In which we find a sneakret.

This photo snuggled into a cozy, felted corner of my heart even before I took it. It has so many stories. Can you spy why?

Soup Date: Gingcatom.

Imagine you recently made a lot of amazing borscht. What do you have left once every last scarlet drop has been licked from the bowl? A whooole lotta cabbage, that's what. Na, und? You've got a few options here. For example, you could a.) let it sit in the fridge until it turns into kimchi, b.) make those fiendish rabbits in the garden very happy (Don't do it, Jnana!), or c.) put on your best excited face and make more soup! This was a new recipe for me, the base for which I found on this website while seeking inspiration. I was looking for some flavor to go BAM in my mouth and YUM in my larynx. That flavor was gingcatom, or rather, ginger-cabbage/carrot-tomato soup.

Delivered with a face kick.

 What you need:

• 3 garlic cloves (more or less depending on personal preference, or that of your significant other), smashed 
• onion-- two medium or one small, chopped
• olive oil
• 1 tablespoon freshly grated ginger (at least!)
• 2 cups juicy diced/dicey juiced tomatoes
• cabbage-- about a quarter of a large head or half a small head, or whatever amount you've got, thinly sliced into bite-sized pieces
• ≈ 6 cups vegetable stock
• your favorite Red Hot Chili Pepper powder
• salt & freshly ground black pepper
• rice noodles
• fresh mint leaves, sliced

Musik: Something with a beat you can dice a lot of vegetables to. I would recommend anything presented by Putumayo with "Beat" or "Groove" in the title. Or RHCP.

Note: Much like Unbeetable Borscht, this soup also tastes better the longer it sits. Within reason.

Step one: Chop, dice, smash, happy dance.

Step two: You put that stock on to boil, yeah!

Step(s) three & beyond: Large pot. Medium heat. Honor the Hierarchy of Sauteing. Liek thees: Heat olive oil splotch. Add diced garlic smash, followed by onion chop. Do not burn diced garlic smash. Once onion chop is tender, gingerly add great ginger grate. (Notes: Make sure to grate the fresh ginger root-- you can find this at most any supermarket, so much better than powdered-- over a small bowl, so as to catch all of its glorious precipitatory juices. Don't let all its veiny hairs frustrate you. Additionally, try to avoid adding veiny hairs (or any hairs) to your soup. Reserve some of the ginger, or better, grate MORE! to add later, as well as the juices.) Roll carrot dice(d) for a few minutes. Add tomato, cabbage, stock. Now we're cookin'! Stir in a sprinkle of salt, a few grinds of pepper, and a teaspoon or so of chili powder hotness (more or less). Put a lid on it. Simmer down now.

While that does its thing, cook yerself some rice noodles. (I didn't use rice noodles, but I should have.) Once the vegetables in the Big Pot start tenderizing (oh, roundabout 15 minutes), add the ginger juices and the majority of the fresh mint. Taste test the broth and adjust the seasoning as desired. You could also adventure a bit and add other flavors, such as lemon juice, soy sauce, Nutella... but whatever you do, don't mess up the Yum.

Now you could either serve up the bowl(s) with noodles and then pour the soup atop them, or just throw it all together, whatever. Once in the bowl, sprinkle with more mint and chili.

Noms away!

In which creeping pays off: (A) Love Stor(y/ies)

In which we hear of cabbages and kings. And rodents.

Enough with the cabbage already, okay? Okay. More on that later. Now for the royalty, or rather, for royalesque adventures, or rather for exploring cloudy days. 

Cloudy day #1: Hafenrundfahrt. The Smith crew took a tour of the harbor on a classic gray day. We sat atop the biggest, prettiest (well, t'was nice) boat on the Elbe, imbibed hot chocolate, and ingested the exact specification facts of all of the tens of thousands of containers on each of the massive container ships, as well as the speed, weight, and capacity of each voluminous vessel. We regarded the magical-to-be Elbphilharmonie concert hall funktasticness from multiple angles. Expensive! Delightful! People-watching prime.

Two of those massive container ships collided a few days ago and almost made for some serious mischief in the harbor. There was some sinking involved, but also much bailing. Thanks to the fire department for putting out all that water.

Cloudy day #2: Bergedorfer Schloss. In addition to abuncha water and a hot red light district, Hamburg also has a couple châteaux to offer the world. Acting upon this offer, an expedition was made to cute little Bergedorf to see what treasure lay at the end of the railbow. The castle we found there had long ago been abandoned by its royals, though its nobility lives yet, namely via a pleasant regional museum inside. We watched a green uniformed cultural society parade through the park around the château from one of the second floor windows, complete with flutes and xylophones and cobblestones and high heels. Didn't actually learn much about the history of the building itself, but for this we have Wikipedia. 

The most entertaining part of the excursion, however, was discovering the secret of the waters around the Schloss: Giant Floating Hamsters. I kid you not. (Well, maybe a little.) Someone had the brilliant idea of devising a way to seal people inside clear, inflatable spheres, which they then set free to roll/scramble around the pond. I'll tell you what, those hamsters make it look easy.

We were eager to try it ourselves (I mean, come on-- how often to you get to roll around in a giant hamster ball on top of a pond outside a castle in Germany), but our predecessors had so much trouble with it that the idea of paying to be sealed in a plastic ball and thrown by your own weight across a pond started sounding less and less like a good time and more and more like a claustrophobic nightmare. My adventure buddies preferred to do their homework. I preferred to eat ice cream and wander around town. And so it was.

Soup Date: Unbeetable Borscht

Beet. Carrot. Cabbage. Onion. When a friend first introduced me to this four-veggie bowl filler, I can't say I was overly keen on sticking my spoon in it. I have this thing against onions, y'see. Then my eyes caught a whiff of it and it smelled so pretty that I knew it couldn't be all that bad. It was in the first taste of its light-hearted heartiness that my heart discovered the divine. We cried, "Let there be borscht!" and the vegetables went forth and multiplied in proportions pleasing to our will and performed ambrosial ablutions, bathing themselves in the warm waters of the sunset with much rejoicing, and there was borscht, and we saw that it was good, and it was so good.

Original recipe happily discovered at seriouseats.com.

What you need:

• 2 medium onions (if you're on good terms with this pungent bulb; I used one small onion and was content), sliced vertically into natural crescents 
• 1 pound beets (at least), cut into matchsticks
• 2 large carrots, also matchsticked 
• ≈ 1 pound white cabbage (ie. about a quarter of a large adult head and maybe half of a smaller child head), thinly shredded
• olive oil
• 1 clove garlic, smashed/diced 
• ≈ 5 cups veggie stock
• 1+ tablespoon lemon juice 
• salt to taste
• coarsely ground black pepper
• sour cream and finely chopped fresh parsely, when desired

Note: This makes a hulluvalotta borscht.

Musik: I was about to blast a CD of Piazzolla's best tangos when I discovered something even better in Apartmentmate's collection: HOT. RUSSIAN. TANGO. More specifically: Efim Jourist Quartett: Russisches Roulette. Nothing could have been more perfect. On the off chance that you do not own this compact disc, anything accordiany, brassy, fiddley, and upbeet Eastern Europeany would suffice. Or tango. Seriously.

A confession: Overexcitement often misleads me to cook the first round of vegetables before later rounds are prepared for the party on the stovetop. The chasm of poorly timed cooking is as dark as the pot calling the kettle black, and as deep as Hades' sewer system. Don't fall in. Chop, slice, smash, matchstick all your ingredients before feeding them to the fire. If all goes well, they should look somewhat like this:

Not bad, eh? Quick notes:
1. Make sure all the veggies strips/sticks/crescents are as close to bite-sized as possible. This will make your life much easier later on.
2. If there is no evidence of animal sacrifice to be found on your hands and work surface by the time you finish cutting the beets, cut more beets.
3. If you're not into the zen of chopping, befriend a food processor.

Now for the other easy part. Put the veggie stock on to boil in a small pot on a lonely corner of the stove. Lightly mingle the garlic smash with a splash of olive oil in a large pot. (Go for the big one-- remember that mountain of cabbage you just chopped?) Give the garlic no more than one minute of solo time (its ego is odiferous enough as it is) before adding the onion. Listen to their sizzlin' (but sad, those onions are so emo) duet for another minute before the carrot and beet back-up dancers steal the show. Make sure to reserve at least a quarter of the beets (and their juice, if there is any) to add later for ultimate visual sanguination.

After about five minutes of this musical madness, or whenever the carrots begin to tenderly express their feelings, drown them all out with the hot stock and cabbage. Bring to a boil and then simmer the vegetables into submission, about 15-20 minutes. Add the remainder of the beets before they feel too left out and simmer for another few minutes. Once all the vegetables have simmered down, invigorate them again with the lemon juice, salt (not too much!), and a healthy grinding of black pepper. Feel free to play around with the proportions here until the taste meets your standards.

Hopefully your borscht will have taken on a nice purpley, ruddy complexion by this point. Don't fret if this is not the case, as the color will continue to deepen with time. This is one of those magical dishes that ages well, like George Clooney. I think he, er.. it, tastes even better the day after its genesis.

Unless you're playing the vegan card or just don't like sour cream (I don't... with the exception of borscht), plop a dollop into the middle of your borscht-filled bowl, sprinkle on a little parsley when inclined, and let the fun begin. Let there be goodness. Let there be borscht.

P.S. If you're not a beet person, this recipe probably isn't for you. However! You can still indulge in the delectable pleasure of saying it aloud. Do it. Borscht. Borschtborschtborscht.

P.P.S. In spite of multiple morbid references, I made it through that whole recipe without using the word "blood" in any form. Unbeetlievable!)

In which we telescope a pita moon, falafel stars.

And all swirled out up there in the great, glimmering Tzatziki Way.

(Currently writing under the photogenic influence of The Royal Observatory Photo Contest. It's out of this world/galaxy.)

Falafel: one of the lesser known side effects of Wanderlust. Here's how it goes down: I wake up, breakfast myself, and upon realization that I have absolutely nothing planned, depart. S-Bahn. Einsteigen. (Umsteigen.) Aussteigen. (Translation: Board the train. (Change trains/connect to other means of transportation.) Leave the train. ---> schneller gesagt auf deutsch, oder?) Explore. Walk. Wonder. Hours. Hunger. Falafel. Amazing! 

It's just. that. easy.

I've had three close encounters (over counters) in the past week with this "deep fried ball or patty made from ground chickpeas and/or fava beans" (thanks, Wikipedia) and, now that I think of it, I really should have photographed them and created some sort of coffee table photo anthology book of Hamburger Falafel Variations (ie. in Hamburg, not made of hamburger)... Hm. They've just all been wildly different so far. Intriguing delectability.

Falafel #1 cost €2,50 and came from a cute, little, suddenly-stumbled-upon Middle Eastern restaurant on a side street. 

Notable for: light beige internal composition, anis seed, pleasant pita wrap, skimpy on the salad filling, grumpy middle-aged female cook/cashier. 

Overall experience rating: 5.5

Falafel #2 cost €3,50 and came from the Döner stand in the local S-Bahn station. 

Notable for: uneven sandwich composition on ahunka white bread, toasted, yellowish brown internal composition, very much fried and crispy, too much tzatziki, skimpy on the red cabbage, red-shirted employed male with thick accent polite (but not friendly). 

Overall experienced rating: 4.5

Falafel #3 (the close encounter of the third kind) cost €3 and came from my go-to falafel spot of years gone by, across the street from the S-Bahn in a trendy, very alternative neighborhood. 

Noteable for: whole wheat pita, green internal composition, stuffed with vegetables (lettuce, pickled cabbage, carrots, little bitty potatoes (they're okay smothered in hummus), fresh parsley), the perfect hummus-tzatziki ratio, cinnamon, poised in paper and foil for immediate indulgence, pleasant male falafel-creator.

Overall experience rating: 8.5 

Falafels #1 & #3 actually come from the same neighborhood, the Schanzenviertel. This is one of the most... colorful parts of the city, where you never go barefoot and where peoplewatching is at its prime. Also home to great cupcakes. A robust outlet for pent-up Wanderlust.

After much wandering (and perhaps not so much lusting), I settled down on a hill in a park with my falafel and my book and didn't get up for almost three hours. There were frolicking four-legged and two-legged creatures, young people with guitar-strumming fingers, and early autumnal zephyrs that occasionally invited wanderlusting leaves to venture on windsurfing adventures overhead. 

Once the grass had solidly tattooed itself into my calves, I moved in an easterly fashion to seek out other entertaining green places, ie. the Wasserlichtorgel in Planten un Blomen. As some of you may remember, this is a water/light concert that plays nightly in the major water feature of one of Hamburg's nicest parks from May to September, with a new show every two weeks. It's totally kitsch. I love it. (It also provided me with an award-winning photo two years ago.) I found myself a spiced chai and poppy seed pastry and plopped myself down amidst the great population of Wasserlichtorgel enthusiasts to enjoy the show. I couldn't help noticing that I was the only person there alone, but whatev's. It was an almost perfect day. This is when a UFO landed in the pond:

My phone then proceeded to hop out of my pocket for a better view. I was almost back at the S-Bahn station when I realized it was gone, went all the way back to where I was sitting, couldn't find it, searched through my bag, couldn't find it, etc. "Hey, universe! A little help, please?" Fully believing that it had found another pocket to live in, I went back to look in the grass one more time. Stumbling around in the dark with my eyes on the ground, nearly tripping over snoggers, I heard someone call out to me. "Missing a phone?" Ten points for the universe.

I was about to go out on another adventure, buuuut it appears to be raining horizontally. What's up, gravity?

(Can you imagine if we still had movie trailers like this in our lightning-fast American culture? Oh, that's right. We don't.)

Breakfast Date: Banana Nut Muesli Concoction

I can't stop consuming this deliciousness. While eating my fifth (sixth? seventh?) bowl of this beautiful glop, I figured I might as well share it with the breakfast-loving people of the world. Thus commenceth The Recipe Posts. (I figure that even if no one cares to try them out, it at least gives me an excuse to take moodily lit photos of food. And then look at them. Yum.) Listen up!

What you need:

• plain yogurt
• honey
• half of a ripe banana
• your favorite crunchy granola
• pecans, walnuts, nuts of choice
• fresh dates (or a hot date)
• milk
• modify at will

 Musik: something gentle & joyful, preferably with good harmonies

This adventure begins with a mighty dollop of yogurt in your favorite breakfast bowl, mightiness dependent upon size of bowl and appetite. I use about half a cup.  Dazzle your yogurt with a drizzle of honey (make sure to create a cool design) according to your sweetness preference, then stir it all together and give it a quick lick. It's best if you leave it a bit too sour because you're about to surprise it with a whole lot more sweet. Go bananas briefly while quartering your banana half and then slice the chunks into the mix. Make sure: a.) your banana is soft and sweet and not green, and b.) the chunks make a pleasant "plop" sound when they hit the yogurt. No(n/m)chalantly add a layer of granola. (I use about a third of a cup. ...Interesting how "I use about third a cup" doesn't work here. Hm.) Now we go nutty! But not too nutty, mind. Break up a few walnuts and pecans or whatever, no more than three each for my bowl, and scatter them artistically on the breakfast pile. (I shouldn't need to say this, but just in case, don't use salted/otherwise flavored ((ie. wasabi)) nuts!) Carefully chop one or two of your fresh dates into little pieces (do stop if they start to protest) and lay the pieces dotingly on top of Mount Muesli, making sure they don't stick together. Finally, top it off with a tablespoon or two of milk (not too much or you get runny muesli soup!) and mix it all together into a thick, chunky breakfast stew. Do that cool trick with the spoon.

(Dirty little secret: This deliciouses at all times of day and night. Try it as an evening snack!)

Guten Appetit!

In which this is where the title goes.

It's been pretty quiet here in Lake... er, in Hamburg. My past few days have included a lot of gray skies, reading, and finally-- that great, powerful, first-world luxury of wireless internet at home. Some adventures include:

1. A pilgrimage to the sacred shrine of IKEA. I went to pick up a few things I needed and, of course, walked away with a few things I didn't know I needed until they were nestled snugly in my arms. An example of one such item would be my new friend and roommate, Kratz (translation: Scratch), or Kräztchen when I am feeling particularly affectionate.

I was also able to jazz up the ol' abode with my classic decoratory touch. This space is starting to feel like my space (ie. a place in which I hang out and drink alotta tea, not to be confused with my_____: a place where I would take a lot of emo pictures of myself at odd angles in the bathroom mirror).

2. Apartmentmate invited me to another amazing show at her theater, which made for a very enjoyable evening. I'm severely liking this routine and hope it continues.

3. Yesterday morning I visited one of my favorite biweekly haunts: The Isemarkt. This is an incredible farmers, etc. market that runs underneath a U-Bahn (subway, except at this point it's more like a SUPERway) line. There is almost no end to vendors selling produce, meat, cheese, puppets, brooms, usw, usw. I visited my old friend The Muffin Man and managed to snag the last of the marzipan muffins before they were gone, as was my usual custom two years ago. I mooshed and munched it happily in my mouth while moseying down the narrow corridor. The traffic of baby strollers and Elderly Persons Pulling Plaid Shopping Suitcases with Wheels wasn't too heavy, Gott sei Dank. It smelled of fresh nostalgia.

4. There have been various innings and outings with the Smith crew. We spent the evening yesterday on a gastronomical adventure of the Italian variety. They didn't speak a single word of English (or Italian) the whole time. My proudness muscle got quite a workout.

5. On another tour of the neighborhood, I made an amazing discovery: There is a magical thrift store hidden a block away from my apartment. I had previously only come across one thrift store in all of Germany, that one being owned by a woman I stayed with in Berlin. Unlike that rather upscale one, this is small, cluttered, and crammed with a claustrophobia-inducing amount of really nice clothes for great prices. This is very exciting with a great potential for danger.

...But mostly I just want to hang out on the couch in my sweatpants while I consume my favorite warmed beverage and amuse myself with the mythical world of Der kleine Hobbit. (I just finished four years of college. Give me a break, people.)

Some recent observations:

1. Gosh, there sure is a lot of smoking action around here.
2. Ohh, right. Here you pay to drink water and then pay to pee. Glad someone is making a profit off of my bodily functions.
3. Yummm, bread!
4. Flesh-colored spandex does not look hot on anyone.
5. Hamburg's sidewalk trash bins are always overflowing with snark. This one pleased me in particular, as it brought me back to learning the subjunctive via Die Prinzen. It plays on their hit song (WARNING: Don't watch this video if you plan on going to sleep anytime soon! Or if you have high standards. For anything.) "Ich wär so gerne Millionär" (translation: "I would so like to be a millionaire!"). Ah, and the German word for trash is Müll. Snarkidy snark snark snark.

Oooh! The sun! Goodbye.

In which jetlag takes its toll.

Remember the good ole days before cell phones and computers and other such gadgety devices (this is where the tangent begins-->) with switches that MUST be switched to the OFF position during takeoff and landing and remain OFF until otherwise advised by the captain— which reminds me! On the brand spankin’ new aeroplane I took from Amsterdam to Hamburg, the designers of the little light-up signs above every seat had completely done away with the constantly lit (ironic, no?) international NO SMOKING cigar/ette symbol (and it’s about time, let’s be real here) and had replaced it with a TURN OFF ELECTRONIC DEVICES light, which unfortunately had no entertaining symbol and was simply text (though it’s probably for the better because all the possible symbols for electronic devices (ie. MP3 players, laptops, toothbrushes) will undoubtedly be outdated in a year, but anyway, remember the days before electronic devices (this is where the sentence continues-->) could instantly connect us to anyone or anywhere in the world of things with ON/OFF switches? I don’t particularly have much recollection of them as these days ended around age seven, but I’m sure some of you do. What I’m trying to get at here is that the internet in my apartment is still kaputt and thus I am feeling a little kaputt in my capacity (er, kaputtcity! snark.) to be connected with the outside world, especially since Apartmentmate has been gone the last five days. As introverted as I am, the silence in this apartment is becoming a little too deafening for my liking, even with music playing. I’ve started humming to myself or saying fun German words aloud to lessen the quiet. I’m sure it’s an entertaining sight for all the furniture and other various household objects. Happy to do my part. Stir-crazy. It happens! Have you actually read this whole paragraph? Wow.

I typed falsely a minute ago— Apartmentmate did come back for an hour or so yesterday. She came in and I was so excited to talk to someone that I immediately burst into a great puff of enthusiastic talkage, which I then marveled at for a moment because I’m pretty sure it was some of the best, most German-sounding German I have ever produced. As it was her birthday, I made her a Brownie-Kuchen. She was pleased. We had a cuppa tea. ‘Twas tealightful.

FYI, I have not just been sitting on the couch humming myself into solitudinous insanity all week—in fact, the majority of each day has been spent elsewhere. (I’ll take that pat on the back anytime now.) For example, I’ve enjoyed going on walks around the neighborhood. One beauteous evening I took a stroll through the huge park a block away and was flat-out flattened by its weighty fantastickness. There were paths through lovely wooded areas with lovely trees; a pond surrounded by willows that may or may not have been weeping lovely scum into its waters; wide open grassy places where people were grillin’, playing toss, and generally making merry; various ornate gardens, most of which were now overgrown with late-summer wildness; chess sets of all sizes of people; MINI-GOLF; and these amazing stone ping-pong tables here and there amongst the evening-lit groves. I almost expected to see Aslan perched atop one of them (for all you C.S. Lewis buffs). A great place to bring the kids. Or trade drugs.

Other than the park, I didn’t see too much that interested me except for a very curious phenomenon on my way back home. The sun was doing its radioactive blood orange thing again and its neon rays were hitting the fallen leaves red on one edge, which when paired with the blue shadow on the other side gave them a 3D effect. This was totally trippy on top of the fact that the leaves were, of course, already 3D. O! My eyes. They spun. (And no, no drugs in the park for the Margaret.)

While I’m on this topic, there have been a few other bizarre things that my body has done without checking with my brain first. For example, I awoke to bright freshness after my first night in Hamburg and left the apartment feeling completely ready for the world. I strode confidently down the street with a big smile on my face, cheerily greeted The Cute Old Frumpy Sweater Lady with Walker, was cheerily greeted in return, and then ten seconds later I realized that my feet had gone confidently down the street in the wrong direction. I did a little pride gulping, turned, and did the whole thing over again in reverse (ie. backwards! No, just kidding—though I do have such tour guiding skillz), making sure to cheerfully greet The Cute Old Frumpy Sweater Lady with Walker again going the other way.

My hands worked their mischief at the grocery store while buying ingredients for Apartmentmate’s cake—knowing full well that I needed to buy Backpulver, they bought Backhefe instead. That was a surprise. Yeast ≠ baking powder. (I used my ‘merican baking soda instead, worked fine.) My mouth, however, did the most mischievous thing of all. When last at Allbucks, I ordered in German, for some reason pronounced the kind of tea I wanted in American English, and THEN went on to answer the barista in French. What? I don’t know which of us was more confused.

My other favorite Allbucks moment was overhearing an Australian man cooing to his must-be adorable wee children, Gracie and Tom, on Skype. “Daddy’s going to be home next week and he’s going to cuddle you and Tom! Yes, I’m gonna cuddle you!” (No, anything but the Cuddle Monster, aaahhgdk! …I kid. Everybody loves a good cuddle.)

The last news to report is that the new Smithies are now in town. (HI, FRIENDS!) I should know—I spent the whole day yesterday making trips back and forth to the airport to pick them up. It was delightful to see them and speak a little English/speak to someone, as well as reminisce about my first days in Hamburg on the Smith Junior Year Abroad program. We’re going to have adventures! (And they will no longer be conducted in English! Hooray!)

I wonder when I’ll get to post this. Can I go to sleep yet?

P.S. Check out the expression of the woman on the right. (You can click on the photo to make it bigger!) It’s pretty priceless.

In which there are various Vergnügungen.

I can’t believe it—Germany is still here! And so am I! Pretty internetless thanks to a hopefully-soon-to-be-fixed modem, but here all the same. I’ve written this post in several installments while searching for a café with free wireless that actually works. The place that finally came through after three days on the case: Starbucks. (I went to Germany for this?)

The transatlantic hip-hop (featuring such artists as Lil’ Seatback and Dr. Dre-Table) hipped and hopped precisely as choreographed. I arrived at my apartment exactly on time to meet my apartment mate. Cha-ching! My favorite moment of the journey was when I looked out the window as we began the take-off roll down the runway: there was a lone duck swimming in a flooded area of field directly across from me, splishsplashing and happily warming its hilarious duckbutt in the evening shine. Ducks, my favorite of the feathered beasts, always give me such pleasure with their general silliness. I don’t usually go for the Omen-Spewing, but I took this sign as a very good omen for things to come.

Another favorite moment happened while zooming through the time zones. I was hoping to get my snooze on during the long night flight, but The Loquacious Dutch Woman with the Turquoise Bling behind me disabled that function by deciding to quatsch with the man sitting behind her throughout the duration of the trip. (: What’s up with Dutch? It’s not English, it’s not German, but it pretends that it is just enough to confuse me. I mean, it’s got some similarities which lead me into a false perception of understanding, but then all these random bodily noises come about that throw me off track. Something like, “Once we arrived at the police station, we huk’gresplehdhr grandmother oefreh’ehk pizza and ploogrffam all the cheese!” I want to learn it. ) Blah blah blah sooo I glanced out the window and was quietly slammed with a facefulla stars. The big dipper looked chipper as it tipped over a soft, flat platter of clouds. Fluff fer dinner.

Eventually the sun arrived, peeping and creeping, and looking for all the skies like a radioactive blood orange. It stealthed slowly over the great Fluff platter, which had morphed into a vast, snowy tundra in the predawn hour.

I knew I was in Europe upon arrival in Amsterdam not by what I saw, but rather by the smell. American airports all have the same kind of airporty smell—one that is reminiscent (ha!) of long hallways, grey plastic chairs, and waiting. I found the smell in Amsterdam to be a lot more chic, in a way, almost perfumed. Perhaps it was more noticeable because the majority of the travelers at 8am were newly freshened for their journeys. Perhaps it was because there were more shops selling such fragrances. Perhaps the salespeople who work in such shops get bored when there are no customers and thus pass the time by squirting aromatic testers into the main corridor. Makes sense, right? Or perhaps you don’t give a damn about airport smells. I digress.

It was somewhat disconcerting to get through customs, print my boarding pass to Hamburg, and see the word “standby” written cheerily upon it. It was a little more disconcerting to watch the entire crowd waiting at gate B22 to file onto the plane in front of me… buuuut I only like to write happy stories, so I’ll continue to say that I did eventually get a seat and arrived in Hamburg right on time. From there it was a straight shot on the S-Bahn to my apartment, which I found with no trouble. My wonderful apartmentmate, a friend of a friend, was there to welcome me and show me the ropes. Hurra!

We’re in a nice spot, we are. A cozy apartment on the 4^th floor of an old building within very easy reach of the city center. Lovely high ceilings, wooden floors, and today I even managed to get the shower exactly at the temperature I wanted without scalding or freezing myself first. (This is a big victory.) My room is the biggest I’ve had in a long time. It’s got a couch that pulls out into an intensely comfortable bed, happy plants, my own balcony, and a whole wall full of Apartmentmate’s books—great books. Most of them are books that I would have in my own library, had I a library. She’s got everything from theater history and a huge selection of plays to psychology books to a whole section of French novels (!) and dictionaries(!!), to German pre- and postwar classics, to David Sederis auf deutsch, to maps and travel books, to Tolkien, Orwell, and other such English classics, to art books, to the entire Rilke anthology, to fairytales from around the world, to books I’ve never heard of, to—finally, the breadwinner, Der Kleine Prinz in print and on CD. Win. I also really enjoy the part where Buddha is chillin’ wit’ Nietzsche.

I slept for 14.5 hours my first night. In the history of me and sleeping, I think that’s a first. My first couple days were spent tangled up in the bureaucratic mess of the university and the public transportation systems. That basically meant a lot of waiting in lines and conversations with both pleasant and grumpy officials, none of whom felt particularly inclined to help me. These dealings did a good job of reminding me that I am no longer a native speaker in my country of residence. I’m understanding everything pretty fluently, but am still having some trouble communicating as smoothly as I would like. I’m plenty understandable, just not smooth. (Come on, vocabulary! I know you’re in there!) It’ll get better for sure, but it’s very humbling in the meantime.

My evenings so far have been spent in quite a splendid fashion. Apartmentmate invited me to a cute wine place to meet up with our Mutual Friend on my second night. Another friend of hers was opening an art exhibit there that night, so the place was hoppin’. I was very grateful to be with them, getting to know Apartmentmate better while catching up with Mutual Friend. They’re both very warm and friendly people and I feel they really respect me for who I am, which is not a feeling I always get being a foreigner. Last night Apartmentmate invited me and another friend of hers to see a play in the theater where she works. I was delighted when she greeted me there with a big hug. Another thing that I am very grateful for is that when she introduces me to people, it’s as “the person that just moved in with me” and not “the American that just moved in with me.” It’s not something I’d really thought about before, but I think it makes a huge difference when getting to know new people. So often I’ve been introduced as my nationality, which immediately leads the person to consciously or subconsciously form judgments about me according to whatever stereotypes they have about Americans. They immediately look for my accent and expect me to speak poorly. When my nationality is left out of the picture, the new acquaintance forms their first impression of me around what I say and do. I’ve sometimes been able to get pretty far without them noticing that I’m not German, which makes them pleasantly surprised when I do make a language error and they realize I’m not a native speaker. This often comes with a compliment about my language ability, which is much more gratifying than the alternative. Keep that in mind next time you’re introducing a foreign friend to people, ja?

After the theater, I walked around the Binnenalster (lake in the middle of the city) for a while to take in the sights and sounds of the Alstervergnügung—basically a four day party in celebration of how cool it is to have this body of water. There is classic fair food and beverage, lights, people of all ages, six stages with live music and dancing, fireworks, and a lot of drunken merriment. I first arrived in Hamburg during this festival two years ago and give it a lot of credit for my initial head-over-heels love for the city.

Now that that’s done, I’m off to find a giant pasta maker put my body through and thus rid it of these travel aches once and for all. Ta!