Stage Five - Germany (Part Two)

Dearest followers,

A small note to those of you who said I couldn’t handle small town life with small children: you sure showed me. Seriously, did I think a 36 hour plane trip (or a 12 and then a seven and then a six and then a nine and then a two) would change my entire inner being? I lasted approximately four and a half weeks before I packed up my unworn dresses and high heels and headed for Berlin. They say when you travel by yourself you get to learn all sorts of fun things about yourself. I learnt that I will certainly never be mistaken for Mary Poppins. Quick aside though, I was the other day, for the second time in my life, mistaken not for Mary Poppins, but for Barbie at the hand of a small child. The first time I was 15; 10 years on, I’ve still got it (“it” apparently being blonde hair, big boobs and a vacant facial expression, yet the blind ambition to become a doctor, astronaut, princess and “big sister.” Yeah right, FYI. I smell a cover up. I somehow suspect Barbie and Ken didn’t wait for Barbie’s Magical Wedding Day).

I am also back to a land of Internet, cellphones and landlines (so I have posted two old blogs I never got to get up - London in February and Reutlingen in March). Gerlinde and Axel, whom I was living with in Dornach, just out of Stuttgart, very kindly tried to upgrade their Internet before my arrival so I could have high speed access to all you kids in New Zulund (or Neuseeland). The result was a near Weapons of Mass Destruction proportion battle with Vodafone and Telecom trying to get numbers changed over and returned, and they were without phone or Internet from the day before I arrived to the week after I left. Cellphone coverage in their house is limited at best, so their endeavours to help me resulted in complete communication loss for all of us. Needless to say, I felt more than a little terrible.

So now I am in Berlin and have adopted a new slogan - kein Job, keine Wohnung, kein Problem (no job, no house, no problem). Many people said to me in the lead up to my move to Berlin, “No job? No house? No friends? Oh my goodness. What will you do?” My German teacher even used it to teach the class a new word - courageous (except I know she wanted to use ’stupid’). One other person said to me, “well, um, at least you have, um, ahh, a good attitude.“ I wasn’t at all stressed out about it until everyone seemed to be telling me I should be. But within five minutes of arriving here (and getting a chocolate heart that I won’t eat and a phone number that I won’t use from a German rugby player - a-thank you) all of my worries subsided. There is a massive abundance of cheap housing here, due to the fact that there is no industry, and that after the wall came down developers expected a massive influx of people that didn’t happen, so lots of houses were built with no one to fill them. The taxi driver also said to me that despite the recession, there is definitely work to be found here because the government pays the bills for all these people who can’t get work so lots of people have no incentive to try (sounds a little familiar). And that’s where I come in. Swoop! Job please. I saw an ad for a PUB CRAWL TOUR GUIDE the other day and just about cried at the perfection that would be my life if I got to write books in the day and get paid to party by night. I had already missed the cut off date for being in Berlin to apply (this was a pre-requisite. I thought I could charm my way around it, like the time I got my car fixed for free, but they were obviously like “dude, seriously, pub crawl tour guide. No shortage of applicants"), but I feel confident another dream job will come my way. Perhaps a vacation trier-outerer? Perhaps a professional puppy cuddler? Perhaps Boris Becker’s girlfriend? Haha. And then I will become leader of the (possibly free - play nice kiddies and I‘ll see how generous I‘m feeling) world and then I won’t need a job, because I figure the world will run itself. Right? And all of the cute little “haha”s I put in my emails and text messages will become “mwah haha”s. I will also get back the FIFTY EUROS I had to pay in excess baggage to get my new backpack filled with new books and new clothes from Suttgart to Berlin. Outrageous.

And now I must vacate the world of the Internet temporarily while I search for a new lair (underground would be ideal - then I‘d be a true evil genius with legitimate world domination plans) and source of income to fund said plans. And then finally I can be not depressed about how sucky the NZ dollar is, but extremely pleased that for every Euro I earn I could buy a small village back home. And the first child from each of you.

Will post a new update when I have a progress report on these important factors to the plan. Oh, and also, I went to an awesome castle with Axel, Clarissa and Leonard (the children) the other day and I think I’m going to move in. I want to be a princess! Crap, maybe I am Barbie… A picture of this castle is on the last post (Germany - Stage One).

Until next time, stay good, be safe and look after the world - because it’s mine.
Stephanie xo

Stage Four - Germany (Part One)

Greetings followers,

Apologies for the delay in correspondence from your fearless leader. I have been living in a land of no Internet, no landline, and no cellphone. But being the courageous crusader of the people that I am, you were never far from my thoughts, so I have written blogs anticipating time to get them up. Why not just go to an Internet café and write them you ask? A) because I am living in a small town that doesn’t have a café, let alone an Internet one and b) the computers in Germany have the z and y keys around the wrong way, no question mark symbol (that I can find anyway) and an o with two dots over it where the @ symbol should be. It’s all too hard.

Anyway, I arrived here in mid February and immediately proceeded to infect the entire family I am staying with with a nasty combination of bugs from a month worth of States/ Canada/ England hopping. Seriously, I have never felt so dreadful in my life. This mystery illness was worse than Glandular Fever and the time we thought waterskiing in Lake Taupo in July would be “ no biggie” put together. What’s worse, the children didn’t actually show signs of the illness until they got to their elderly grandmother’s house, and proceeded to infect her and her other daughter. What a first impression. I guess that’s one way to dominate a country - infect all the inhabitants and have them crumble around you. However, there is a chance Germany will get me back. Now that I am recovered, there is a nasty strain of rubella going around that is apparently immune to the inoculations we got in form two and then pretended we were too sick to go back to class having been infected with measles, mumps and rubella so ate cookies instead while lying down on the benches.

However, the happy news was that I did recover from my illness in time to investigate the custom that is Karnival and attend my first Karnival Party. Karnival is a week long shindig in Cologne where people get dressed up, anything goes, and the revelers chase away the Winter to bring on Spring. It’s kind of like the Wellington Sevens on crack. However, here in Dornach we did it a little differently - the party lasted two hours, the attendees were aged 5-9 years old, and we held it in the school hall, but still, I rocked Karnival!!!

Upon full recovery of my illness I set about building a life for myself in this strange snow-covered landscape so I could properly investigate German family culture. I enrolled in a five week German course (of which I missed the first week and a half - oops) and also a fitness class. The town may have less than 700 residents, but imagine my delight to discover it does have almost the full range of Les Mills classes! Body Balance is my new favourite thing EVER! In my first class the teacher, who had been to New Zealand only a few months previously to become a fully-fledged Les Mills instructor, proceeded to tell the entire class that Les Mills classes were from New Zealand, and so was I! Wow! Everyone looked at me like I WAS Les Mills, and spent the first 40 minutes of the class watching me since they thought I would be an expert. If I had known the German to say, “I may come from New Zealand, but that doesn’t mean I can do this class any better than you can build a Mercedes” I would have, but in the end my inability to touch my shoulder blades with my feet did the talking for me.

German school was also an interesting initial experience. None of the other people in my class speak English, so it is really good for my German. However, some of them seem to be a little confused about where NZ is. The first man, from a country deep in Africa that I didn’t understand when he told me, nodded and said in, “Ahhh, NewZealand, high in the North.” No no, we’re quite far in the South, I told him. “No you’re not,” I was informed. “You’re country is high in the North and you speak Ukraine-ish” (also commonly referred to as Russian for those playing at home). I think I had just about convinced him I knew where NZ was and was fairly confident it was English we were speaking there when a 58-year-old man from Iraq told me he speaks English. “Ahhh. Umm, good,” I told him. And then he said to me, “How you see the Germany?”
“Um, sorry, what?”
“The Germany! How you see the Germany?”
“Um, with my eyes?”
“NO! HOW YOU SEE THE GERMANY!!!”
“I DON’T UNDERSTAND YOU!”
“You! You no speak English! I speak English! I write, I write.”
He then proceeded to write down this sentence.
‘How you sie the Germany.’
“I’m sorry, I still don’t understand.”
“YOU NO SPEAK ENGLISH! I SPEAK ENGLISH! YOU NO SPEAK ENGLISH!”
I point at the word sie. “THAT’S not even an English word!”
To which he screwed up the paper, stormed off, and said, “YOU no speak English.”
I thought I had made an enemy for life until the next day he smiled at me, waved pleasantly and asked, “Stephanie, how you see the Germany?”

I also had an interesting experience when I walked in a bit late one day (following a frightening encounter with an Albanian bus driver who tried to kidnap me - seriously, it was terrifying and I made some high-pitched noises that would have put Mariah Carey to shame. I will explain in detail later, but at this stage I prefer not to re-live it. To my dismay, this would eventually become the first of many horrifying encounters with very pushy and very creepy men where I would be followed, watched, grabbed at and even drawn) and frantically unpacked my things, leaving my iPod on my desk. The man from Ukraine who was sitting next to me said, “iPod?” In a basic German conversation that I’m sure was still a crime against the German language, we managed to put together something along the lines of;
“Oh yes, um, it is an iPod.”
“Can I look?”
“Of course, no problem.”
He stared at my iPod with such amazement and wonder that I realized iPods are probably a bit of a novelty in Ukraine, and let him play with it until the battery went flat, feeling simultaneously guilty that I came from a privileged country where everyone and their grandmother have iPods, yet a little pleased that I could afford him this small enjoyment.
The next day he came in and smiled at me and said, “iPod?” I set about getting my iPod out of my bag for him to play with when he pulled out a brand new iPod Touch and said in what I suspect is the only English he knows, “You must upgrade.” While I thought he had been marveling at the wonder that is the iPod, he had actually been looking at an ancient relic of third generation Apple technology, wondering how this thing was even still playing music, probably while laughing at my shocking music collection.

Somehow, although my German skills are much weaker than I had thought, I managed to pass a test that put me at the equivalent of Bursary level German. So I am learning the stuff that I was apparently learning in seventh form, except this time I‘m trying to understand it instead of passing Alana notes about how in that dress Frau Badenhorst looks like a pig riding a donkey. But seriously, there are 20 different words for “the”, a bunch of random words that make all the verbs go to ridiculous places in the sentence in varying forms, and 20 variations of each word depending on which gender they are (EVERY noun is assigned either feminine, masculine or neutral, and you’re expected to just know them), whether they are occurring in the past, perfect, future or present tense, and what verbs they are being assisted by. Alana, how we ever passed German is beyond me. Thankfully, I have Heidi Klum on my side giving me weekly lessons with Germany’s Next Top Model. Heidi Klum; supermodel, TV host, singer, mum, wife, German teacher - is there anything that woman can’t do?

But the thing I am remembering most about being back at school every day is the physical, all-encompassing, soul-biting pain of when the teacher rubs off the blackboard but leaves the tiniest bit of a chalk behind. It’s a deep ache from well within my chest that urges me to jump off and rub it off, while a feat of superhuman willpower that someone manages to keep me in my seat. Also, remember how much we hated being told not to chew gum? Well, after sitting next to Yasmine, the Turkish I-can-chew-gum-with-my-mouth-open-using-every-mililitre-of-my-saliva-and-putting-all-the-muscles-in-my-face-into-it-so-that-it-drowns-out-everything-the-teacher-is-saying-and-makes-your-ear-explode gum-chewer, I totally understand, and would like to take this opportunity to apologise to every teacher of every class that I ever chewed gum in.

Finally, a quick word about so-called German efficiency. Example:
New Zealand, Sunday, 2pm
You know what? I feel like opening a bank account today. I’m going to rock into any bank in a mall that I like and do it. [Half an hour later] Look at me with my sweet bank account, Eftpos card, with the PIN that I chose, and Internet and phone banking all ready to go. Oh happy day.

Germany, Monday, 1pm
I’m going to go and open a bank account. Uh-oh, they are all out for lunch from 12:30pm to 2pm. How strange. I will come back tomorrow.

Germany, Tuesday, 2pm
“Hello, I would like to open a bank account.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Um, no.”
“We are too busy to help you” (FYI, there are 10 people working in the bank and no customers). “Please go away, ring us, and make an appointment.”

Germany, Wednesday, 9am
Ring, ring. “Hello. Can I please make an appointment to open a bank account today?”
“No. Come in tomorrow at 3pm.”

Germany, Thursday, 3pm
“Hello, I am here to open my bank account.”
“Come this way. Fill in these forms. Thank you. Goodbye.”
“Um, where is my bank card?”
“We send that to you in the post.”
“Oh. Can I register for Internet banking?”
Sigh. “Fill in these forms. Sign here. Thank you.”
“Thanks. So do I just go online and sort it out?”
Strange look. “No, we will send you a letter.”
“Oh, okay. Um, thanks.”

Germany, eight days later
Oh look, mail for me from the bank. It must be my bank card.
“Hello Stephanie. Here is your card. Please come back to the bank to load your PIN number. Within a few days of your visit you will be able to use your card.”

Germany, on Monday (because the banks are closed over the weekends)
“Hello, I would like to load my PIN onto my card.”
“Do you have your passport?”
“Um, no? Why do I need my passport? Your letter says nothing about a passport.”
“Please come back tomorrow with your passport.”

Germany, Tuesday
“Hello, I would like to load my PIN onto my card. Here is my passport.”
Gives me a letter. “Thank you, goodbye.”
“Wait, what’s this?”
Sigh. “Your PIN.”
“But I haven’t picked my PIN!”
Strange look. “You don’t PICK your PIN. We give it to you.”
“Oh. Okay. Um, also, I haven’t received my letter about Internet banking yet.”
“The letter takes two weeks. Goodbye.”

Germany, Friday
Oh look, a letter for me, it must be my Internet banking.
“Dear MR Stephanie Taylor. Here are your forms for Internet banking. Please sign them, bring them back to us, and then in a few weeks we will send you a letter confirming you have Internet banking, and 80 codes so that you can use it.”

This ludicrous inefficiency and lack of customer service will be immediately rectified on point of domination, but, in the mean time, I have conquered the banking system! I think... And I also have a cellphone number! (Similar drama, but we don’t need to go into that again). I’m at 004915227734471 for those wanting personal contact. German bank account, German cellphone number - ich bin ein Germaner!

German domination is going swimmingly. Will update you soon on progress, as well details on impending trip to Gallipoli for ANZAC Day.
Much hearty German love,
Stephanie xx

P.S This is a picture from a really cool castle that I went to, that I'll refer to in the next blog. It's too hard to figure out how to unattach the picture, and I put it on the wrong post. Ooops.

Stage Three - London

Greetings followers,
How fortunate that I had gone on a previous reconnaissance mission to London in 2007, because after the excitement of the States and Canada, I slept for the first three days I got there.
We-ell, in the interests of complete honesty, that’s not strictly true. I did get up on the second night I was there because I believed it was imperative to my world domination attempt to see if the youth of London still used their leisure time in the same way they did a year and a bit ago. The youth are, after all, the future. So I pulled on some dark clothes (Toni, my closest London ally, advised me that anything stain-able was not a good idea where we were going) and headed off to the local watering hole.
Upon entry Toni, Vance, Steve and Chloe attempted to impair my judgment and research abilities by dousing me with vodka, tequila, Jagermeister and wine. It worked. Within no time we were the kids who take way more pictures than is strictly necessary for a night at the pub, dancing like we could put Justin Timberlake to shame, and making best friends with two deaf girls (FYI, turns out I still know the sign language alphabet, and also the sign for “man riding a horse.” This hidden skill will come in handy when trying to win over the world’s deaf community). We had been told that at this particular bar, when the ‘90s dance hit “Blow My Whistle” comes on, the female bartenders get up on the bar and take their tops off while cutting some shapes. Being the closet drunken lesbians that we are, Toni, Chloe and I thought this was awesome. Steve and Vance, needless to say, didn’t need a whole lot of convincing. So when we heard the song we pulled our new deaf BFFs into the bar with us for a gander. Their reactions weren‘t quite as enthusiastic as ours‘ were. Let’s just say that I now know the signs for “seriously, this is disgraceful” and “you are uncool.” We didn’t see too much of them after that.
The rest of the night is a blur. Photographic evidence tells me that Vance was dancing with his pants down for a large portion of the night (which I totally missed, even though we were all dancing together. It’s like the time Wairangi Koopu got laid out by that chick right next to me after the TV Awards, and I missed that too). I remember wondering why my sweet sweet dance moves were getting impaired by a sudden lack of balance, and then the lights were on and we were being ushered out. Someone gave me a coat (not mine, but I happily claimed it because I was cold, and then felt terrible when I saw it on the coathook the next day) and we sauntered off home, being stopped by the local law enforcement authorities for throwing street cones (this was Vance - his defense was “Bro, it’s sweet, I’m an Aussie”) and the next thing I knew it was morning and I was concentrating really hard on not hurling (Toni didn‘t manage this concentration technique so well, and yakked on the train to work in the morning). So another somewhat wasted day in the English capital, although I did get to see the Aussie pie shop, the GIGANTIC Westfield shopping centre, finally witness the movie genius that is Superbad, and learn that gluten free Hell Pizza is just as good in London as it is in New Zealand.
The next day, with only two days left before my departure to Germany, I decided enough was enough and it was time to actually begin my England domination. I had learnt everything I needed to know about England from my beloved Jane Austen novels (because they are a full and accurate description of modern England and all classes living within society) so Toni, Vance and I boarded an early morning bus that took us to Austen’s beloved Bath, via Windsor Castle (where the Queen was - hi Lizzy) and Stonehenge. Windsor Castle was beautiful and historic, and the tour guide was right when he said you could happily spend a day there. Saw the changing of the guard, saw the chapel that has many of the dead monarchs in it (including a tomb with Henry the 8th and a couple of other people - presumably one or two of his wives) and saw Princess Mary’s sweet dollhouse. She must have been the happiest kid alive.
Stonehenge I had been told was a bit of a disappointment, so I wasn’t expecting too much, but actually really liked it. It was the source of some minor embarrassment when I made a nasty comment about the couple who were so snap happy that they almost fell on top of me trying to get a photo of Stonehenge through the bus window, when we were about to get out and view it up close, only to turn around mid-bitch and see them standing right behind me. Cough. Awkward moment. Anyway, I’m not sure I could have spent an entire day at Stonehenge as the tour guide suggested, but it was definitely worth a look for an hour or so.
Bath was everything I dreamed it would be and more. I almost wished I did have gout so I could have gone there just to have it cured. Two hours is not enough in Bath, and I would be super keen to go back for a weekend. Toni loved the fact that the whole town was made in limestone (building permits aren‘t given to construct in any other material). Vance loved the fact that there was this natural source of hot water, even though there is no geothermal activity like the kind we have in New Zealand. I loved the fact that there were heaps of fudge shops.
After a massively long day going from London, to Windsor, to Stonehenge, to Bath and back to London, we decided to make it even longer by going for a drink in Piccadilly Circus. First we went to this awesome bar that had more levels that I can even count, but upon deciding that we were too old and the day was already too long to party (and let‘s be honest, still feeling a little hungover from two nights previously), we went to a smaller pub down the road. But everything closes between 11pm and 12am in London. Isn’t that ludicrous? I will rectify this upon domination completion.
The next day, we decided that no domination attempt could be completed without a cultural excursion to Madame Tussaud’s. After glaring heatedly for several minutes at a photographer who just would not move while I tried to get a picture of Vance and Toni with Jennifer Aniston and Will Smith, a staff member came up and said “don’t worry about her, she’s made out of wax too.” Foiled by yet another inanimate object. This is becoming a little bit of a habit on this journey.
We rounded out my London domination with a mass visit to Brick Lane. Brick Lane is this awesome street that is ALL Indian restaurants, and people stand outside trying to convince you to come in by offering you sweet deals. With thanks to the magnificent bartering power of the men folk, we settled on one restaurant that gave us 25% off, no service charge, a free round of beer for all of us, and three bottles of wine. So what if the wine was completely watered down? Toni, Vance, Simon, Andrea, Richie, Amanda, Steve, Chloe, Stefan, Clotilde and I got a huge meal and many drinks for 13 pound each. Magnificent.
And so, another major country has been added to my list of the conquered. Many apologies to the people I didn’t get to catch up with on this visit, including Sarah, Simon Francis, Fiona, Michael and Nick “Thodawg” Thodey. Next time.
Also, for anyone who hasn’t visited terminal five yet, it is AMAZING! Seriously, nothing like the mouldy inefficient Heathrow of old. It’s worth flying British Airways just so you can fly in there (but don’t tell Richard Branson I said that).
Aaaand, finally, a call for advice from my followers. I’m moving into Germany next, which will be my home for the next 10 months. Do you guys think that it is uncool that I’m currently reading The Diary of Anne Frank? Is it a bad look to show up with this particular piece of historic literature in hand? Maybe I should ditch it at the airport…
Until next time loyal subjects,
Stephanie the Still Hungover xo