Where Am I?

I heard something the other day. It was a whisper in the back of my mind, almost inaudible, like hearing a conversation through too-thin motel walls. But then it suddenly became icy clear when I read an excited Facebook status from a girl who I had studied with in Germany, who planned to go for another year and is already packing to go back...

I am restless. 

Discontent.

I had slipped back into my life here like nothing had ever happened, and it felt like a blessing at first. But slowly a feeling crept upon me that perhaps all of my adventures across the pond happened to someone else: a dream that you remember vividly upon waking but fades after only minutes of consciousness.

Maybe I should be thanking my brain. I can't help but think there must be a reason for this imagined amnesia; is it because I know I have two more years of school here? Maybe my mind is protecting me -- this feeling of disconnection a way of self-protection, an attempt to let me enjoy my time here without constantly comparing it to the ultimate-thrills-per-minute way of life I lived while backpacking in Europe.

There is an itch deep in the soles of my feet now, something as real and constant as my own flesh and bone. My wanderlust has awakened, and I don't know if I can be fully happy until I'm walking into a new city.

Reverse Culture Shock

Tearful reunion with me madre.

What happens when you leave your small town home a teenager who has never lived on her own or been out of the States, and return to that same small town a woman who has had the opportunity to experience life in way she never thought possible?

Does the food taste bland after eating pizza in Italy, kebabs in Greece, and crepes in France?

Do you feel like a cog in a machine, doing the same thing over and over again but never going anywhere, left to a dismal life that only creaks to halt when you are rusty?






Uhmm, NO. That was needlessly dramatic. It's been a week since I've been back -- I'm going to school full-time and have started waitressing at my old job again. Things are the same... but different. In a good way.

I'm an ISEP Ambassador (International Study Abroad Program) so I volunteer to talk about my time spent abroad to potential students. I signed up for the International Friendship Program and am paired with a lovely Chinese student who is studying at my home university, to show her and several other foreign exchange students around and do fun nights out with them. I also changed my major from Pre-Nursing to Psychology, because I found out I wasn't really passionate about being a nurse while I was abroad. Learn new things every day.

I'm already researching if it is possible for me to get my Masters degree in Berlin, and am throwing myself into my German class in the hopes that if I can, I will actually be able to string some sentences together. Also signed up for the German club, 'cause hey, why not meet some cool Deutschophiles? Plus I have been dying to try out the German restaurant called Freiburgs and they are holding a meeting there this semester. Yum.

In conclusion, "Reverse Culture Shock" is probably a thing. But it's an awesome thing--getting to see your familiar surroundings with a new perspective and appreciation. Everyone seemed to be afraid that I had outgrown this small town in Tennessee, but it isn't the town that is important, but the life I'm living here. And you can't outgrow life. At least I hope not. I-Is that a thing? Should I be worried?

P.S. After living out of a suitcase for six months, I cannot tell you how happy I was to see my closet full of clothing and shoes. So I'll show you.


It was beautiful.

xoxo!

Quickest Blog Post Of All Time

Hey you! Thought I forgot about you? Thought I maybe didn't love you anymore? Wrong on all counts. I am about to give you the quickest blog post of all time. We have a lot to talk about and little time to do it! So here it goes. Trier, Germany: I was there. I am not there anymore. Sometimes I think back on those days and it makes me smile. Good times.

Kait, Autumn, me, and Lorel. Not pictured: my other amazing friends!

Venice, Italy: Pretty to look at, nothing else very noteworthy. It is so expensive almost no locals live there anymore, so the only culture is the tourist culture. Nicknamed "the living museum", which I think is fitting.

The best part of Venice: the view.

Naples, Italy: Chaotic, dirty, amazing. Got to visit Pompeii, totally nerded out.

Pompeii Theatre. Pictured: the lovely sister.

Rome, Italy: Oh, you heartbreaker. I fell madly in love with Rome's beautiful fountains and bustling shops. Also had my iPhone stolen. Still worth it.

Pictured: What we liked to call "second breakfast". Thank God for stretchy pants.

Nice, France: Went for the beaches... the beaches weren't that great. But daytrips to Monaco and Cannes made it worth it. No pictures that I can upload yet.

London, England: Big. Lots to see and do. Fabulous shopping!

Mind the gap!!

Paris, France: Stood in line for a cumulative of at least ten hours to see the sights. The catacombs made the biggest impression on me. Walking through a tunnel with walls made of the bones of over six million people can really make a person question what they are doing with their life. Bonded with an Austrian and some Americans who were walking through the tunnels as well, and ended up picniking on the river bank with them until the morning... a great way to end our last night there.

The must-have Eiffel tower pic.

Madrid, Spain: Been here for five hours. Two of which were spent trying to get the sister's credit card from the airport ATM that ate it and never gave it back. Witnessed a beautiful sunset on the bus to the city, and climbed a mountain to get to our hostel. I have high hopes.

xoxo!

I Didn't Forget You

Hello love! It felt like a good day for a new blog post, don't you think? So much to update you on, where to start... well, Amsterdam was a wonderful time. I traveled with Lorel, my flatmate, who was visiting her friend there, and crashed on an air mattress in her friend's apartment. Amsterdam is a beautiful city with so much more to offer than prostitutes and weed. We went to the Van Gogh museum, took a walking tour and admired the old architecture and abundant canals, visited the Anne Frank Haus (which was right down the street from the flat), explored the many vintage outdoor markets, and ate fresh Stroopwafels with warm caramel middles that oozed out the side! I won't lie to you, I dream about those Stroopwafels sometimes.

The guide for the walking tour filled us in on Amsterdam's fascinating history while pointing out important buildings. Apparently the Dutch built this city out of a marshland, redirecting the water in all sorts of smarticle ways that are too complicated to describe without writing a novel about it. Then they got into the trade business and made this tiny country a world power. Mad props to the Dutch!

Interesting fact about cannabis--it isn't actually legal here. Only decriminalized. Basically, they still get to tax it and the police just don't prosecute anyone. Prostitution, however, is completely legal. Gotta say, the walk through the Red Light District was extremely uncomfortable. It wasn't so much the working girls in the windows (who were almost all chatting away on their cell phones, can you imagine that conversation? "yeah babe, just at work. It's been a slow night." lol), but more walking among the drunken bachelor parties and other *ahem* patrons that made it so awkward. But it gave me a new perspective. It is said that in order for something to be allowed by the Dutch, universally known for their tolerance, it must pass three criteria:

1. It does not harm anyone.
2. It easy enough to ignore.
3. It is profitable.

They have a saying which translates roughly to "looking at life through one's fingers". Which means that they see it and are aware, but choose to ignore it. I fact-checked this was a real saying by asking my Dutch neighbor, Anne, who confirmed it. But enough talk, let me show you some snapshots of Amsterdam! I left my camera and only had my phone to work with, apologies for the quality.

More recently, however, I spent a weekend in Cologne, Germany. Couchsurfing. And I survived. Can I get an amen? lol, but honestly, our host was a really neat guy who spoke German, Chinese, Spanish, and English fluently. He and his roommates showed us a great time in Cologne, taking us to touristy places like the Cathedral, but also pubs selling Kölsch--the local brew, and hipster concerts in Nike shoe shops. And they even cooked us this amazing breakfast spread with fresh croissants and omelettes. It was like a four star hotel... for free. People are cool like that.

Wish I had pictures, but I forgot my camera again. Stellar, I know. Sorry! I am going to steal my travel companions pictures eventually. Will this photo of Cologne that I stole from Google help?

No? Please don't be mad at me. I would have snapped some pictures with my iPhone but I accidentally left it on the train. I swear I'm usually a functioning member of society and not this absentminded. Really. Anyway, it was kind of a bummer and I wasn't expecting on getting it back, but after calling it a couple times, we got an answer. They gave it to the conductor who took it back to the Trier train station, where I picked it up when I got back. And we texted happily ever after.

Oh wait! I know something that will make you love me again! I haven't posted pictures of Cinque Terre, Italy yet, have I? Here. Take this album, with my love.

Greek Life Lessons

My oh my. This month has been an absolute whirlwind. The University of Trier celebrates Catholic holidays, which are all are packed into one month. So my schedule for the past month has been: a few days of school, a long weekend of traveling, get back for a day or two of school, back to traveling. Rinse and repeat. Even while I am so grateful to be given the chance to travel, I must admit that it is exhausting, and I am quite glad to have a few weeks of normalcy.

Guess what time it is. Picture time! Photo credits to Mariah and Catherine, I stole most these pictures off their Facebook because my camera  card is a prima donna and only works when it wants to. Without further ado... Edinburgh, Scotland.

Really, just an amazing time. Visited a super old castle, tried haggis (not actually bad but it is cooked in sheep intestine so ewwww) , went on a pub crawl with friends, and named a sentry Todd and made him smile, despite his best efforts to remain stoic. Win.

On to Greece. We actually ended up traveling for about 48 hours straight just to get there because a direct flight was 400 euros but apparently 3 connecting flights is only 70? Ryanair, you crazy. And we were just insane enough to attempt it.
 

And OH MY GOD SO MUCH WALKING. I was lucky enough to have a travel companion who made me go see all the ruins, even after all the dusty marble stones started to blend together. After the Parthenon I was ready to plop down and spend the rest of the time in Greece eating Döner and drinking Ouzo, but now I can say that I have seen every. single. ruin. in. Athens. Please take a moment to appreciate how many temple ruins there are.

But other than an appreciation for the subtle differences in crumbling stone, Greece had several surprising lessons in store for me. If you had told me after one week in Athens I would come away with a new idea about body image and how I feel about my own body I would have laughed. In America, the beauty industry is booming. You are taught from a young age that if you have a flaw, it needs to be fixed or concealed ASAP. And it just so happens for a small fee there is a product that promises to help. "Wearing a bikini is a privilege that should not be abused" is something I have heard many times, said many different ways, but all with the same message: only women with society's ideal body type should be allowed to show any substantial amount of skin. If you were not born with the genetics, time, or money to conform to that ideal body then please, for everyone´s sake, keep it under wraps.

All of these societal rules were subconsciously swirling around in my cerebrum when I stepped off the plane. Almost immediately I could tell there was something different here. The women... they wore whatever they wanted. Didn't matter if they had rolls, cellulite, or acne. At first I was shocked at the freedom they demonstrated. Thoughts like oh dear, she should not be wearing that. We all have our "problem areas", the poor girl apparently doesn't know hers went through my head, startling myself with my own judgement and criticism.

For the record, I consider myself to have pretty high self-esteem. I generally like myself, but no one escapes puberty unscathed. Throughout my life I learned how to hide my perceived flaws, sit up a little straighter--it decreases tummy rolls; cross your legs this way--it smooths cellulite; wear this style shirt--it conceals stretch marks. And suddenly I was confronted with women that were aware of their bodies, still loved them, and weren't afraid to bare a little skin. It was astounding to me, and suddenly made me acutely aware of those negative voices in my head. I had to ask myself, when did someone´s natural body become something offensive?

So that's a little bit heavier stuff than I usually write about, but is one of the deepest impressions Greece left on me, and I wanted to share. I am learning to love my body unconditionally. All bodies are good bodies. And mine is exceptionally good, 'cause goshdarnit it's mine. :)

But Greece wasn't done with me yet. Just when I think I'm finished with the character-building, life teaches me another lesson. So we wake up at some god-forsaken early hour of the morning, cram the last things in our backpacks and hail a taxi. And we are on our way to the bus station to catch a non-stop four hour bus ride to Volos, where our direct flight leaves from. Oh, the things we do for twenty euro flights. I've had a fantastic time in Greece, but I will be grateful to sleep in my own bed tonight. Twenty minutes into bus ride, I freeze in my seat. I didn't. No.

My travel companion, Mariah, notices I've stopped breathing. What is it? Am I okay?

I can't even look at her, I feel sick to my stomach. Oh my god. Oh my god. It's the only thing I can say as I clench the seat in front of me with white knuckles, recalling my mistake. By now Mariah is seriously worried, and she demands I tell her what is wrong. "I-I left my passport. It's in the nightstand drawer." There is a moment of speechlessness that hangs in the air.

In my mind, within seconds, I can see how this all plays out. I can't board the airplane without my passport, so I somehow communicate to the driver of the bus who doesn't speak English that he needs to drop us off somewhere there is a taxi to take us back. We are in the middle of nowhere on a highway so it won't be for a while, and we only have one hour to get from the bus station in Volos to the airport before our gate closes. With this detour, we won't make it in time, I know this now. Mariah goes on without me, I miss the flight. The next one isn't for days. I am alone in a city I don't know, missing vital days of classes that only meet once a week. My absences make me fail the classes, ruining my grade point average and causing me to lose my scholarships, the only thing allowing me to afford college. I drop out. My career plans, once so sure and practical, are blown away like a puff of smoke on the wind. I can't afford to move out. I spend the rest of my days living at home, dependent, working full-time at a job that was only supposed to help get me through college.

I need a minute before I can move, nauseous, my stomach clenching with the certainty of my fate. I don't know how long it was, but eventually I walk toward the front of the bus and crouch down to the bus driver's level. "English?" He nods, but after five minutes of strained communication that constitutes me repeating "I have to go back. I need a taxi, I left my passport in Athens." and him telling me it was fine, he motioned to a younger passenger. This man is fluent in English and the bus driver quickly begins to understand how completely screwed I am.

Miracle of miracles, after the two of them discuss my situation in Greek, the young man motions for me to join them. "He says that you need to call your hotel, and have them take your passport to the bus station. It will arrive in Volos on the next bus." Relief courses through my veins, and I cannot stop thanking him. Maybe a little bit too much relief, a little too soon. Even though the next bus is express, it will only arrive thirty minutes before my gate closes. That barely leaves me enough time to check in and run to my gate, that is assuming the bus is on time. I keep reminding myself that it is out of my hands as I clutch the business card of my hotel and begin to dial on a borrowed cell phone.

After several rings, someone picks up, speaking Greek. Though I have to shout due to the poor signal and him not being able to hear me, it is communicated that I left my passport in the drawer. Before I can instill a sense of urgency, he says he will have someone check the room and hangs up. Seven nervous minutes later, I redial.Yes, they found the passport. I also had a hundred and fifty pounds in the drawer left over from Edinburgh. Can they send that as well? After a pause, the man says what I feared, but am not surprised to hear. "No, we found no money with your passport." Of course not. Stupid, stupid, stupid. There is nothing I can do about whoever pocketed the money--be it the man I was speaking to or the person he sent to check--and everything is replaceable but my passport, so after a deep breath I convey what needs to be done. He agrees to send the passport through a taxi driver to the bus station.

Now I can only sit back and twiddle my thumbs for the next four hours. I recall seeing these really ugly plaid hats in Edinburgh that were way overpriced at twenty pounds each. With that stolen money I could have bought seven. I imagine that I left seven ugly plaid hats in my hotel room instead of the money. It helps.

Finally arriving at the bus station, the driver hands me off to another, more sympathetic bus driver. Her English is broken but she manages to communicate that we are to stay here, and at 11:30 she will go meet the driver and come back with my passport. Actually, change of plan, he is meeting us here at 12:00. Revised revised final plan: we go to the airport on her bus, and she will take me with a taxi to a place where we intercede the bus with my passport and then go back to the airport. After much confusion, and many revisions, which actually saved me a fifty euro taxi ride, the plan was set in motion. Instead of saying goodbye, she gave me a smile and repeated her mantra of don't worry. With one final pat on my arm, she said, "Don't Forget."

I have no clue what she meant.

Don't forget my passport next time? Don't forget how kind and helpful everyone was when I go back to America and tell this story? Or was that a sassy, "and don't you forget it, girlfriend"? I don't have a clue to this day, but I cannot describe how sweet and gracious she was to help me. I think maybe that Don't Forget included all of the above.

Long story short, (jk, this isn't short, I'm honestly surprised anyone made it this far. Your attention span is impressive.) I am riding in a taxi with another bus driver because the taxi driver doesn't speak English and he is needed to give directions. We can only go so far on taxi and take a ten minute walk on foot. While we wait for the bus, I begin to ask questions and he shares with me the rich history of Greece and we talk about Greek-Turkish relations. He has a fascinating, if somewhat biased, opinion on the subject, but having someone so invested and passionate share his history with me was definitely a highlight of my time in Greece. After our discussion I am back in the airport, passport in hand, and even have ten minutes to lounge around before boarding.

During this whole ordeal, even while I was sick with worry, I could not help but notice that every time I am in dire straits the kindness of total strangers gets me through it. I am still so overwhelmed with gratitude. Also, an update for you, I emailed the hotel to let them know I did indeed receive my passport, and mentioned the money. Apparently the man "had never heard me say anything about money" but they found it, and mailed it to me, refusing to take anything for postage and only asking for a positive review online. I received it today, every bill and coin still there. So much better than ugly plaid hats.

To summarize: Edinburgh was a fun, castle and whiskey-filled weekend, and Greece was a lovely, historical beach vaca, but I really owe my thanks to the Greek women and bus drivers in Athens for making it truly memorable.

xoxo

A Cappucino for Wifi

Ciao bella! Hello from Cinque Terre, Italy. It's been an absolutely delightful few days here, and I look forward to several more. The hostel I'm at doesn't have wifi, so I have to go to the cafe and order something so they let me stay. Didn't think a caffeine addiction would be one of the souvenirs I take back to Germany, but okay. If you are expecting a copious amount of pictures, I'm sorry to disappoint. I didn't bring my SD card adapter to Italy so the few pictures I do post are from my phone and probably already on Facebook. Mi dispiace.

JK, I don't actually know Italian, that's what Google is for! Actually, I received an extremely helpful Italian language crash course on the flight over here from one of my over-prepared travel companions. It consisted of "grazie", "scusi", and "uno cono gelato". What more do you need to know?

And now for the Awkward Moments in Italy portion of the blog! Let's start with the basics--getting lost in La Spezia Centrale because your companions are going on a six hour hike (which sounds like a terrible time to you so you head out on your own) but really you have no clue how to navigate Italian train stations. Lesson learned: how to read Italian train schedules. Also, that first impressions are often nonsense. You know that guy sitting quietly in the corner while you chat with the other extroverts on the train? Yeah, he's going to go out of his way to help you find the right train, and ask for nothing in return. And you thought he was unfriendly. Pshh.

And that one time (yesterday) someone spoke rapid-fire Italian, I panicked--and responded in broken German. Lesson learned: nothing. I panicked and responded in the only foreign language I knew. It will almost definitely happen again. Still awkward though.

The most awkward moment as of yet may have to be that time I had one glass of wine and declared to my hostel full of hot Canadian guys that it was now a Shirt Free Zone, and when they laughed at me but remained fully clothed, I insisted that I was serious, but would let them off with a warning this once. Lesson learned: I am a lightweight who should never drink on an empty stomach. No. Not even one. Also, Canadians have a great sense of humor. Also, damn. Way to go Canada. You make some fine-looking men.

How is it possible I can feel my mother rolling her eyes all the way from the U.S.? For the record, those awkward moments have been sandwiched in between really amazing moments!

Been doing a lot of this.

And seeing a lot of this.

And this.

Needless to say, Italy is extremely photogenic and I'm having the time of my life. As always, I love you. Stay amazing.

xoxo

I Still Love You

Hello again! A new blog post, just when you thought I didn't love you anymore. My apologies for the hiatus, I've been a busy girl. Classes are great--from Intro to Linguistics, The Study of Poe's Works, and a Do-It-Yourself Poetry Class--all of them indulge my inner literature/word nerd.

Also keeping me busy has been trip planning. As it turns out, every single school free holiday we have is in May, so this is when I will be doing my heavy traveling, and weekend trips will be for the following months. It seems things have just been falling into place. A year ago I was browsing Pinterest when I spotted a picture of these crazy colorful buildings all piled like legos onto the edge of a breathtaking cliff drop off, complete with frothy waves crashing at the bottom--and I knew immediately I wanted to go there. It seemed like a crazy dream from where I sat in my chair, in Johnson City, Tennessee. Yet still I saved the picture to my desktop, always the dreamer. Even if it were cheap enough for me to afford, no one would want to travel with me and I didn't see myself traveling there alone.

Flash forward to present day: I'm talking with a friend and discussing holiday travel plans when he casually mentions a few people are going to Italy, and I am welcome to come. My heart leaps. Where, you ask? Cinque Terre. Where the houses are all like crazy colorful legos and the hungry waves crash into the cliff side  That is serendipity, friends.

We leave Wednesday, the 8th and get back the 13th. There are five small, colorful towns that are close together, which make up Cinque Terre, and we are going to hike to each of them. I know, physical activity. How dreadful. But it will be so worth it. Here is a quick teaser picture, the exact one I found so long ago.

Expect many more pictures when I get back.

xoxo!

Snap Happy

Who has two thumbs and an SD Card adapter? this girl. Picture time! So you know that badass castle and wine-tasting I was talking about? I submit to you the following evidence of an amazing time:

We got to explore inside, and a guide told us cool facts that I forgot before she even finished her sentence.

This is the guardian the of the castle, a deer/mermaid deity. The guide said  if you made a wish and rubbed its belly your wish would come true. FALSE. Rebel Wilson isn't my BFF and Ryan Gosling has not declared his love for me.
Yet.

The view from the balcony.

Always better when shared with a friend.

So, after freezing in the wintery weather (apparently 11th century castles don't have heating systems installed) we went to a wine-tasting by a local place, Schlagkamp Desoye, that was established in 1602. 

The building itself was beautiful. 

They reserved the whole place for our group.

During the 2 hour long speech by the owner--all in German, so of course I didn't understand a word--I had quite a bit of time to observe my surroundings.

My view of the opposite wall. Look at all that cool stuff. LOOK AT IT. During the 2 hour-long speech I had time to imagine what each individual tool was used for. 

It wasn't too bad, though, because they constantly refilled our glasses. By the end I began to imagine I could understand and speak German.

This is the counter where we could purchase a bottle.

Grandmother, if you are reading this, continue no further. Nothing else to see here.

Everyone else -- look! My first purchase of wine in Germany.  This is at the very end of the wine-tasting, and in case you can't tell I'm feeling pretty good at this point. 

Okay, so our group is trickling out of the restaurant, and while we're waiting on those making purchases, I notice a wrought iron gate on the side of the building, opening to a dim entrance. I have a picture but it doesn't want to upload, and quite honestly, it doesn't do the atmosphere justice.

I notice one of the exchange students walk in. Intrigued, I venture in. The first room is a dark cellar with sparse decorations and a subtle sign in the corner with the word "Weinmuseum" engraved on it. I figure I am either wandering into an actual wine museum, or a sex trafficking ring. With that thought in mind, and my spidey senses tingling (or maybe that was just the wine) I pushed on.

Aforementioned sign. Keep in mind this is with flash. I am not exaggerating when I say it was quite dim-lit.

Either bottle-filling machinery, or possible time machine.

In the next room -- barrels upon barrels of wine!

And thus concluded the impromptu tour, and I exited safely--the speculated danger being only a common side effect of wine, a dark and damp atmosphere, and an active imagination. Needless to say, everyone slept soundly during the long bus ride back to Trier. We passed countless vineyards, and I snapped a picture before drifting off to a pleasant nap.

Apparently hills and valleys pose no threat to vineyards.

So that was our trip to Cochem. A great time was had by all. Oh, and fun story, during the speech at the wine-tasting, I noticed he would say something, pause, and people would raise their hand. So of course I follow suit, not knowing what was happening, and I raise my hand the three or four times I noticed others doing so. Later, to everyone else's grand amusement, I discovered he was asking if we liked dry wine, or sweet wine, etc. So basically I looked like an alcoholic. 

Ah, well, such is life. It's not the first social faux pas I've made in Germany, and it certainly won't be the last. As always, I will try to keep you updated.

xoxo

To be, or not to be...

Hello dearest. I had the most delightful excursion the other day, traveling to a massive castle built in the year 1000 which stands like a grand sentinel over the picturesque village of Cochem, before being whisked off for the evening to a dizzying wine-tasting, after which I explored a questionable underground Weinmuseum that was so dim-lit I could barely see my hand in front of my face... best of all, I took pictures! So many pictures. All for you. Because I love you.

But alas, the one thing I forgot to pack was my camera cord. All those delightful pictures are stuck in my camera until I either buy a new one (doubtful) or ask the parental unit to ship my original one from home. But the pictures are there, and they are coming. Don't you doubt it, love.

Regardless, life continues, and--despite the lack of photographic evidence--I have been very busy putting together a schedule for school. As luck would have it, the only DaF (Deutsch as a Foreign Language) class available at my level is "intensive". Which translates to "the class that will take over life as you know it". Class meets four days a week, ten hours a week. To put that in perspective, other classes meet once a week, for two hours. That's five times more class time than any other language levels. I am either going to go insane, or gosh darnit I will know the German language so well I'll be dreaming in it.

The only other classes available in English are all literature courses, so in order to be considered full-time I will be taking the following classes:
Literature: Edgar Allan Poe: Excentric Innovator Across Genres
Literature: Ernest Hemingway
Literature: A History of Comedy
Literature: E.M. Forster
Literature: Science Fiction and Alternate Worlds
Literature: Scott Fitzgerald

My inner nerd just fangirl squealed. I am going to be drowning in so many amazing books... I can't wait! Granted, all of these are seminars, which means classes sizes of thirty or less, and virtually no absences allowed. As well as a massive workload and an hour and a half oral presentation. For each. individual. class.

If I die, I die a well-read, educated woman.

Day 10

How long have I been here? It seems like weeks, the time flies by in the blink of an eye. Not much has happened that is blog-worthy, in my opinion, although there have been some humorous turn-of-events. For instance, coed bathrooms. One would think they had struck comedy gold, there must be some hilarious stories to come of that! Trust me when I tell you I have been doing my very best to avoid funny coed bathroom stories. The whole situation is awkward. Especially the pooping quandary. When is the best, least-populated time to go? My research indicates it is between the hours of 3 and 6 am. I am not sure if it it because of my ninja bathroom skills or pure luck that I have yet to have a face-to-face encounter with another person. Either way, I'm not going to question it. Also, there are no bathrooms here, only "water closets". I swear I'm not making it up, that's what they're called. Just roll with it.

If you ever visit Germany do try to keep an open mind. I was always told Germans would be serious, no-nonsense, and practical. But that is a stereotype. Take, for instance, the the time I went to the pharmacy for cold medicine. It was just a few days before Easter and I saw the pharmacist drop a bright, tie-dye egg in my bag along with my prescription. How sweet! All the way home I wondered what was inside it. A piece of German chocolate maybe? Or some cheap bauble, most likely. After plopping down in my dorm room and taking some cold medicine, I remembered the surprise egg. It was still at the bottom of my bag, and after retrieving it I found... it was just a hardboiled egg. Seriously, Germany? I defended your honor against hurtful stereotypes and this is how you repay me? No chocolate, just lukewarm protein. Words could not describe my disappointment in that moment.

Life is all about perspective, I suppose. Someone malnourished would have appreciated that egg. In any case, I've had to miss a few days of language classes because of this darn cold. For inquiring minds, yes, I did get placed in the lowest language group, along with about fourteen other Japanese people who don't speak English. We learned the alphabet and numbers on the first day, and the teacher apparently decided we were ready for him to speak entirely in German. It's going to be a process.

In the meantime, I am 100% ready for Trier to warm up. Due to the freezing weather, I've had to choose some... unfashionable choices. I won't lie to you, I've been living in my onesie pajamas. At first it was nerve-wracking wondering what others would say if they knew. I wore it only in the privacy of a locked dorm room. But now I'm out and proud. Ridicule all they want, I'm and the warmest and comfiest of them all. And surprisingly enough, everyone has been pretty cool with it. Because I need more enablers for my onesie addiction, obviously. ;)

xoxo