with some of the ideas and thoughts that have been banging around my head all year. I hope to also have enough material for a German "Americana" blog exhibition, in which I will post pictures of all things Germans consider to be American, decked out in stars and striped packaging. I've cringed, laughed, wanted to cry, and even been occasionally pleased by the things represented under our flag. So cross your fingers for me that I will get this all together. The good news is, I've always been good under deadlines!

Lost in Transportation

It was my goal to write two posts a month, and here I am on the last day of April taking the last chance I've got to stick to my goal. So, the month in review: I got a job teaching extra classes for big money (at least as far as this humble Fulbrighter is concerned), I've got a new class schedule because the seniors have graduated already, and every day is filled with small moments which astonish me. But of course that seems par for the course. At school I encounter a thousand small consequences of the way mass media influences people. It's so easy to see in kids, who are still open enough to accept challenges to what they think about something. It's harder somewhat to gauge the influence of parents and friends, but the media influences stand out pretty clearly. Particularly upsetting is to realize how our movies, music, and media portray such a racist image of African Americans. Today I was explaining how offensive the word "bitch" is, and how using sexualized words like bitch, whore, slut, etc. to criticize other women is very harmful, and that women are particularly guilty of doing this to one other. One girl innocently said, "black men use those words all the time." This struck me as proof of how, once a film, song, or text leave our borders, it takes on an air of basic truth that it might not have so directly within our borders. Americans know on some level, that when they see images of an angry black young man from the projects, that he is a product of his environment. They are more likely to have an idea of the range of social conditions that have caused him to become this way. They may also have real life experience which put the images into context. Of course, I believe constant exposure to the same stereotyped images of black people must have a damaging effect on the minds of all Americans. This effect is more subtle and difficult to quantify however, than the effects I see on young people here. Here, these images represent truth, they are taken to represent the people they portray.

Sometimes this leads to misunderstandings so big, they are even funny. For example, they see our somewhat sexy, party movies, and they think we are a sexually open or even libertine culture. This is so far from the truth that it is flat out comical. We are a nation where people get worked up into a frenzy about the smallest whiff of something sexual, something having to do with the human body itself, where when an artistic photograph of young Miley Cirus, queen of teen purity, shows a hint of her back, suggesting that under her covering she is naked, it is enough to provoke the outright wrath of mothers everywhere. I thought about that photograph a bit, and realized that it is not about what it shows, in fact it shows nothing which in itself is provocative, it is the reminder of what lies unseen that riles our puritan morals. It is the same reason that Arthur Schnitzler's Reigen was so provocative: provocation by omission, by leaving it up to the minds of the viewers he creates a space more provocative than any he could have put on stage. Anyway, I'm getting off track. So my point there was, American storytelling when it crosses borders is taken as a report of fact.

When I told Viktoriya that in the images of angry black men calling women bitch all the time, is not an actual portrayal of black men in general, she was sincerely surprised, telling me that that's what she's always seen. I told her that I grew up in a very white town, and I had heard many men (and women of course, which was my original point) who talk to women that way. I told her it had absolutely nothing to do with race, and everything to do with upbringing, socio-economic conditions, and education. Of course in our country minorities are underprivileged at a consistently higher rate than the Caucasian majority, which can lead to the impression that black people are naturally inclined to be a certain way. I told her though, that this is a false impression, although an understandable one given the images she's been exposed to. It had never occurred to her, and she had never been told that these images might be misleading. Just as easily as she had accepted that idea from the media that black people were a certain way, she assimilated the new information that this was not true, that these images are misleading and make for entertainment, not documentation.

It might have been possible that her understanding could just have been a one case thing, but my experience is that it is the rule, not the exception. Boys here worship their thug life rap idols, putting their image on a pedestal and seeing it in the face of every black person they come across. These images are so strong, and as they leave our shores, they gain strength, becoming unquestionable fact. I wonder whether this is a new problem, thanks to globalization. I am hard pressed to say, as this global world is really the only one I've ever known.

Well, I was planning on writing a light-hearted fluffy post tonight, but it seems that there is usually something more pressing on my mind. Tomorrow is May Day. A big deal here in Berlin, it's a favorite time for riots, burning cars and neo-nazis vs. punks. Should be interesting! Maybe May Day will provide me with some lighter material to reflect on. Mmmm.... or maybe not!

American and Abroad

Anti-Americanism. It's strange that I've only been moved to address this topic now, after so many months living here in Berlin. I'm not sure whether I've simply become more sensitive to it recently, after an unpleasant encounter on the street, or whether it really has become more undeniable due to changes in socio-political and economic conditions worldwide. Last week was the annual Fulbright Conference in Berlin, which brought together Fulbrighters from across Germany and Europe together for panel discussions, presentations, and "networking". I met up with a couple Vassar grads, which was very comforting. It's really a pleasure to meet with so many like-minded people, especially when it can be so difficult to find in daily life.

After the party on the last night of the conference we were grabbing curry wurst and fries from the Imbiss (street food/fast food vender) under the Eberswalderstr. U-Bahn. We were in the process of picking up and paying for our food when this tall, hippy-like guy elbows through and orders as though we weren't there. Hearing us speaking English, he pulled the food we'd ordered off the counter and started muttering "I hate Americans, stupid Americans, I hate you. I hate Obama..." and so forth. Jeanette, a Vassar girl, countered his odious ejaculations by ostentatiously saying how happy it made her that when people visit the US they are treated with respect and treated to good American hospitality. Surely, this was the most positive response one could make. I however, was seriously peeved by this jerk's sense of entitlement, and I did not appreciate how he pushed me when I tried to save my friends' victuals. So I pushed him back and told him in his own language to take off. My reaction may not have been so peaceable, but I couldn't just let him push me around. Was my or Jeanette's effort productive? Probably not. Perhaps one of the most surprising things about the incident (other than the fact that he said he hated Obama, who everyone I've encountered in Germany loves, and didn't mention the president everyone loves to hate) was that this sort of encounter is not all that unusual. All the Fulbrighters present had previously experienced similar bile. They weren't even that upset by it. It has become frighteningly commonplace.

In the days since the street encounter the blatant stereotypes I've heard about Americans (that we don't cook and only eat fast food, that we're uninformed and unintelligent, you know the drill) have become harder to ignore. Patricia tells me I just need to let it slide off my back. In some ways I know she's right. As the civil rights activist Amelia Boynton Robinson said at a speech she gave at my school here in Berlin, hate hurts the haters more than the hated. They have to live with it inside them, and hate is corrosive. I can turn my back on them and walk away from their hatred, they carry it wherever they go.

Perhaps this is why it is other manifestations of Anti-Americanism that bother me even more. The other day I talked with a British man about music, saying that I thought it was in modern music that the British and Americans have had their greatest collaborations. He immediately got defensive, disavowing any American influence on British music. Of course this is patently ridiculous. After all, both the Beatles and the Rolling Stones got their start as bands playing covers of American Blues and Rock music. To say their music was not influenced by this is just plain silly. Also, my argument was that the influence goes both ways. Still, the idea that there was any collaboration involved between great modern American and British musicians was abhorrent to this guy. Collaboration and cooperation should be among the highest goals of any two nations in their dealings with each other, and yet, people are utterly turned off by it when you bring it up.

When I talk to people from all over the world who revel in the problems the US is currently facing, declaring gleefully that America is a nation on the decline, their Schadenfreude burns me. They savor the suffering and tribulations of the American people in a way that deeply disheartens me. And somehow, this sort of attitude is acceptable, and even encouraged by the way America is portrayed in the news media. I understand, that what often lies below these feelings is simply resentment of the strength of the American presence worldwide. And yet, people everywhere keep buying our music, our movies, our pop culture, even (regrettably) our fast food. They love our cultural production, and resent it at the same time. Untangling these sorts of complicated love-hate feelings seems nearly impossible sometimes. But as Patricia reminds me, all we can do as individuals is be the examples of that which we hope our nation represents, be accepting, critical, well-informed, and hopeful in the face of great challenges. Of course, I am also acutely aware of the failings of my nation's government, and the ignorance and sometimes arrogance of many of its people. I am aware of how far we have yet to go, how the ideal of working to create "a more perfect union" is threatened by an unjust war, propaganda of fear, and personal political agendas. It is hard to be an American living abroad, but while it presents the greatest personal trials, it also presents the greatest opportunity to smash apart the ignorant and pervasive stereotypes about Americans, so that people can begin to form more complicated, well-rounded and realistic impressions. This is why the sweetest sound to my ears, is to hear someone say, I didn't think Americans were like you.

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Now playing: Air - Universal Traveler
via FoxyTunes

Family Vacation - Europe

My family departed Berlin yesterday and should now be in Chicago, preparing to face a long drive north to end their journey. It was really nice to have most of the family here, although Pete's absence was always on our minds. Things have really come to a screeching halt here since the family left. I almost don't know what to do with myself now that I don't have anything to plan or coordinate, now that I'm back to the real world.

Today the weather finally turned beautiful again, temperatures getting up to about 50F and sunny. Of course, the two weeks of the family vacation were not only unseasonably cold, they were in fact the coldest and snowiest since I arrived in September. Miraculously the very day they departed the clouds broke and the temperatures rose. Figures. It'll be up around 60F before the end of the weekend. There is one thing that eases my annoyance at the cheeky weather. Today I went to the Turkish market with my roommate Katja. We accidentally went one stop past Hermannplatz, so we had to go an alternate route to the market, which took us past a junk store with three beautiful dirty old bikes out front. I thought they'd for sure be too expensive, cheap bikes are not easy to come by in these parts. The guy only wanted 25 a piece. So Katja and I snapped up a pair, the men's and women's version of the same model. Mine needed and needs a bit of work, tomorrow we're going to the flea market for a pedal. They seem to be in good shape, great condition, just neglected and old. Really old. They are the 50th anniversary edition of a company established in 1919. So now my roommate and I have a little Pärchen of bikes, or as Patricia might say a casal. I feel like I ought to know more about bike care an maintenance. It will probably come in handy with this old man of a bike. I think that's what I'll refer to it as, Old Man.

So here are a few pictures of the highlights of the Zambon Family Vacation for your enjoyment...


My parents and José visit my 10th graders



Marion takes us on a castle tour


The sights of Berlin....
The Brandenburg Gate


The Berlin Cathedral and the East German TV Tower


The Charles Bridge in Prague


At Sansoussi in Potdam on our last day