Explanation sought

Today one of the Russian girls was speaking about Virginia. As an unexpected - but at the time quite natural - progression, the conversation turned into an argument (exclusively among the Russian students) about Washington and New York, with particular reference to Manhatten. I didn't manage to understand anything of what was being said from that point on as it was too frenetic and impassioned, and possibly not quite in German. Nevertheless the teacher followed it, and the heated debate ended 30 seconds later - as abruptly as it had begun - when she said (in German), "Ah, squirrel... squir-rel" and wrote the word for squirrel on the blackboard.

As an eyewitness, this is all the information I have. I have so far been unable to make it fit together.

Paulo and The Mercedes

I think the man with the bowling-alley shoes was Paulo.
Either way, I like Paulo. He's from Italy, and has the habit of adding "e" to the end of as many words as possible in a sentence - very much as if he is mimicking a grossly exaggerated version of the accent you would expect him to have when speaking German. But no, it appears to just be the way he really does speak it. Which is nice and it makes me smile. I wish that my accent would be as lovable as his.

When Paulo was asked whose was the Mercedes outside (not that there was a Mercedes outside, but it re-enforced some grammatical point or other), he suggested that it was probably Peter's, and then looked at me. I interpreted this to be the start of our banter. I later referred to him in my sentences out of respect. I hope that we will be able to build up a healthy collaborative relationship in which we can mention one another each time we have to invent sentences, since otherwise inventing sentences is a desperately difficult thing to do. There is something unsatisfying about being given free rein to say almost anything and settling for something so banal as "The dog was happy because the weather was nice last Thursday", even if such a sentence is grammatically correct. It feels like your opportunity to say something to the world - for those few seconds, 15 or so people are hanging on your every word. You've got to make them count. Or so I supposed.

Another Italian guy made his words count by throwing in the occasional comment on the human condition - which I thought was clever, and I wish I had done that. "When people are depressed, they often don't know the reason" was one of his, I think. I said something untruthful about Paulo saying he'd buy me a Mercedes. Upon reflection, I will feel terrible now if he does as some sort of desperate effort to save his honour because he doesn't want the others in the class to think he's a liar. Paulo said a particular relative of his (I forget which) had died. The teacher told him that was wonderful. It was at that point I lost faith that she was really listening properly.

Special moment

For the Italian girl's grilling on Rome, I was pleased that no one before me had thought of the most obvious question, "Are there many different roads that lead to Rome?" I was mightily proud of myself for that one. Almost disproportionately so. What's more, it even works in German.

Speaking in class

The main problem for the oral parts of the class, which had given me most fear, is that they involve discussing topics which really aren't remotely interesting. At least not to me. For the last half hour - when all the proper material has run out and we're not sure what to do - it seems that we shall have a time devoted to the constructive bullying of someone. Today it was the meekest girl in the class, who happened to be from Moscow. We all had to ask her questions about Moscow. It is difficult to think of questions to ask about Moscow, particularly if you are having to think of question 20, 19 other questions about Moscow having already been asked by people similarly disinterested in Moscow. The weather was covered early - too early for my liking, since I knew how to ask it. Still, I was quite proud of what I did come up with in the end in my desperation: "Do you hear many other languages on the streets of Moscow?", and "Would you recommend that we all come to visit?". I suspected the man at the far side of the room was merely repeating my first question less imaginatively when he later asked, "Are there many foreigners Moscow?" but I was too polite to point out this duplication. Tomorrow I shall probably steal his question and see how he likes it.

Some people ran out of questions about Moscow quite quickly, and tried to slip in personal questions only mildly Moscow-related, for example: "How long does it take you to get from your house (in Moscow) to the university?". The lowest ebb was reached with the question, "How old are you?", which caught the attention of the teacher since it hadn't used the word Moscow at all (although "How old are you, now that you are not living in Moscow?" would almost certainly have gone unnoticed). Oddly, the age question flustered the answerer more than the other questions about population statistics, climate and economic prospects. We were reprimanded for our divergence from the topic and got back on track for at least a moment, saying Moscow a lot more often again.
[My back-up question was going to be, "So - was it a terrible disappointment for everyone when London got the Olympics?", but I had the nagging fear that Moscow weren't really in for the Olympics and then I would be forced to explain that I thought they were, but since they weren't my question was indeed irrelevant. Even if they had been competing for the Olympics, I feared this would have been forgotten by everyone else.]

There was almost an ugly turn of events when it emerged that at least 2 other students in the class came from Moscow, and they weren't convinced that the answers given were true. Arguments broke out more than once. The male was exposed as having overplayed his hand when he claimed Moscow had the 'largest house in the world', since another pointed out that it wasn't actually built yet. He was also challenged on his assertion that there are 10% poor people, 10% rich people (but not very rich) and no middle class. He refused to be drawn on how this might be, but stuck stoically to his figures.

Eventually it shall be my turn to be tortured by questions about my land, unless the teacher likes me enough not to put me through it or dislikes me enough not to put herself through it. If it does happen, I think I'd prefer the personal questions, since I am at least fairly familiar with me, rather than also having to answer questions about, "Do the youth in your country have a future?" or "What is the industry like where you come from?". I would tend to make the same sort of incredulous, disinterested, leave-me-alone-for-I-don't-know sound to that question regardless of the language being spoken because I don't really have anything to say about it. I've never really thought about these things. Certainly truth shall be the first casualty in anything I will say, although if possible I shall try to avoid saying anything at all. Ideally this shall be possible while still using a satisfactory number of words. Fortunately, there is no-one else from Northern Ireland in the class and I don't think the people from Moscow would challenge me.

But I would appreciate any mind-numbing facts about my country which anyone might be able to offer me.

Old Textbook

All this meant I had to give up my first textbook. Which was rather sad. Despite initial complaints, I had grown rather fond of it. And because I hadn't expected to lose it, I didn't think to write down all the amusing (and often sexist) German sayings and poems.

The first chapter was about love, since it presumably recognised love to be a more universal langange than German and therefore much more worth the effort to learn. Exercises included writing a love poem and also writing a love letter for someone else in the class. The letter with the most raw feeling would get a prize. The effort to pair off the class as far as possible continued throughout the chapter, despite the inclusion of the occasional bitter poem by some misogynistic German in history. In one section, I understood the instruction to be to find a partner for someone else in the class, and then gushingly describe his/her physical appearance, before getting a response (accepting or rejecting of the suggestion). It was rather like if Cilla Black would run language school.

Perhaps my favourite for its direct simplicity was a conversational exercise to do in pairs, containing at the end the instructions:
- 8. Your partner looks sad. Ask him what's up. Offer him some comfort.
- 9. Ask him to marry you.

New Textbook

The new textbook is a different kettle of fish, and due to its claimed advancedness ("Oberstuflichkeit") may well contain such frustratingly confusing phrases for a foreigner as 'different kettle of fish'. I have so far seen no reference to love, and the authors seem to think that it is possible to motivate someone to learn the language through other means. Which is optimistic, but hopefully correct.

Perhaps it can work. I've looked ahead. Chapter 3 is a chance to sample the renowned German humour, through an article with the slightly pleading title, "Please laugh!". Alongside it is a picture of a man wearing an amusing hat. Well, it's sort of amusing. It's a funny shape and it would probably be brightly coloured too except the photo is black and white. It made the woman next to him laugh, although she isn't really looking at it so much as she is looking at his cheek.

Apparently humour has been greatly underestimated in recent years, particularly in Germany. Or so the article begins. I haven't read the rest yet.

I still pine for the old book sometimes.

First day of lessons

I arrived late. I missed the first bus - but it was unrealistic anyway and would have got me there 30 minutes early but too sleepy to do anything. I chose it to be the first bus, because missing it allowed me to catch a second bus which would still mean I'd get there about 10 minutes early (or perhaps 8, as I never know exactly where I shall emerge from the ground when I leave the underground and I rarely choose the right exit - making the experience rather like a mole coming up to have a look around, then burrowing back down again and then re-surfacing to find that he was going in the wrong direction... except that moles cannot see well, and so probably do not do this exactly). I caught the second bus, but it was late and meant that I then missed my train and arrived instead at 9am exactly.
Tragically, I found a crowd of people waiting for their room numbers at reception and so I joined the back of it. By the time I received my instructions, I got to class at about 9.15am. I loitered for a moment, plucking up the courage to go in. A Spanish-sounding girl arrived during my loitering time, and so we went in together.

I didn't enter as glamorously as I might have wished.

The teacher looked at us with some disgust at our lateness. Her expression was not softened when I slammed the door accidentally off a table, moved back in surprise and shame at the noise I had made, and in doing so turned off one of the lights with my schoolbag. In trying to turn the light back on, I turned off the remaining light. I eventually got them both on again, and sat down in one of the few seats still available - beside a man wearing the sort of shoes that are given out at 10-pin-bowling alleys. I put the emphasis on the wrong part of "Nordirland" when saying where I was from, and risked being from somewhere else entirely, but eventually we overcame the confusion and could re-start the class. I pulled out my textbook which, as it happened, was the wrong one and so I had to share with a russian girl whose name I cannot remember and could not pronounce.

Things improved to some extent after that. I had an opportunity to build a rapport with the teacher when she said something about Irish literature, but I chose instead to look baffled and like she was talking nonsense. 30 minutes or so later I untangled her question, and decided it was something I could have answered more coherently but I thought it was too late to bring up the subject again. It was something to with "longing" being a theme in Irish literature - I believe now she meant longing after being home again in beautiful, green, magical Ireland, but at the time it just seemed a vague and odd thing to say. I would have needed the "beautiful, green, magical" bit.

My book was wrong because my book was for the "Mittelstufe" (middle level) and I should apparently have had the one for the "Oberstufe" (upper level) - not necessarily because I'm any good, but because it's what everyone else had. There are 3 levels, the other being the beginning level ("Grundstufe). It wasn't my fault that my book was wrong since it is the one I was given when I enrolled, but it did seem odd that I had so quickly gained a level without any discernable improvement in my language skills. Particularly to the Oberstufe, which I don't think is where I belong. Last I knew, I was doing a Grundstufe exam. Nevertheless, the class was fine as I'm not certain any of us belong there, and there was a sense of belonging to be had from being in a place where no one belongs. I had worried about the Mittelstufe book being too difficult, and so the Oberstufe book was simply similarly too difficult. But the Oberstufe book has the glorious benefit of an answer key.

None of us could string very many words together without murdering the language horribly, and the people who could say things which made me think, "Flip, they're a bit good" then later did things which made me think, "Ah they're just like the rest of us deep down...". The teacher explained all the difficult words in the texts - that being most of them - and so it ended up being at an ok sort of level. Nichola, the man with the woman's name, was one of the few humble enough to suggest that it was all a bit much for him, but he was told that he should stick it out because a lower class would be too easy. This was said without any apparent regard for how much Nichola did or did not know, and so a suspicious mind might wonder whether the other class was just too big and didn't want him. But I didn't get the feeling Nichola had a suspicious bone in his body.

He was further reassured when he was instructed not to fear the Russians to the left of the room because they had been at the language school for ages and it was only to be expected that they got more answers right than anyone else. Knowing that helped us all a bit - except the russians, who lost a bit of their glory. He was also told, quietly and on the sly, that he could look at the answer key if he wanted when he was doing the homework. This seemed to suggest the teacher had the outrageous belief that the rest of us wouldn't be doing so.

All of this did also create the impression that, rather than progressing through the levels (Grundstufe -> Mittlestufe -> Oberstufe), all that really needs to be done is to wait until the levels themselves descend to the stage at which you are already. I had always thought that, by the Oberstufe, one should be able to say something vaguely coherent and even interesting, and of more than 2 sentences in length. Because there isn't much further to go. But, alas, that is not the case.
Nevertheless, there is apparently one class higher than ours (the upper-Oberstufe, rather than the beginning Oberstufe), which presumably contains the good people.

Yet I do not wish to speak too soon. Perhaps I'll yet get kicked down to some other level when she corrects my homework. If so, I hope I can take Nichola with me. And possibly the man with the bowling alley shoes.

Culinary Question

I'm quite new to vegetables, and for the past year I was pretty lucky, so I just wanted to check:-

When preparing a lettuce, how many animals is 'too many' to find?