Beyond the end

I don't know how to end really. Today the 'hit-count' for this reached 1,200 from the time when I realised that I could have a hit-count and know what it was. Admittedly the hit count counts hits at the slightest excuse, so only a very tiny number of people are required to make 1,200. Special though each individual is. I'm not sure if it counts spammers, but I'm sure they are special too in their own ways.

But for anyone who is still around, for spamming or otherwise, have you any ideas? What can we do?
If you want to go to Germany, you could take this little part of the digital universe for your own.

Hmmm.

Are you happy?

Du kannst auch auf Deutsch antworten, wenn du willst.

Ending

Last day, today.

Apart from that, I forget what I was going to write.

Something about the corridors of the university smelling like gum drops, I think. Not sure.

Photos

One of the Rathäuser. I think the new.

The other Rathaus.

The Frauenkirche, Münchener Dom, or possibly both.

I've forgotten.

Odeonsplatz.

Mister B's. I didn't eat here. But I liked it.

Zen and Strawberries

While working late at the university on Friday, my supervisor passed by the door as he was leaving. "Brain food", he said, as he tossed me a mini Snickers.

As I looked behind me I saw not only a week of more programming than I had ever done in my life but also the deadline I had missed, all the crazy bugs I had inserted in my program, and the time wasted on ill-conceived designs. As I looked forwards, I saw a weekend looming before me with yet more (seemingly endless) programming and testing and finding bugs, and of fixing bugs by creating other bugs which remain hidden for just long enough for me to have forgotten what I had done to bring them about. I took the gift gratefully. It had been a while since I had eaten, though I hadn't noticed.

And it really, genuinely was the tastiest mini Snickers I have ever had.

Deadline day

I don't think it's true that 'slow and steady wins the race'. The story of the hare and the tortoise is just something grown up tell slow kids so they feel better. Or fast kids so that they slow down.

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?

Internet

Just a quick message to say that the place where I'm living will be getting a wonderful new glass fibre internet link, but because that's cooler and more complicated than the thing we were originally going to be getting, access to the internet in our rooms has been delayed. Probably until some time in September. So I'll probably continue to be slow to receive and reply to things, and this website will never be the beautiful thing with pictures and animations and song and dance that it would have been if only it had been allowed to be.

In other news, I noticed yesterday that my neighbour's rock-growing cloche has now been smashed into pieces and the rock is now exposed to sun and wind and rain. From what I've learned about German relationships (primarily from ARD daily soaps), it was most likely destroyed by his girlfriend in a fit of jealousy about how much time he was devoting to it.
My window blind continues to bravely stay up. I no longer move it, so my room is dark. But at least other students can't walk by and look at me whenever they want. If they do want to do that, they'll need to get that key that opens my door from that man whom I have never seen again.

Neighbours

One day, one of my window blinds will fall to the ground with an earth-shattering crash.

I know this to be true. It is trying hard to stay up at the minute, but it is groaning and heaving so as to make its struggle clear. The blind of my neighbour has already fallen, and now lies crumpled and miserable on the ground.
I could talk to my neighbour about it and maybe he could help (or make it worse), but I don't talk to my neighbour at all about anything. I think I saw him once, and he gave me a look of what I interpreted to be hate because I was talking to someone who was probably his girlfriend. It's unfortunate, because I suspect he might be interesting. He plays loud spanish music and tapes that say, "Buenos Dias……. Guten Tag" and things like that for a long time, so I presume him to be fluent in one of those languages and quite bad at the other.

More than that, I think he is trying to grow a rock. There is a little broken-looking plastic thing outside his room which collects moisture for the thing inside it. But the only thing I can see inside is a rock. It's a pretty big rock, I suppose, so I guess it might be working. But it's still a rock.

I have also seen my neighbour on the other side throw tomatoes at dogs. I would like to talk to her about that some day too, but the opportunity has not arisen.

Both of them allow me to hear their Bon Jovi CDs, even when I don't really want to.


These things aren't really stories, are they? I just don't know what I'm supposed to write.

Church

I went to church yesterday morning.

I was nervous about going, in case they would be friendly. Relentlessly friendly. Friendly in the most threatening and tiresome way. But they weren't.

I got through the time saying 4 words in total, to 4 different people. I should have said 5 words, but I think I missed one in my haste to say another one.

It seemed to be a very traditional sort of church, which wasn't quite in a traditional building (although it tried its best to look traditional for the occasion). Before the service began, the organist seemed to be tapping gently and noiselessly at some keys - as if he wasn't very good, and didn't want anyone to hear him make any mistakes.

But when the meeting started, he leapt into life with the enthusiasm of the Phantom himself. He started blasting out the sort of complex classical music where you think every few bars that it must surely have gone horribly wrong (and at least one of his hands is blindly smashing at the instrument), but he continued with such confidence and consistency that I decided that it must be how it's supposed to sound, and he was really incredibly good.

He continued to be good throughout the communal singing, although the congregation themselves weren't much good. There was a clear difference in ability between the organist and the rest of us, and he wasn't going to hold back for us and we weren't going to make any effort to keep up with him. Sometimes the words fitted, but mostly they didn't. If we ever happened to stop at the same time, it can purely have been coincidence.

We stayed seated for singing, but stood up for praying and the reading of the Parable of the Lost Sheep. We stayed seated for the Parable of the Lost Son, since I suppose that it is a less important story. Or else it's just a longer story, and they doubted we'd make it through standing up. Which is quite possible. The congregation was quite a wrinkly group of people.

The minister wore a long black gown, with little white bits poking out at the top, and spoke loudly but slowly. He also sang. Quite often and, as far as I was concerned, randomly. There were moments when he sang a line, and everyone else (who wasn't me) sang something back to him. Sometimes it was in the song book. Sometimes it didn't seem to be.

So that was church. There was none of that crazy and interesting German theology that I was hoping for, or at least I didn't really notice any. It was mostly just rather formal and normal. The sermon was looking at the story of the lost son from the father's point of view, but I had to really concentrate to understand anything and I kept realising that I had zoned out for the last while and so I only caught bits and pieces. So I think that's all I can really say about it, and I'll stop now.

I should probably say that it was, in its own way, rather nice. Though I'm not sure if I'll be back much.

Garching

Garching by day.

Garching by night. A very pretty place. Although an ill-conceived picture.

The Little Restaurant vs. The Zepplin

At least he had a friendly sort of face

Yeah... I'm not very good at updating this.

Sorry, yes, erm, not much to say really. Days aren't normally so very different from one another, except for how much coffee gets drunk or what shape the meat is at lunch time or what flavour or crisps I have accidently bought (most recently it was "hungarian" flavour... which is like very watery smokey bacon, if you're interested).
I got myself a TV card so now I can watch german programmes. I saw less than a minute of one soap, but already a man had got a threatening email and turned around to point a gun in the face of a shocked (and then angry) looking woman. I think she was maybe his wife. So I think I'll have to make a point of seeing that one, except I can't remember on which of the identical-looking channels it was on. There are also many american programmes that I recognise, with characters whose voices don't quite fit them.

I'm living on a sort of building site so there are people and machines around all the time. Except the evening, when it is just machines and students. But it's quite alright like that.


Apart from that, the main excitement was this morning. I was lying in bed, wondering whether to get up or not - if I get up and get breakfast then I can start things, but if I don't get up then I get to not have to start things. Then the doorbell rang. I think the doorbell has only ever been rung 4 times since I moved in, and one of them was by accident. So I never expect it. My mind thought that it might be the Hausmeisterin to tell me that the rent didn't come out of my account properly this month (or something bad like that), or else some man who was going to tell me that the internet works now (or something good like that). I knew the Hausmeisterin had a key to get it, which is why I cunningly leave my keys in the door every night.

I got up and put trousers on just in time to see my keys turning around in the lock all by themselves. I managed to be standing in front of the door when it opened to reveal a large German man whom I'd never seen before. HE had the audacity to look surprised. I was quite sure he had no right, and while I was still wearing my T-shirt with "relaxed" on it, I wasn't particularly.

Anyway, he excused himself and I haven't seen him since. He said something about it being a "middle apartment" and then "sorry".

So anyway. I don't know what all that was about.

University

The Informatik building.

Academic slides.

Exceptions

This language is even harder than I had thought.
Up until now, I had been fooling myself by reading basic grammar books. Everything looked quite straightforward - difficult to remember and use, but at least sensible. But a few days ago, I started getting into my intermediate/advanced book. And it would appear there are exceptions to every rule. Including many rules which I didn't know existed: and so it is now hard to get enough enthusiasm to learn a rule when I know that it isn't really a rule, and the only time when I have heard that exists is when I was reading about when it doesn't apply.

Thinking about this this morning, I really do not understand how other people - and even children - could possibly speak this language comfortably. Every sentence must surely be a desperate struggle. To make matters worse, I heard a woman instructing her dog in German. It just so happened that I also understood that she was asking the dog to "come", but the seed of thought was sown. It is quite certain that in this country there are animals that understand the language better than I do.

If you happen to be in a Maredo Restuarant, always order the steak

Do.
It's a nice south american-ish restaurant chain - I found one around the Marienplatz area in my first day in the city, and went back today.

This time I ordered steak fajitas, because I decided that I hadn't had much red meat since I got here and it's a scientific fact that one needs it to live healthily. Or perhaps one needs something that is in it, which can be gotten from eating other things that I don't eat. Or perhaps that is a sort of scientific fact in the vein of, "If the chicken has no heart, then it means very grave misfortune will come". Having done only Single Award Science at school, I never know where the distinction between science and folklore is.

Anyways, it came and it was quite wonderful. But after it was set before me, I could see that the waiter was still carrying something.

"Das ist für Sie, tee hee!!", he said, putting a big bib over my head. He muttered something about the steak, as if that would explain it all.

The man wasn't the waiter who had been serving me. He may have been the chef, because I only saw him that one time. Also, the "tee hee" was very distinct - he made no serious effort to hide it. It was as if this was his very favourite part of the job.
Given all this, and that no one else in the restaurant was wearing a bib, I was a bit uncertain as to what was happening. I looked to the man sitting on his own at the table next to me. An ever-broadening smile was appearing on his face. He made some little remark which I didn't quite catch - but he must have felt it brought us together since he said a friendly "Auf Wiederschauen!" to me very personally when he left.

During the course of the meal I thought of taking it off - given that there was nothing at all particularly messy about what I was eating - but then decided that there was really no point.

At one point in the meal, I noticed that the maturity of the bib was increased by some writing. From memory, it read something like:-

Lätzchen sind nett,
Und schützen vor fett.
Allerdings nur die Kleider!
Leider!

which I understood to mean:-

Bibs are nice
And protect against fat
But only the clothes - sadly!

Which was rather nice, in a poetic sort of way. I realize I didn't capture the beauty in my translation though. I'll work on that.

Woolworths

It's just great.

I strongly disagree with the woman who was standing in it, complaining "Hier gibt's nichts". Because there were wonderful things there.

I finally got some coathangers, though not great ones. I'm still hoping that one day I'll find them cheaply in Lidl's. There appears always to be a large section in the centre of Lidl's which forms their "Monument to Three Dimensional Things" - for there is no other clear relationship between the objects other than that they can all be touched and held, and possibly dropped or broken. As the Three Dimensional Things included in the monument can vary quite widely, I don't see what coathangers shouldn't make it there one day.

I also got a saucepan. And almost a frying pan, though you still can't quite cook with "almost a frying pan". But still: I'm getting closer.

Apart from that, I was outside Woolworths and reading a menu when a waitress said "Enschuldigung!" to try to get me to move of her way. Which wasn't really noteworthy, except that I moved with such elegance and grace, ending in something of a twirl, that she started laughing and didn't even complete the word. And so I thought that perhaps I should work on communicating more with my whole body. Although it hadn't been my primary intention at that time either, I don't think I have made anyone else laugh once since getting here. Perhaps that could be "my thing".

Another person asked me for directions today. This one spoke English, and may even have been from an English speaking country. I was slightly more helpful, but only slightly. Then someone else chipped in with the full set of directions so that she could actually get to where she wanted to go.
Still, if I'm going to be asked so often then I must look harmless and helpful. And in control.
Which is good. After wrecklessly handsome, it'd be my second choice way to be perceived.

If only I could keep up the facade when speaking. I think that while I'm here, I might try to become the sort of person who says few words and who always looks serious and as if their mind is on weighty matters. Then my highly limited conversational abilities becomes less apparently related to being foreign and slow witted, and instead might be attributed (by those who encounter me) to my unique grasp of the gravity of the human condition and my reluctance to enter into superficial conversations about trifling matters. I think Germans might dig that sort of thing.
I may buy myself a beret.

I have a new German mobile phone number, and I might tell you it one day if you ask. Although I'm not yet sure how useful it will be and if there is much point. The man in the shop spoke English to me, because he saw the baffled look on my face when he asked for my "Ausweis". I even would have known what an "Ausweis" was (an identity card, or my passport) - but I didn't get it initially because I didn't expect to be asked for it when buying a phone card. However, I did understand clearly and almost instantaneously when the group of boys I was with (in body, but not spirit) in McDonalds complimented a girl on her "schönen Po". So it seems I do indeed have some useful vocabulary in the front of my brain.
I think the choice of this vocabulary comes from watching a few German-language movies instead of going to German classes in the past year or two.

(To clarify, I "understood" what the words meant. I didn't necessarily understand or agree or disagree with the sentiment, because I didn't feel at liberty to look, and besides, there were two girls anyway and I wouldn't have been sure which Po was being discussed)

That said, it's now 12 hours later than when I wrote that and I'm now in an office and to be working on the programming project. Which I shall do.

Bye for now.

Singing greetings

There's something lovely about the way German-speakers sing the word "Hallo".

For all the other horrendous noises that the language has produced, this is a wonderfully beautiful one.

I first noted this consciously whenever a female cyclist tried to angrily sing me out of her way as I was nonchalantly ambling along in the cycle lane. Her little bell sounded, and then came a "Ha-llow" - rising and falling in perfect key - and then some comment with "Radl" in it. I like words that include "Radl" also, as they too create pleasant sounds, but I can't remember any of them at the moment.

Casualty

Well, I broke my first glass on my first weekend. I think that's ok - it's possibly how Greek students christen their new homes anyways. And I had bought the glass, it didn't seem to damage anything, and there was nothing in it at the time. I'm just waiting to check with Justus (who shares the apartment with me) whether or not there is some special recycling ritual that I should go through or whether I can just go and slip it in the general rubbish bin in the dead of night. Like with most other things.

I was making myself coffee at the time (using Justus' coffee and coffee maker - I think he's alright with that, and if he isn't then I can always refuse to understand him telling me he's not), so had to resort to drinking it out of a bowl. The bowl was actually no more difficult than the glass. A cup would have been ideal - having, as cups do, handles - but I haven't gotten around to buying one of them yet.

I learned that bowls work for drinking while watching the little Cadbury's advertisements during Coronation Street.


Also, "apartment" has 1 p.
You live and learn.

Helping the natives

I was asked for directions today, by a young man in a car and who had an electronic gadget on his ear with blue lights which made him look part cyborg. I was quite pleased that my instinctive reaction was to reply with "Weiß nicht, sorry". The "sorry" was a bit English, but the rest wasn't and I think it still works. At least, I heard "sorry" said in a German movie once. The other way I know how to say sorry, "Es tut mir Leid", could be literally translated (by me) as "It causes me sorrow" - which, under the circumstances, I think would have been overstating my feelings somewhat. I was none too bothered.

I also wasn't actually entirely sure what he had said, but since I know so little in this country, "I don't know" was almost certainly the correct answer. I merely figured out from his gestures and a few word fragments that he probably wanted to get somewhere ending in "Heim", and he wanted to get there quickly so that the girl in the passenger seat wouldn't think of him as a complete moonbeam and leave him the instant when they finally would arrive.

The walk to the university

The university swan, ignoring me.

Big enough to eat you (slowly).

Showing off.

There's something moving in the bushes

There really is something moving in the bushes. There is always something moving in the bushes. And I can very rarely find it.
On a few occasions, I saw birds. Once I saw a rabbit skip off into the long grass. But most of the time, something just moves and I'm not sure what it is.

This could also have been called, "There's someone walking around who looks grumpy". Because there almost always is someone walking around looking grumpy. Back home, when walking around in the sort-of countryside, a reasonable number of people will greet complete strangers and walk on. It's awkward, but nice. But here, I haven't experienced that once. Normally people either continue walking without looking in your direction at all at the vital moment (having looked at you beforehand, as surreptitiously as possible), or else look at you disapprovingly and keep on going in silence, leaving you with the question, "Am I really so hideous?". I wondered today if my shorts were to blame, but it seems to happen even on days when I'm fully clad. Germans themselves, it could be noted, are not always fully clad. Although they have tended to be around the university.

I'm deliberating as to whether I should introduce more friendliness to them myself by bestowing warm greetings upon arbitrarily selected people that I should happen to encounter. I don't think I'm the ideal man for the job, but I could give it a shot. Someone should do it.

Sometime last week

Well, I managed to sign my accommodation contract and get my health insurance sorted today. The first one involved a lot of slow and clear German from a very nice lady who was just a tiny bit older than the age where she could be expected to give English a try. Hiding his cigarettes under the desk when I came in, my health insurer spoke first German and then English whenever he warmed up. Then, when he had reached optimum temperature, he started chatting away in English, explaining (amongst other things) when the next holidays will be and laughing cruelly at people in Hamburg and Berlin because they have to work two weeks on Thursday because they are Protestant. Apparently Monday is also a holiday.


I went into Munich again. I wasn't feeling too adventurous, and thought pizza would be a good idea. 2 pizza places failed my tests: one because the chairs were two high and I would be pointed out the window so anyone could see the unglamorous way in which I eat pizza, the other because I couldn't find the door. After walking many, many miles - an unreasonable number - I happened to find a Pizza Hut. Then, I happened to find some little pizza shop beside it, hidden away. I went for the little shop, based on the idea that it must be very special to be able to survive.

It was rather good. I was concerned that there was only one table of raucous German men in it when I arrived, but relieved to deduce that the food must be alright because the chef had clearly eaten rather a lot of it.


I also went shopping again. Today, I came home with a rather impressive and sharp knife (for most of my cutting needs, I hope), and a normal knife, fork and spoon. Still, I think I've figured out why I'm bad at shopping for the things I need. The things I need are in shops that I find boring. When I'm in the city, I don't go to shops that I find boring. I actually have only been to one useful shop (on two occasions), for the very reason that it looked boring (but also big) and so I thought it must have what I need. I don't know what to do in these places.

Most of the cutlery they were selling was hugely expensive and in big sets. I'm not sure if this is because it's an expensive shop, because I don't really know what to expect from these things. Although I did find a little rack of things just for me.

Like the indecisive donkey who died of starvation because he could see two equally succulent bales of hay an equal distance from him, I stood repeatedly looking at one 2 Euro fork, then at the other, then back again. "Everything working out for you alright there?" was my rough translation of what the shop assistant said. We agreed that it was, in a bumbling sort of way, although both secretly knew it wasn't.

Later, having chosen, I felt the need to explain to her what I was doing as she looked at me sympathetically - her face saying that she knew she was not dealing with a boy accustomed to buying cutlery. On the second go (having got the tense wrong first time) I managed to get out in German, "I'm just staying for 4 months in Munich".
"Ah, those'll do you then", she responded.
The conversation wasn't long (I may have said something else brief, but that was about the height of it). Still it was enough to make things more interesting. Not much more interesting. But a bit. For me, anyway.

People do seem oddly friendly like that. Most of the time no one sees or notices me. But occasionally someone smiles for some reason - like the elderly people yesterday - and we share a sentence or two. Their sentences make more sense than mine, but I still try to give something. Sometimes. At least a "thank you". I think it's progress. Just not fast progress. I must try to find foreign people in Northern Ireland and smile at them in the future. It might make their day. Might not. But might.


Tomorrow will hopefully involve enrolling, opening a bank account, possible registering my address, and buying sheets and a pillow. Pillows range in price from 4 Euro (for a particularly small and bad one) to 50 Euro (for a particularly grand one). The cheapest full-size one that I could find, and which doesn't threaten to make you feel you are sleeping on a bag filled with particularly bumpy birds, was 20 Euro. Shockingly (for me), pillow cases cost the same. So I think this will take more research than I had expected.

Apartment

Outside

Inside

The Building Opposite That Tries To Be Hidden

First (full) day

I had a bit of a flurry of writing there. It's not particularly interesting, but please just indulge me - or else merely lead me to believe you have. I also got confused as to what I had written in an email and what I had written here, so some stories may be missing vital elements.

I thought yesterday that the lady who had cycled round to give me the key to my room didn't like me, yet at 9.15 this morning she was rather cheerful with me. She even asked if I slept well, although she was still insisting on speaking only German. She demonstrated the ventilation system, and how to shut it off if the outside noise was annoying.

It emerged later that the reason for her cheerfulness was almost certainly because she had already exacted her revenge with the sign she put by my door. As far as anyone here is concerned, I'm a Bankhart.

Nevertheless, little does she know that I still haven't signed the contract for the room. Although that is something I really should do.



I ended up rather on my own to try to sort out my life - which made me feel a bit put out at first, before I then decided was quite reasonable, because I hadn't asked for more help and because I'm an adult (of sorts). Nevertheless, I didn't manage to get any of the necessary paperwork done today - so I'm not enrolled, have no address and no bank account. I don't much like that. There were things that I probably could have done, but they relied on having things that I couldn't yet have until I had done the things which I couldn't do. This meant that even the things which I could do couldn't be done, except for one thing - although that itself couldn't be done because I don't know what a TUM Automat is, or where or how or why I should put 28 Euro into it in order to get a receipt which I needed. And it didn't seem to matter, since I only needed the receipt to do something else which I couldn't do because I hadn't done yet another thing.

I am not certain, but I think that the way in is via the medical insurance - so I found the office, and it's open for a few hours tomorrow (but no other time during the week). In addition to this, I figured out how the Munich rail/bus system works and so I should be able to do more tomorrow, hopefully. It is quite a wonderful thing. Although it feels like it has swallowed up a lot of my money. It hasn't - other things have. But I shall blame the transport system, because it's one of the few things that I can actually remember paying for. I may be able to get a monthly student travel card - but not until I get through several other layers of things to do first.



I found a spanish/mexican restaurant near the Marienplatz, and had fajitas. They looked extremely professional and nice. I'm hoping to survive them.

The waiter was nice. He seemed foreign to me - but since I was more foreign, he was the one in control. I got his "smoking / non-smoking" question at the second attempt, and so he positioned me at a seat hidden at the back.

I accidentally gave him a tip. Well, perhaps in my soul I wanted to. I had thought about it, and I wasn't sure. What I did intentionally give him was a little head nod - which I have been using a lot here. It's a nod which says "Yes" to whatever he thinks that I'm thinking. I find it helpful in that, not only does it mean that I don't have to try to figure out how to express in German what I'm thinking, I don't even have to think it. When I don't know what I'm should be thinking, the nod means that he has to think what I might be thinking, and then understand that I agree with this. He is at least likely to think that I am thinking something relevant to the situation. In actual fact, I am likely to be thinking, "Time for the little nod".

Unfortunately, in this instance what he thought I was thinking was that I wanted him to keep the change. Fortunately, that wasn't much. But it has taught me that I really should be more careful with the nod - it is a powerful weapon, but potentially a very expensive one.



I went twice into a shop whose name I have forgotten, but who boasts to be "A World of Books". Indeed, it was a glorious place. There is a point whenever one is descending from the top floor, however, where the elevators stop going down. You may search and search and check all the many elevator options - but you will find that they are only going up. For me, it took some time to find the stairs, and longer still for the realisation to hit that they did not demand any particular direction from me. I suppose the shop has no wish to speed anyone's exit. They're all very cunning.



I held open the door for 2 elderly people, and received a warm smile from both and a "Danke schön. Das ist nett. Vielen Dank" from the woman - which was much more enthusiasm than I had expected. I blurted out a "Bitte schön" - which may or may not have been appropriate. It was a charming experience anyways, and made me smile for quite a time. It would have been sullied had I headed into the ladies toilets behind her, but at the last moment I noticed the skirt on the stick figure. Then, having veered towards the left just in time and entered the male toilets - which smelled rather badly - I somehow turned the tap on and couldn't turn it off. So I smiled apologetic to the slightly disgruntled looking man behind me, and fled. I later decided he may actually may have been more disgruntled because I was grinning at him while he was still fixing his trousers. Which I hadn't quite noted at the time.

They have such a desire to get on with life that sometimes German men are still fixing their trousers after leaving the bathroom altogether. Some don't even wash their hands. Nothing can hold them back.

------------

There were numerous photos (of the trip as a whole, not the man), but I'm not good enough to have figured out how to post them yet. A number of the photos were taken looking backwards as I made my way to the U-Bahn station - mostly so that I could use them to find my way home. I was rather proud of that, as a sort of more astute and technically advanced method developed from Hansel and Gretel. I'm hoping for a happier conclusion.

Flight

At sometime after midnight, lying awake in bed, I had the misfortune of discovering that I don't really believe in aeroplanes.

They really are quite preposterous. I don't typically mind flying, but I don't see how it could be done. Even were it possible to get one such beast in the air, one couldn't then control it with any degree of precision. It would twist and twirl and spin like its paper counterpart, only more terrifyingly. The wind would catch it, and it would swirl off into the sea.

It so happens that I watched a bit of a documentary on airships and Zeppelins recently. Now there's a type of air travel that I can believe in. At least it makes sense, and it's understandable how one might get up there. Though I wouldn't wish to go in one.

Nevertheless, the 'flights' (as I shall still call them, although I don't think they were really) were alright. The first plane seemed well under half full. It had propellers, which at least helped create the impression that it was trying. Given that there were so many free seats, the lady next to me tried to escape and more forward one. But, alas, she had to move back. Apparently, she would have upset the balance. She didn't want that on her conscience, but she also didn't like the implication that she was all that heavy. So it really was a no-win situation.

Not a real post

Hi - here at the moment, eavesdropping on conversations I don't understand at the university. No internet in my room yet, so if I should contact anyone, I may well not do so.... sorry about that. But perhaps one day it will change.
Gotta go hunt down something to eat,
Pete

Just for now

Haven't actually gone to Germany, but will do soon.... Just going to fiddle with the design for now..........