Ein Guten Rutsch!

'Tis the season for holiday shopping at the Weihnacht markets in Munich (and all over Germany, for that matter):

Munich Christmas Market

Greetings from the Munich Weinachtmarkt!

Which means one must drink Gluhwein to "ease into the holiday spirit" or more necessarily, to deal with the push and shove of the crowds that have infiltrated Munich since the markets opened a month ago:

Maxx and Steve Sharing a Gluhwein Moment

However, this past Sunday Steve and I decided to forgo the Gluhwein and avoid the crowds all together. It had snowed the previous evening and the temperature was in the bone chilling single digits:

Snow on the Isar

Snow by Our Apartment

So, we headed to the Pinakothek Der Moderne, Munich's modern art museum. The Museum houses some amazing pieces by Max Beckmann, Pablo Picasso, Andy Warhol, Salvador Dali, and much more:

Observing a New Piece at the Modern Pinakothek
(Unfortunately, I forgot to write down the name of this piece and its artist.)

Yet, as in all modern art museums I visit, some of the works left me questioning, "Is this art?"

Pink Flamingo

(Two strings connected from floor to ceiling.)

Schattenraum

(A big box with a black painting mounted on the wall behind it.)

Untitled

(Florescent lights forming a pattern across a room.)

Unknown
(Everyday objects floating on the wall. Unfortunately, I forgot to write down the name of this piece, too.)

In other news, tomorrow we fly to Boston to celebrate the holidays with our family. Have a joyous holiday season and an excellent slide into the new year. Ein guten Rutsch!

Second Largest Menorah in the World (At Least It Was In 2006)
(Outside the Jewish Museum in Munich)

Our Menorahs on Day Number Seven

Steve's Awesome Lego Advent Calendar

Doctor Office Frustrations

Ever since Steve and I started dating, we go to his family's house in Boston for Christmas. It is an awesome time with lots of great company, delicious foods, and fun traditions. The only challenge is that usually four or five cats join us for the holiday festivities. If you know me, then you know that I am (very unfortunately) extremely allergic to animals and of all animals, I am most allergic to cats.

To prep for our visit, I always take loads of preventative allergy and asthma medicines. However, this year that proved to be much more difficult than I had ever imagined:

A few weeks ago I made an appointment and went to see Dr. März, an English-speaking German doctor recommened to me on Toytown.

I asked her to prescribe me the preventative asthma medicine that my doctor in the US had prescribed me the past four years. Instead, she gave me what she said was the German equivalent, a Budesonide inhaler, and five minutes later I was filling my prescription at the pharmacy.

After a few days of taking this medicine, I started waking up wheezing twice every night. Also, my throat became inflamed, I had a cough, and my mouth was swollen every morning. At first I it didn't register why this was happening, so I kept taking the inhalant. Then I realized that the only thing I had changed in my routine was the Budesonide.

Finally, I looked up its side effects online (http://www.medicinen...er/article.htm, http://www.netdoctor...100002197.html, http://www.nlm.nih.g...s/a699056.html, http://www.nlm.nih.g...s/a699056.html):

As it turns out Budesonide can cause wheezing, a sore throat (in 1 in every 10 people that take it), difficulty falling or staying asleep, along with many other problems. And guess what, I was being hit with just about all of them.

The next day, I went back to see Dr. März and tell her that I was having trouble with the new inhaler. As I checked-in, one of her nurses asked me to go down to the pharmacy and get the German names of the medicines I normally take. Once I returned, the nurse forgot I was there and I ended up waiting two hours to see the doctor. When I went to ask when I could expect to see the doctor, the nurse was horribly, and I mean horribly, rude. Finally, I got called into Dr. März's office to discuss the issues.

As if things couldn't get worse, Dr. März denied that Budesonide has any side effects (all of which are listed on hundreds of websites including the three above).

She blamed my symptoms on diseases and allergy inducing things floating around Munich, did not even look at my throat, or really listen to anything I said (for that matter). She also looked at the German names of the medicines I usually take (provided by the pharmacy) and said that I did not need those medicines. Instead, she tried to prescribe me yet another asthma medication, which I frustratingly declined for fear of similar results.

So now I'm back to square one and looking for a new doctor in Germany...

Luckily, because of the German health care system, I can visit any number of doctors in a three month window by paying only 10 Euros at my first visit and then none thereafter. Thanks universal health care!

All Aboard the Munich-Nuremburg Express, or our trip on the fastest slow train in Germany

On a cold Saturday morning, Jamie and I lay silently in our bed, listening for a sound we were all too certain to hear: the ringing of our alarm clock. We were ready for a routine ride on the regional train to Nuremburg--the Franconian city known far and wide as the Christmas Market Capital of the Federal Republic. We were excited for the market, but we sure didn't expect the journey there to take on Van Allsburgian dimensions. How wrong we were; in the end, as is so often the case, getting there was the adventure.

Our Goal: The Nuremberg Christmas Market

We'd noticed that the rail connection from Munich to Nuremburg, a short one-hour-and-one-minute journey on the high speed/high price/high strung Inter-City-Express, tended to run just over two hours on the less expensive regional trains. In comparison to the ICE trains, which are everything that European rail service is cracked up to be, the regional trains are something like Germany's version of a Greyhound bus.

The tension between the German Railways's red regional fleet and its white inter-city service was evident on a trip we took recently to Wuerzburg. We had rushed to the station on another recent morning, bought our ticket and climbed on board the red regional express train. We stowed our bags and took off our coats. We settled into our seats and prepared for a relaxing journey. We observed the passengers around us and tried to guess where they were from and where they were going. Finally it hit us, we'd been sitting in the train for over twenty minutes, and we were still waiting on track twenty-one in Munich. Soon, the harried voice of our conductor boomed out of the normally scratchy loudspeaker. "Because of the actions of a passenger on an Inter-City train," he announced, "our time of departure is delayed indefinitely." The words "Inter-City train" were pronounced in a particularly perturbed tone. Clearly, the fact that the hare was delaying the tortoise was not too pleasing to our conductor. It wasn't only the conductor's tone of voice that left of us scratching our heads in the wake of this pronouncement. It had been a more specific statement than many of the announcements made by German Railways personnel, but it was far from precise. We were left to speculate at to just what the passenger onboard the fast train had done to upset the crew of our train until we lurched out of the station fifteen minutes later. Finally after our train returned to a complete stop in the midst of the snowy Bavarian countryside, we were treated to some answers. "Because of the actions of a passenger on an Inter-City train who has pulled the emergency break," the conductor bellowed into a microphone somewhere in the belly of our train, "we have left Munich with a delay of 38 minutes." He paused. "And we have just been informed that we will be waiting here until an ICE train passes us." Another pause. "We will also be waiting at our next two stops so that additional high speed trains can pass us. In spite of this, we wish you a pleasant journey. Thank you for traveling with German Rail." As you can guess by now, we didn't get to Wuerzburg on time... But the rest of that day is a completely different story. The regional express ride to Nuremburg was quite different.

In contrast to the great selection of seats and nearly limitless space for luggage that we found on board the train to Wuerzburg, we knew the Nuremburg express was going to be packed before we even climbed onboard. We arrived half an hour early, but the platform was already swarming with a veritable horde of soon-to-be Christmas shoppers. Clearly, seats on board the train to Nuremberg were going to be in as high demand as mulled wine at a German Christmas Market. We were prepared for the big squish--and visions of standing all the way to Franconia were dancing in our heads.

The train pulled into the station, and the people got out. And got out. And got out. And then, just when we thought it was our turn to get in, some more people got out. It was almost like watching a clown car unload, only it was ten-train-cars long. Finally, the people were all out, and we raced to get on board. Luckily for us, our determination to board the train as quickly as possible in the most remote car possible was rewarded with seats around a little table in the middle of the car; we almost fooled ourselves into thinking we could sit back and relax. As the minutes until our impending departure ticked by, passengers just kept boarding the train. We gritted our teeth and settled in for a long ride on the slow train to Nuremberg.


As we pulled out of the station, we were greeted by the remarkably cheery voice of our conductor. It would be an exaggeration to say that he entertained us with stories and jokes, but in contrast to the vast majority of German Rail's workforce, he shared information that could be considered less than necessary, and even translated everything he said in German into understandable English.

We soon learned the reason that the conductor's spirits were so buoyant despite the fact that his train was weighed down with enough passengers to raise questions about Germany's railway firecode (or lack thereof). "Welcome on board the Munich-Nuremberg Express," he crowed, "the fastest regional train in Germany." Wow. Apparently, we were in for a real treat. Instead of spending two-plus hours in a train doomed to stop at "every station passed underway," as we had on the way to Wuerzburg, the Munich-Nuremberg Express was traveling on a remarkably straight track fenced off from the bucolic Bavarian landscape and normally restricted to the high-speed Inter-City trains. Villages, farmsteads, and forests whizzed by our window. The stations we stopped at seemed to be in the middle of nowhere--the exact opposite of the typical city-center central stations so common in Germany.

Nevertheless, at one of the desolate park and ride stops we deigned to halt at, we spied a troop of Germans in Santa hats waiting to board the train. Far from aiding us in imagining ourselves aboard the Polar Express on a magical Christmastime journey, this was a worrisome sight. Not only was the train was already overcrowded, Germans in matching outfits on public transit generally mean trouble. Like soccer fans or bachelor's party participants, who wear matching t-shirts, fill the train with drinking songs, and generally take advantage of Germany's lack of an open container law, the Santas shuffled into the aisle and immediately opened up their backpacks to reveal a dazzling array of all things alcoholic. From Sprite mixed with vodka, to beer and schnapps, to tins of fruit floating in liquor, they had it all. Clearly these Santas were unwilling to wait til we got to Nuremberg to start fortifying themselves against the cold with mulled wine.

The Santas occupy the aisle...

...and break out the booze.

Before the Santa squad had had enough time to bother anyone but an old woman who was incensed by the fact that they were talking to one another across the car, however, we saw the outskirts of Nuremberg whizzing past us out the window.


The Munich-Nuremberg Express, the crown jewel of German Rail's regional system, had delivered its cargo of Christmas shoppers to Nuremberg in record time. We realized that we could look forward to thirty bonus minutes of perusing the market. The Christmas spirit overtook us and we headed straight for the mulled wine.

Yoga Makes the World Go 'Round

Because yoga is the one constant that keeps me in balance, I decidely could not leave for Germany without my yoga mat. Despite the airline's luggage size and weight limits, I made my mat a priority; so, I left out some bulky sweaters and crammed that thing into my suitcase.

Moving here, I wasn't too hopeful that I'd find a great yoga studio. I planned on practicing a bit on my own and suffering through what I imaged to be harsh German-style yoga classes.

Then, about two months ago as I was aimlessly roaming through Munich on my way to meet Steve for lunch, I happened upon a Jivamukti yoga studio. I was in shock and very excited! (Jivamukti was the type of yoga I used to practice with Allison at CYCO.) Of all places, I did NOT expect Germany to have many yoga studios or any Jivamukti instructors or classes for that matter. After doing some research about the studio, I came to learn that there are actually three Jivamukti specific studios in the Munich area.

However, at the time I was too intimidated to go to a class. (All of the classes are in German.) But finally, about two months ago (after a 3-4 month yoga class sabbatical), I finally took a chance and went to a class at the studio closest to our apartment. And...

It was fantastic!!

I only understood about half of the instructions, mainly "einatmen, ausatmen," but the class was easy to follow. It was very similar to our class in North Carolina.

Lying in shavasana, I wanted to laugh and cry. I was so happy to have such a familiarity in such a far away place, but it also made me miss my Carrboro niche. However, I had always heard and it was nice to confirm that yoga really is a universal language...even in Germany.

Turkey Day(s)

As Steve and I walked to the train at 4:30pm on November 26, I felt nothing but mopey and very sorry for myself. "It doesn't feel like Thanksgiving," I lamented.

I had just attended four hours of German class and Steve had met me at the DB Station after a long day of seminars and research. There was no sleeping-in. No Macy's Day Parade. No smell of turkey roasting in our oven. It was cold and wet. And, we were traipsing 45 minutes outside of the city to spend Thanksgiving dinner with Steve's professor and colleagues. Not only were we missing out on all of our own traditions, but I was also being forced to dress up and be on my best behavior.

"Joy," I thought. "So much to be thankful for..."

However, after spending some time with Steve on the train, I began to cheer up; and, when we got to Professor Christof Mauch's house, there was definitely a lot for which to be thankful!

Immediately, we were handed glasses of wine and deliciously smelling bowls of pumpkin soup (both filled to the brim). As it turns out, Christof's wife, Wendy, is American. Together, they cooked a mean Thanksgiving dinner with all of the trimmings and then some. During dinner, all 20 guests took turns swapping stories. And interestingly, we got to meet Professor Michael Brenner, the only Jewish Studies professor in Munich - a German Jew, born after the War.

Because we had no idea what Thanksgiving, and then Christof, had in store for us, Steve and I also decided to host our own Thanksgiving meal on the Saturday after the real holiday. We invited Franklin (a friend from Chapel Hill who is also doing research in Germany, but not in Munich), Kurt and Edeltraud, Anna and Thomas (Kurt and Edeltraud's daughter and son-in-law), and our friends Andy and Whitney.

In Germany, let alone our unstocked kitchen, this proved to be a bigger challenge than imagined. Steve and I wandered to butcher shops all over the city in order to find a whole turkey. Germans sell frozen geese at the supermarkets, but no turkeys!! We finally found a fresh, cage free, and super-expensive turkey at a butcher shop near my school.

We also had to invest in some plates and silverware from Weisser Rabe, a famous thrift shop in Munich. Steve's mom mailed us canned-cranberries and aluminum pie plates for the occasion, which arrived just in time, the afternoon before our big shabang! I made a pumpkin pie from a real pumpkin, since canned pumpkin doesn't exist in Deutschland. Franklin brought devine pumpkin butter mailed from his family. And, Andy and Whitney brought over some Stove Top to complete the meal:

Turkey Day in Our New Place
(From the left: Kurt, Franklin, Anna, Thomas, Andy, Whitney, Steve, and Edeltraud)

Thankfully, both of our turkey days ended up being a lecker success.