Ah, I love the way 5th grade humor enters the picture just when you think it's gone forever.
I don't know about the readers that didn't go to elementary school in the Richardson area around 1981, but for a couple of brief and painful weeks, recess for us was about running around wracking people. In short, running up to people and hitting them in the nuts. Dumb as that game might have been, it was really more about playing tag in the school yard, with the ultimate penalty for getting tagged as "you're it" was that you really got whammied.
Enough about yesteryear, as I'm getting whammied in this year.
In addition to picking up a new repair program to launch in the coming weeks, I somehow got myself sucked into trying to fix an existing repair program that certainly has it's share off problems, least of all with someone trying to explain to me that headcount on a repair line (ie. technicians; the people that actually do most of the work) is subject to a 15-20% decrease just about every day of the week because people are either sick or on holiday. True, I'm the American that's learning the culture, but in the economics course I took (which happened to be the same course that EVERYONE else in the world takes) , if Johnny has 5 apples and gives them all away because they don't taste good, then that's his own fucking fault if he didn't find replacement snacks. Furthermore, he can't say that he still has 2 apples, and they'll be available another time.
So, I'm frustrated as hell, trying to launch a repair line with 3 technicians that have never really repaired laptops before, and I'm also frustrated as hell that the line I'm trying to find solutions for won't hire the necessary people required to do the job properly.
Using the common sense that I've gained in my life, I hooked it to Brussels Sunday afternoon to visit with my new customer. This way, I can avoid the imminent crap meeting that will take place between the "other" customer and my management this coming Wednesday, when they're simply going to ask why in hell do we have 15 guys (3 on holiday and 1 out sick) trying to fix 200 units per day. (Oh, I forgot to give you the additional factor so you can make your calculations: 1 tech can produce about 6 units per day. Er, homey don't play that?)
Pause while I let some of you realize that I just said homey.
So yes, I'm in Brussels this week, living it up, drinking Coke lite in the hotel room at 4 euros a pop. How did I get here? Well, for that, I've got to back up a few days.
Last Friday, we had a kick off the future meeting in my repair site with quite a bit off upper level executive management, including our CFO, CIO, a couple of business unit presidents, and most of the sales team.
I wasn't completely thinking things through, so I showed up at work in black boots, black jeans and black sweater. On any other day, I'm sure that this would have been appropriate. However, everyone of the other 20 guys was at least wearing pants and a blazer, if not a suit.
My sales guy, who is a really good guy by the way, though I wanted to slap him when he remarked that they would probably forgive me on the grounds that I was american, said that this was just the way these kinds of meetings went dress code wise.
I only met our CFO on one brief occasion in Texas, and that's when I ran past him in the hallway trying to get the attention of an engineer. However, on Friday morning, he came right up to me, asked me how I was getting back into the swing of things company wise as he looked me up and down, pausing quite a few moments on the DMs I was wearing. I told him fine thank you very much, then quickly asked my american slagging sales guy buddy who I'd just talked to.
In honesty, I was flattered to be included in the meeting; a workshop to work on efficiencies and process improvement in the business division site. (note - I almost stood up and said, "I think I know what our problem is," at the beginning of the meeting, then reconsidered that not all the Europeans would understand what it meant with the expressions, "two monkeys fucking a football," and "10 pounds shoved into a 5 pound sack." Besides, there were no apples for me to use as a visual aid)
At any rate, I spent virtually all of Friday locked in a conference room discussing various aspects of the business unit, then took fifteen minutes to get a cash advance from the finance department and had a five minute meeting with the guys I would travel with to Brussels on Sunday.
I was a little wound up during the days event, mainly because I'm four weeks away from a program launch, and basically I've got two ten pound monkeys doing the hokey pokey in a five pound sack; clearly I have other places that I need to be; I certainly don't need to be going through this distraction.
But, I did, and I still managed to get a bit of work done, and even managed to schedule a hair cut for the coming Saturday on the way home from work. Whether I'll still have any hair left come Saturday remains to be seen.
Instead of staying in on Friday night, I got home, chucked my backpack into the kitchen, confirmed that my DSL still wasn't working, then headed to MacGowan's for a much needed half vat of beer. I ran into a new buddy Stefan, and he and I chatted a bit about the course of the week. Stefan is a good guy, but becomes a bit of a loud drunk, and the bar is not particularly huge. Furthermore, I'm still trying to gain credibility in the bar, with various degrees of success, but sometimes I lose a bit of ground when my buddy spills his glass (which has now happened twice, in two consecutive weeks).
MacGowan's is really an OK place, but the vibe can be a bit strange from time to time. The waitstaff is more or less on the younger side, but the locals are a bit more 30s-40s, with a sprinkling of younger folks popping. I'm not entirely sure how many employees the bar has, but some of them clearly work more often than others. Isis, Goran, and Tom are there quite a bit. Isis is German, exceptionally cute (particularly when she says, "Tshus!"), and is particularly nice. However, this matters very very little when you inadvertently start calling her Inis. Inis as a name doesn't exist (I don't think), but my Spanish teacher's name was Ines, and she had sort of a similar eye twinkle. Throw in 5 pils, and you might get the names confused, too.
Normally, Isis wouldn't think much of it, but her workmate for the evening, Nadie, has twice now thrown a sarcastic remark in my general direction: once about being American (a couple of weeks ago), and twice, right after giving me grief for calling Isis the wrong name, called me the American that hit on helpless girls at the bar.
I'm not normally an aggressive type, and consider myself to be super super shy. So shy, in fact that for six weeks (and please stop me if I've said this before) in the cafeteria of an office I worked at years ago, I was completely unable to go through the check-out line of this really attractive girl simply because she was so nice. Experiences like that are firm reminders why my love life tends to remain in a constant state of bollocks.
At any rate, I took a bit of offense to Nadie's remarks Friday night. First, the girl from two weeks ago chatted ME up, and for five hours or so, I had no idea that she was only 19.
Second, on this night I was simply having a chat with Barbara (and for those readers from 7 or 8 years ago, it's a different Barbara). Barbara is Slovakian, and we'd been sitting next to one another about a week ago when said Barbara drank about 5 double Jameson's in 20 minutes. I only struck up the conversation to see if she was OK, being that she'd launched into a coughing fit only moments before. That night ended with me heading home for a bit of sleep, not expecting to see young (though older than 19) Barbara again.
I must say, though, that while Stefan and I were chatting merrily (though he louder than I) on Friday evening, I was delighted to see Barbara walk into the bar, and give me a little smile and a hello. At this point, Stefan was trying to have another round of tequila shots, which I thought was ill-advised, so I moved a few stools over to say hello to Barbara.
Drunk Stefan went home about an hour later, though not before, unfortunately, we both misused Isis' name. Sorry Inis, oh wait, it's Isis, or Inis...or...
This left Barbara (a bit more sober like) and I to continue a conversation about various topics, and we continued chatting until the bar was closing. Closing time in Germany just isn't announced; you realize it when the waitstaff have their coats on to go home.
Since it was only about 3.30, Barbara and I headed over to an afterhours place she knows, and we hung out for a few more hours, listening to the dj, chatting, and trying to decide if we were drunk or not. (note - if you have to spend an hour trying to decide if you're drunk or not, you probably are)
Well, the snow started falling, and we had a nice view of the streets outside, and we were cozy, so there was no rush to leave.
Eventually, however, it was about 6, and she had to work around 1pm, leaving only a few short hours for a bit of shut eye. We decided to vacate, and I walked her back to her flat, which is also in the neighborhood, probably about a 5 minute walk if you're sober, 15 if you're wobbly and cold.
We made it to her place, and even after the key fumble (see Hitch), I did all the right things, though I hadn't intended for that to mean, "get completely lost at 6.15am on a Saturday morning in a snowfall."
She must live about 10 minutes away from me, but in the falling snow I lost my bearings (yeah right) and didn't get back to my apartment until 7am. At one point, I almost stopped for coffee, as the konditorei was just opening up for early morning market.
I finally got home, took a much needed pee, and tumbled into bed, feeling pretty fuzzy.
Thankfully, I did get into the gym a bit later in the day, and I even did a bit of shopping, but by Saturday afternoon I was pretty exhausted. I had to pack for my trip to Brussels, and my estate agent was bringing over a new TV set.
Yep, I got the TV, and I'm now back in the land of lousy German programming. However, my DVD player works great, so I can at least watch kino, etc. In fact, I watched a film Saturday night instead of heading back out for a few beers on the town.
Thank goodness I did that, because when the phone rang at 7.30 on Sunday morning, I didn't know what the hell was happening. Oh good, a karaoke party in full swing, which I've since heard was quite the festive evening. I'm quite thankful that no-one thought to try and make me sing a song; I was in full Tom Waits voice due to the hour, and probably wouldn't have been able to sing much more than one bar.
That early hour phone chat was fine and dandy, but I still was in no mood to spend four hours driving across Germany with three fellow colleagues from work to Brussels where they would spend the next three days training. However, once we got on the autobahn, it got pretty cool. Part of that was the Audi A4 we were driving, and part of that was the fact that we were going pretty fast.
The hotel I'm staying in is not the best, and the fact of it is, I'm staying right next to the airport, so Heather, I don't know if it's the worst city or not; I've not actually seen the city center. Personally, though, it seems pretty darn cool. The music on the radio is fucking rippin'; it's kind of 1988 meets 2007 with a nice combo of industrial punk/electronica...just the kind of stuff I've always gone nuts about. And there's Stella.
So, it's 10 after 10 on a Monday night, and I'm tired. My colleagues left the office at five, and I stayed for a meeting that didn't let out until six. I couldn't find a taxi, so I didn't get back to the hotel (five minutes away by car, only across two really busy streets so I couldn't walk) until about eight, only to find that my guys ate without me.
That brings me back to the here and now. Two stella, and two cokes, and I'm winding things down for the night. I'll find something to eat in the morgen.
keep the faith
bryan
soundtrack (not to be confused with the songs I'd sing for karaoke)
Concrete Blonde - Joey (you owe me for that!)
Gene Loves Jezebel - Shaving My Neck
Bryan the unstoppable american basketcase - (to the tune of camptown races) - Slovakian Girls Are Really cute, Do Dah Do Dah
The Pogues - Fairytale of New York
Monday, January 29, 2007
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Motorcycle Diaries
Nope. I never have ridden a motorcycle. First, my mom would kill me. Second, you only have to spend a few hours in a Spanish city before you realize the crazy driving situation. It's tricky enough in a car, and for that matter, a bit dodgy on foot. A motocicleta? It's better to leave that for someone a bit more daring.
That said, I always wondered what would happen if I rode a bike. Would I be able to control it(and we're not talking about vespas, here, Katie)? Would I be able to work the clutch, the accelerator, the hand brake and the brake pedal? I certainly don't know.
Lately I've been picturing my life as if I were riding a motorcycle for the first time. Basically, I'm unable to stop accelerating, and my hand won't let go of the handle. I'm going so fast that I'm not even on the bike; I'm sort of hanging on with one hand for dear life, legs trailing behind me.
It kind of cracks me up, simply because I'm the one who chose to reenter the profession of repair logistics, knowing full well the craziness that goes with the job. Throw in a language barrier, freezing cold temperatures, several train delays, barmaids named Zena and Isis, and it's easy to see why I signed up. I absolutely love it. I'm sure it will get even better as soon as I can figure out how to use my voice mail on my mobile.
As I left the house this morning, almost leaving said mobile and my wallet behind in the house, I realize that I'm getting older, one year at a time. While that may be the least profound remark I've made in months, what I'm finding is that although the clock is ticking, I keep feeling younger, more like the college sophomore working at a corporation during summer break and inadvertently having a very very brief fling with the office secretary, then inadvertently telling everyone in the office about it. Innocence of youth? Nein, more like plain stupid goofball.
But a nice goofball.
Swashbuckling program manager - that's me (though only with a motorcycle jacket and not the bike itself). Frantically trying to launch a repair program, keep all the balls in the air, and keep the momentum going. This week, my IT guy drove his car into a lorry, and will now be in hospital for the next several weeks. I almost fell off the bus yesterday evening as I was talking on the phone to a colleague in the UK. One of my customer counterparts in Brussels has a techno band, a myspace site, and loads of earrings and tattoos, and she and I like all the same films.
I started this piece to talk about the youth of Arsenal and all the great things that have been happening with the team lately, but suddenly my fingers started typing my thoughts; thus the "Gee, this guy probably should drink a bit less coffee" comment that you might be feeling right about now as you read this.
No worries by me. I've got to go for a smoke and to figure out where they store the extra a4 paper around here.
keep the faith, and feel free to do a bit of swashbuckling
bryan
soundtrack:
Sham 69 - If the Kids are United
New Order - Round and Round
Bigod 20 - The Bog
Front 242 - Welcome to Paradise
I have no idea - Wheels on the Bus
That said, I always wondered what would happen if I rode a bike. Would I be able to control it(and we're not talking about vespas, here, Katie)? Would I be able to work the clutch, the accelerator, the hand brake and the brake pedal? I certainly don't know.
Lately I've been picturing my life as if I were riding a motorcycle for the first time. Basically, I'm unable to stop accelerating, and my hand won't let go of the handle. I'm going so fast that I'm not even on the bike; I'm sort of hanging on with one hand for dear life, legs trailing behind me.
It kind of cracks me up, simply because I'm the one who chose to reenter the profession of repair logistics, knowing full well the craziness that goes with the job. Throw in a language barrier, freezing cold temperatures, several train delays, barmaids named Zena and Isis, and it's easy to see why I signed up. I absolutely love it. I'm sure it will get even better as soon as I can figure out how to use my voice mail on my mobile.
As I left the house this morning, almost leaving said mobile and my wallet behind in the house, I realize that I'm getting older, one year at a time. While that may be the least profound remark I've made in months, what I'm finding is that although the clock is ticking, I keep feeling younger, more like the college sophomore working at a corporation during summer break and inadvertently having a very very brief fling with the office secretary, then inadvertently telling everyone in the office about it. Innocence of youth? Nein, more like plain stupid goofball.
But a nice goofball.
Swashbuckling program manager - that's me (though only with a motorcycle jacket and not the bike itself). Frantically trying to launch a repair program, keep all the balls in the air, and keep the momentum going. This week, my IT guy drove his car into a lorry, and will now be in hospital for the next several weeks. I almost fell off the bus yesterday evening as I was talking on the phone to a colleague in the UK. One of my customer counterparts in Brussels has a techno band, a myspace site, and loads of earrings and tattoos, and she and I like all the same films.
I started this piece to talk about the youth of Arsenal and all the great things that have been happening with the team lately, but suddenly my fingers started typing my thoughts; thus the "Gee, this guy probably should drink a bit less coffee" comment that you might be feeling right about now as you read this.
No worries by me. I've got to go for a smoke and to figure out where they store the extra a4 paper around here.
keep the faith, and feel free to do a bit of swashbuckling
bryan
soundtrack:
Sham 69 - If the Kids are United
New Order - Round and Round
Bigod 20 - The Bog
Front 242 - Welcome to Paradise
I have no idea - Wheels on the Bus
Thursday, January 18, 2007
A week of fun in the wind and rain
Boy, there's nothing quite like spending a few days in Colchester, eh? Especially when the wind is really blowy and the rain just doesn't seem to stop.
I arrived here on Monday, along with three colleagues from Germany. Together we're trying to prepare for the upcoming project for our site in March. This includes spending umpteen hours locked in a room with my customers from Belgium as we try to complete SOW, MSAs, and all sorts of other fun stuff.
Beers certainly aren't optional. I think my liver needs a break, but I won't get that for a few more days. Oh well.
Apparently I'll have internet access by the weekend, at which time I can have a bit more time to tell about last weekend., which included loads of debauchery, pils, and teenagers. And that's just for the Arsenal match.
oooh! a cliffhanger!
Stay tuned...
bryan
I arrived here on Monday, along with three colleagues from Germany. Together we're trying to prepare for the upcoming project for our site in March. This includes spending umpteen hours locked in a room with my customers from Belgium as we try to complete SOW, MSAs, and all sorts of other fun stuff.
Beers certainly aren't optional. I think my liver needs a break, but I won't get that for a few more days. Oh well.
Apparently I'll have internet access by the weekend, at which time I can have a bit more time to tell about last weekend., which included loads of debauchery, pils, and teenagers. And that's just for the Arsenal match.
oooh! a cliffhanger!
Stay tuned...
bryan
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
RESULT!
Wow! Not only did I arrive home last night to find my clothes quietly waiting to be removed from the washing machine and hung on the drying rack, there was no water trying to seep out onto the bathroom floor.
With great relief about laundry matters, I headed next door to watch Arsenal's Carling Cup match against Arsenal (second match at Anfield in 4 days), pausing briefly to chat with sis on the mobile.
I wasn't halfway through my pils when the bartender pushed a half of guinness in my direction, saying that it was a mistake and would go to waste if I didn't drink it. Not one to try and waste guinness, I quickly finished my pils, had the half, then ordered another pils, just in time for match kick off.
Check soccernet or Arsenal's official website for the write up of the match, or catch the replay on FSC or whatever satellite channel might show football: the match was simply incredible. The Carling Cup is usually where Arsenal allow their younger players to get a chance at first team play. For a moment, I was trying to identify all of the newbies, all of whom looked about 21 at most. Then, I simply became mesmorized by their style of play.
Four goals in the first half, two more in the second, and that was just what Arsenal scored. True, Liverpool scored three, two of which were pretty impressive. Overall, the game just went on at a superfast pace, which is why I continue to be such a fan of football, particularly Arsenal.
The work is piling up, so I'll gush about football later. Away at Blackburn this Saturday, and home to ManU Sunday week. I'm in Colchester myself next week, so I might just see if I can round up a ticket and stay in the match. OK, I can dream.
Thanks to Heather for being the first person other than T-Com or Volksbank to send me mail. Nice house. I always liked that one when I drove around the neighborhood.
cheers
bryan
With great relief about laundry matters, I headed next door to watch Arsenal's Carling Cup match against Arsenal (second match at Anfield in 4 days), pausing briefly to chat with sis on the mobile.
I wasn't halfway through my pils when the bartender pushed a half of guinness in my direction, saying that it was a mistake and would go to waste if I didn't drink it. Not one to try and waste guinness, I quickly finished my pils, had the half, then ordered another pils, just in time for match kick off.
Check soccernet or Arsenal's official website for the write up of the match, or catch the replay on FSC or whatever satellite channel might show football: the match was simply incredible. The Carling Cup is usually where Arsenal allow their younger players to get a chance at first team play. For a moment, I was trying to identify all of the newbies, all of whom looked about 21 at most. Then, I simply became mesmorized by their style of play.
Four goals in the first half, two more in the second, and that was just what Arsenal scored. True, Liverpool scored three, two of which were pretty impressive. Overall, the game just went on at a superfast pace, which is why I continue to be such a fan of football, particularly Arsenal.
The work is piling up, so I'll gush about football later. Away at Blackburn this Saturday, and home to ManU Sunday week. I'm in Colchester myself next week, so I might just see if I can round up a ticket and stay in the match. OK, I can dream.
Thanks to Heather for being the first person other than T-Com or Volksbank to send me mail. Nice house. I always liked that one when I drove around the neighborhood.
cheers
bryan
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
Hantel, Heat, und Held Hostage!
After a full week in the new flat, I have just about sorted out my routine. I've taken to carrying some little canvas bags in case I need to stop off in the supermarket on the way home from the U-bahn. Germany will sell you grocery sacks, but most people just get the multi-use canvas bags to do their day to day shopping.
Over the King's Day weekend, my real objective was to find a gym. I haven't stepped into a gym since the very end of November, and certainly didn't need Finnegan's Lee to tell me that after a few weeks of Schnitzel and Pils (grosse, naturlich) I'd be well on the way to becoming a fat bastard (hence the Carter USM song on last posts soundtrack).
Saturday morning, I woke up, had a little breakfast, then took the U-bahn one stop away to visit a gym I'd seen. Fortunately, Thomas spoke english and showed me around. They call them Fitness Centers in Germany, and unfortunately, this inevitably means that they focus more on cardiovascular stuff than racks and racks of free weights. The gym was OK, but kind of small.
The price, however, was not so small. 60 euros to join, 35 for a fitness test (what the fuck?), then 50 per month for a minimum one year contract. Um, no.
Thomas recognized that I knew my way around the weight room, and told me about a couple of other gyms in the vicinity. So, after giving him a hearty thank you, I headed two more stops away to Konstablerwache, which is a plaza in the center of Frankfurt.
Along with an open air market held each Thursday and Saturday, there are also loads of birds about that gleefully attempt to poop on any head that they can find. Konstablerwache is one of the most central points in Innenstadt, and supercool. All of the shops you need are right there, along with a gym that opened up a few months ago.
I found the entrance to the gym, went upstairs and tried to communicate with the attendants. His English was sufficient enough for me to understand the operation, and within 5 seconds of walking into the weight room, I knew that I'd found my gym. Brand new equipment in a spanking clean environment. As many benches and weights as I could possibly need. The next floor up, a large room is filled with all the latest cardiovascular machines, all looking out onto the Frankfurt skyline. It's sick.
"60 euros to join, and 5 euros a week," Jan told me.
Um, yes.
I obtained a week's pass just to play around, but the real reason is that I needed to get some money put into my bank account so that I could pay the fees.
Feeling right positive about things, I headed back home, and stopped off at an electronics shop to browse a bit and pick up a cheap land line telephone. An hour later, I'd forced myself to skip the super saeco espresso machine (like my one from the states), but I did have a small telephone, a cd, and a DVD player that was on special. These days, a decent DVD player sells for about as much as a good night out at the pub.
Home I went, eager to try out my new gear, especially the DVD player; I had a couple of music DVDs that friends from Spain had given me, and I was ready to listen.
When I plugged in the video cable into the back of the television and heard the really loud POP, I knew things weren't going well. The leasing agent had told me that the tv was old and might go out, but I was hoping to avoid that incident while I was a tenant. "Ah well," I said to myself, really meaning to say, "Joder!" with full force.
I have plenty to read, and holy crap I have a lot of work to do, so being without television is no big deal. After putting a load of laundry in the washing machine, I grabbed an Ian Rankin book (this time in Spanish...let's just see how it goes) and headed next door to the pub, hoping that they'd have the Arsenal match on.
It's a bit humorous that my local Irish pub has an American bartender working there who just happens to be an Arsenal fan. Fortunately for me, I will be guaranteed to see any televised match in future. But this afternoon was all about FA Cup third round. Arsenal. At Liverpool.
I grabbed a seat at the bar and geared up for a tense match. In the 35th minute, I turned to the other guy watching the game and said, I think we're in trouble. He is a Man U fan, so really didn't care one way or another. In the 37th minute, when Tomas Rosicky curled a shot into the net on one touch, I turned back to my acquaintance and said, "Maybe this will be OK."
Rosicky scored a beautiful goal right as the half was ending, and couldn't believe it. 2-0 at halftime, and up until now, Rosicky hadn't scored in the season. (I will point out, though, that Tomas Rosicky is the Czech that scored two cracking goals against the US during the World Cup.)
During half time, I chatted with the Man U guy, and I discovered that he was an Englishman that had been living in Germany quite a bit over the past six years. We continued to chat during the second half, as Liverpool pulled a goal back, then were silenced as Henry scored a third for Arsenal, clinching the victory.
Arsenal have been so sporadic this year that I was truly expecting a defeat, or a draw at best, especially against Liverpool. I was delighted, and stayed around the pub after the match, realizing that it was only 8pm, and I had no television at home to amuse myself with that night.
Around 1.30 or 2, after some excellent conversations with Johnny (we finally introduced ourselves), a girl named Anne, along with several other patrons, I chucked off home, once again feeling very glad that I only had to stumble a few feet to my door.
Sunday was meant to be quiet. I only wanted to go the gym, and maybe do a little work. My laundry wasn't done, and I didn't quite understand the situation. Perhaps I'd set the machine on the wrong cycle or something. I reset the machine, then went for my workout.
Washing machines in Europe work differently than those in the states. I'm not new to this, but the machine in my flat is probably 8 or 10 years old. There are no instructions lying about, and they'd be in German anyway. I've been relying on my experiences with washers that Lynne and Fran have had in the past for my "guesstimate" as to how to get the machine to clean my clothes. Since I'd already run two loads the previous week, I was feeling fairly confident that I knew what was going on.
By Sunday afternoon, I was losing some confidence. True, cycle times on European washers can take hours, but I believed I was allowing for sufficient time to pass, yet the clothes still looked soapy; it was as if the machine wasn't draining and completing the spin cycle.
I confirmed this when I figured out how to make the door open mid-cycle. A large wave of water came out onto the floor, which prompted me to say, "Fucking hell!"
I mopped up, and tried to reset the washer, deciding to leave it for another two hour cycle. No luck. Thankfully, I didn't open the door this time round.
Another cycle passed, and I was still getting the same results. No rinse cycle seemed to be happening.
I did what anyone would have done, and stepped next door to find out the score of Man U's FA cup match, had two guinness, then returned home to find that things were still out of whack.
Well, the mystery continued into Monday morning, but before work, I reset the machine and hoped I would see better results when I got home from work.
Monday was a pretty tough day in the office. The three hour management meeting (kicking off 2007) didn't particularly help my mood, and as I sat on the train last evening thinking about all of the things I've got to do in the coming weeks, I now had to consider the fact that I might arrive home to find my clothes still sitting in soapy water in the washing machine.
Yep, I was correct. Still there, looking pretty waterlogged. My sister didn't pick up when I tried to call her for additional brainpower, so I knew I'd face this problem alone.
I grabbed a few towels, stopped the cycle, opened the door, captured as much water as I could, and took the clothes and threw them into the bath tub. Then, I ran the spin cycle on the washing machine, which successfully drained the water.
At this point, I had the idea that maybe I should just hand rinse my clothes, but in the end, I put them back in the bloody machine, set a different cycle, and headed off to the gym.
Well, the skyline of Frankfurt is really nice. Furthermore, my new gym is not so overwhelmingly crowded like other gyms I've been to. That said, those that were in the gym were pretty serious about things. All of this is perfect for me, as I prefer to get in, do my stuff, and get out. I'll save the socializing for somewhere with a little more mahogany.
Although I'd bought groceries earlier in the evening, I preferred to save the pasta for another day, and stopped in at the Irish place. (note - at some point in the next few weeks, I'll see if I can remember the name. It's in Gaelic, and it's not particularly a name that rolls off the tongue. Even the sign outside simply says Irish Pub.)
I may have mentioned before that the food in this pub is pretty good. The food at Finnegan's was also above average, and there are a couple of stand out dishes, especially their desserts. However, this place is probably on par (if not slightly higher...gasp!) with the Old Monk. Last night I opted for the chili con carne, and was treated to some truly excellent stuff. I broke out in a sweat, which hasn't happened (save for a moment of wasabi madness in Valencia in October) for quite some time. This chef knows how to heat the spices up, and I am pleased pleased pleased.
The evening improved as a couple of guys got out a banjo and guitar for a bit of an Irish session. I cut the evening short (shortish...it was already 11) and returned home to find my clothes still in the wash.
One more reset and I went to bed.
This morning, after finding the same situation, I set a different cycle and hope I can get different results when I return home this evening.
At the very least, 6 socks, a few t-shirts and an Arsenal jersey are getting REALLY clean.
Arsenal return to Liverpool tonight for Carling Cup action.
I'd wear my jersey to watch the match, but it's in the wash.
keep the faith
bryan
soundtrack:
the sound of a washing machine, no rinse and no spin
Over the King's Day weekend, my real objective was to find a gym. I haven't stepped into a gym since the very end of November, and certainly didn't need Finnegan's Lee to tell me that after a few weeks of Schnitzel and Pils (grosse, naturlich) I'd be well on the way to becoming a fat bastard (hence the Carter USM song on last posts soundtrack).
Saturday morning, I woke up, had a little breakfast, then took the U-bahn one stop away to visit a gym I'd seen. Fortunately, Thomas spoke english and showed me around. They call them Fitness Centers in Germany, and unfortunately, this inevitably means that they focus more on cardiovascular stuff than racks and racks of free weights. The gym was OK, but kind of small.
The price, however, was not so small. 60 euros to join, 35 for a fitness test (what the fuck?), then 50 per month for a minimum one year contract. Um, no.
Thomas recognized that I knew my way around the weight room, and told me about a couple of other gyms in the vicinity. So, after giving him a hearty thank you, I headed two more stops away to Konstablerwache, which is a plaza in the center of Frankfurt.
Along with an open air market held each Thursday and Saturday, there are also loads of birds about that gleefully attempt to poop on any head that they can find. Konstablerwache is one of the most central points in Innenstadt, and supercool. All of the shops you need are right there, along with a gym that opened up a few months ago.
I found the entrance to the gym, went upstairs and tried to communicate with the attendants. His English was sufficient enough for me to understand the operation, and within 5 seconds of walking into the weight room, I knew that I'd found my gym. Brand new equipment in a spanking clean environment. As many benches and weights as I could possibly need. The next floor up, a large room is filled with all the latest cardiovascular machines, all looking out onto the Frankfurt skyline. It's sick.
"60 euros to join, and 5 euros a week," Jan told me.
Um, yes.
I obtained a week's pass just to play around, but the real reason is that I needed to get some money put into my bank account so that I could pay the fees.
Feeling right positive about things, I headed back home, and stopped off at an electronics shop to browse a bit and pick up a cheap land line telephone. An hour later, I'd forced myself to skip the super saeco espresso machine (like my one from the states), but I did have a small telephone, a cd, and a DVD player that was on special. These days, a decent DVD player sells for about as much as a good night out at the pub.
Home I went, eager to try out my new gear, especially the DVD player; I had a couple of music DVDs that friends from Spain had given me, and I was ready to listen.
When I plugged in the video cable into the back of the television and heard the really loud POP, I knew things weren't going well. The leasing agent had told me that the tv was old and might go out, but I was hoping to avoid that incident while I was a tenant. "Ah well," I said to myself, really meaning to say, "Joder!" with full force.
I have plenty to read, and holy crap I have a lot of work to do, so being without television is no big deal. After putting a load of laundry in the washing machine, I grabbed an Ian Rankin book (this time in Spanish...let's just see how it goes) and headed next door to the pub, hoping that they'd have the Arsenal match on.
It's a bit humorous that my local Irish pub has an American bartender working there who just happens to be an Arsenal fan. Fortunately for me, I will be guaranteed to see any televised match in future. But this afternoon was all about FA Cup third round. Arsenal. At Liverpool.
I grabbed a seat at the bar and geared up for a tense match. In the 35th minute, I turned to the other guy watching the game and said, I think we're in trouble. He is a Man U fan, so really didn't care one way or another. In the 37th minute, when Tomas Rosicky curled a shot into the net on one touch, I turned back to my acquaintance and said, "Maybe this will be OK."
Rosicky scored a beautiful goal right as the half was ending, and couldn't believe it. 2-0 at halftime, and up until now, Rosicky hadn't scored in the season. (I will point out, though, that Tomas Rosicky is the Czech that scored two cracking goals against the US during the World Cup.)
During half time, I chatted with the Man U guy, and I discovered that he was an Englishman that had been living in Germany quite a bit over the past six years. We continued to chat during the second half, as Liverpool pulled a goal back, then were silenced as Henry scored a third for Arsenal, clinching the victory.
Arsenal have been so sporadic this year that I was truly expecting a defeat, or a draw at best, especially against Liverpool. I was delighted, and stayed around the pub after the match, realizing that it was only 8pm, and I had no television at home to amuse myself with that night.
Around 1.30 or 2, after some excellent conversations with Johnny (we finally introduced ourselves), a girl named Anne, along with several other patrons, I chucked off home, once again feeling very glad that I only had to stumble a few feet to my door.
Sunday was meant to be quiet. I only wanted to go the gym, and maybe do a little work. My laundry wasn't done, and I didn't quite understand the situation. Perhaps I'd set the machine on the wrong cycle or something. I reset the machine, then went for my workout.
Washing machines in Europe work differently than those in the states. I'm not new to this, but the machine in my flat is probably 8 or 10 years old. There are no instructions lying about, and they'd be in German anyway. I've been relying on my experiences with washers that Lynne and Fran have had in the past for my "guesstimate" as to how to get the machine to clean my clothes. Since I'd already run two loads the previous week, I was feeling fairly confident that I knew what was going on.
By Sunday afternoon, I was losing some confidence. True, cycle times on European washers can take hours, but I believed I was allowing for sufficient time to pass, yet the clothes still looked soapy; it was as if the machine wasn't draining and completing the spin cycle.
I confirmed this when I figured out how to make the door open mid-cycle. A large wave of water came out onto the floor, which prompted me to say, "Fucking hell!"
I mopped up, and tried to reset the washer, deciding to leave it for another two hour cycle. No luck. Thankfully, I didn't open the door this time round.
Another cycle passed, and I was still getting the same results. No rinse cycle seemed to be happening.
I did what anyone would have done, and stepped next door to find out the score of Man U's FA cup match, had two guinness, then returned home to find that things were still out of whack.
Well, the mystery continued into Monday morning, but before work, I reset the machine and hoped I would see better results when I got home from work.
Monday was a pretty tough day in the office. The three hour management meeting (kicking off 2007) didn't particularly help my mood, and as I sat on the train last evening thinking about all of the things I've got to do in the coming weeks, I now had to consider the fact that I might arrive home to find my clothes still sitting in soapy water in the washing machine.
Yep, I was correct. Still there, looking pretty waterlogged. My sister didn't pick up when I tried to call her for additional brainpower, so I knew I'd face this problem alone.
I grabbed a few towels, stopped the cycle, opened the door, captured as much water as I could, and took the clothes and threw them into the bath tub. Then, I ran the spin cycle on the washing machine, which successfully drained the water.
At this point, I had the idea that maybe I should just hand rinse my clothes, but in the end, I put them back in the bloody machine, set a different cycle, and headed off to the gym.
Well, the skyline of Frankfurt is really nice. Furthermore, my new gym is not so overwhelmingly crowded like other gyms I've been to. That said, those that were in the gym were pretty serious about things. All of this is perfect for me, as I prefer to get in, do my stuff, and get out. I'll save the socializing for somewhere with a little more mahogany.
Although I'd bought groceries earlier in the evening, I preferred to save the pasta for another day, and stopped in at the Irish place. (note - at some point in the next few weeks, I'll see if I can remember the name. It's in Gaelic, and it's not particularly a name that rolls off the tongue. Even the sign outside simply says Irish Pub.)
I may have mentioned before that the food in this pub is pretty good. The food at Finnegan's was also above average, and there are a couple of stand out dishes, especially their desserts. However, this place is probably on par (if not slightly higher...gasp!) with the Old Monk. Last night I opted for the chili con carne, and was treated to some truly excellent stuff. I broke out in a sweat, which hasn't happened (save for a moment of wasabi madness in Valencia in October) for quite some time. This chef knows how to heat the spices up, and I am pleased pleased pleased.
The evening improved as a couple of guys got out a banjo and guitar for a bit of an Irish session. I cut the evening short (shortish...it was already 11) and returned home to find my clothes still in the wash.
One more reset and I went to bed.
This morning, after finding the same situation, I set a different cycle and hope I can get different results when I return home this evening.
At the very least, 6 socks, a few t-shirts and an Arsenal jersey are getting REALLY clean.
Arsenal return to Liverpool tonight for Carling Cup action.
I'd wear my jersey to watch the match, but it's in the wash.
keep the faith
bryan
soundtrack:
the sound of a washing machine, no rinse and no spin
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Peat and Repeat
So, an American guy walks into an Irish bar, orders a drink from the Serbian bar tender, decides to have some Schnitzel made by an Indian chef, then sits back to watch a soccer match on Sky Sports One.
If I'd had walked into the bar with a duck on my head, that might have been weird. Instead, it was just another night for me down at my local.
I wish that I had been able to see the Arsenal match on television, but instead watched Chelsea-Villa, which was boring, but worthwhile to see a draw. I had to settle for Arsenal highlights later in the evening, where I discovered they won 4-0 over Charlton. Impressively, I might add, at least from the highlights I saw.
As of 3 January, I'm a legal resident of Germany! Nothing like a little early morning trip to the main government office in Frankfurt to get that sorted out. Except for the fact that my colleague picked me up at my apartment in an Audi quattro, drove us all around until we found parking downtown and walked through the red light district to the visa office, the whole experience was remarkably similar to the one I had 11 months ago when I arrived in Valencia. Er...
It does not escape me that I've gone through the "change countries of residence" game twice inside of one year, but have still managed to scrape up a routine in a relatively short amount of time.
In a few minutes, I'll go freeze my ass off at the bus stop, take the train back to Frankfurt, buy a couple of things at the market, then head back to sample a little more cuisine from the Indian guy who cooks in the Irish pub. **note (Not to be confused with the guy from the Isle of Wight who worked in an Irish bar in Spain and served people paella)
The menu here in Bornheim tiene buena pinta, and besides, it's Karaoke night.
cheers
bryan
If I'd had walked into the bar with a duck on my head, that might have been weird. Instead, it was just another night for me down at my local.
I wish that I had been able to see the Arsenal match on television, but instead watched Chelsea-Villa, which was boring, but worthwhile to see a draw. I had to settle for Arsenal highlights later in the evening, where I discovered they won 4-0 over Charlton. Impressively, I might add, at least from the highlights I saw.
As of 3 January, I'm a legal resident of Germany! Nothing like a little early morning trip to the main government office in Frankfurt to get that sorted out. Except for the fact that my colleague picked me up at my apartment in an Audi quattro, drove us all around until we found parking downtown and walked through the red light district to the visa office, the whole experience was remarkably similar to the one I had 11 months ago when I arrived in Valencia. Er...
It does not escape me that I've gone through the "change countries of residence" game twice inside of one year, but have still managed to scrape up a routine in a relatively short amount of time.
In a few minutes, I'll go freeze my ass off at the bus stop, take the train back to Frankfurt, buy a couple of things at the market, then head back to sample a little more cuisine from the Indian guy who cooks in the Irish pub. **note (Not to be confused with the guy from the Isle of Wight who worked in an Irish bar in Spain and served people paella)
The menu here in Bornheim tiene buena pinta, and besides, it's Karaoke night.
cheers
bryan
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
Acabo de llegar y alles klar!
It’s amazing to me the hundreds of euros I have spent on taxis in recent months. Spanish taxis were on the more reasonable side, particularly after a couple of hours in Germany. 46 Euros will get you from Frankfurt airport to Darmstadt. 11 euros is a one way trip from my hotel in Darmstadt to the office in Weiterstadt.
I certainly have had no intentions to continue the daily cab excursions; I simply cannot afford it. However, with a final decision yet to be made about a car (something about $4.5 per gallon of gasoline kind of freaks me out), I needed to find a short term solution within my economic means for the work commute. Of course, it would be important to first locate suitable accommodation other than my hotel room in Darmstadt, nice as it is.
Sorting out the apartment initially seemed a bit tricky. Estate agents, deposits, high prices, and oh, the language were challenges that I had to consider. I was spending quite a bit of time on a couple of housing websites when my co-worker phoned up to say that she had arranged for me to see an apartment in Frankfurt the Monday evening before Christmas. She set up a taxi to take me into city, wait while I met with the agent, then return me to Darmstadt.
Weiterstadt is really about 30km outside of Frankfurt, and easily accessible by the autobahn. The problem was that the taxi driver wasn’t too familiar with Frankfurt, so we got a bit lost en route. Several times he’d look over to me as if I knew where we were going, and I had to continue to give him my “I haven’t a fucking clue, mate” look. After a couple of calls to the estate agent, we arrived in Bornheim, a little district on the north side of the city.
Noting the Irish pub about 15 feet from my front door, I headed upstairs to meet the estate agent, and was immediately pleased. I had already seen some on-line pictures, so had a rough feel for the place. Ten minutes after I’d arrived, I informed the lady that I was definitely interested, but would need to talk to her the week after Christmas.
On the way back to Darmstadt, the cab driver told me about his sex life in his broken English, I hadn’t actually invited him to tell me anything, but I sort of nodded and smiled from time to time and hoped that the fare wouldn’t be more than the cash I had in my pocket. 150 euros, it was, and gee, that’s a lot of money for a guy who hadn’t been reimbursed for his business expenses yet.
Speaking of high prices, the apartment is a little pricey, but being that it’s fully furnished, complete with all appliances, sheets, towels, plates, glasses, etc, I realized that I wasn’t going to find anything better for less money. Besides, the location seemed excellent, and the work commute appears doable.
So I nipped off to Spain for a few days, and returned on the 27th to the office hoping to get a bank account, my residence card, and finalize the apartment. Well, one out of three wasn’t too bad.
The office was a bit quiet the week after Christmas, but I had loads to do in my project. My co-worker was out until the 2nd of January, so I was going to end the year without a bank account, which initially meant that I wouldn’t be able to get paid. I did call my estate agent, and she explained that I could pay the deposit (two months) and first month’s rent in cash. Wow, not a small figure, really.
I had a brief word with my manager, and explained the situation. He thought for a moment, then said, “No problem. We’ll pay your expense report (which included a whopping 1000 euro hotel bill from England) along with part of your salary, all in cash.” Fine by me.
Friday morning, I showered for the last time in my Darmstadt hotel room, took an 11 euro taxi to work, had a couple of meetings, then received a note from the finance department for me to go see Frau Steller.
Up the stairs I went, and Frau Steller greeted me with a, “Do you really want this much in cash?”
“Um, I guess so,” I responded, not quite sure how much she was about to give me.
I’ve never held 5000 euros in cash before (dollars, either, for that matter), and after the initial shock, casually put the money in an envelope in my back pocket, and hoped like hell that I didn’t get jacked up in the bathroom.
Around 3pm, I called the estate agent back, and arranged to meet her at the apartment around 5.30. I packed up my hotel room, and gave the cab driver a feeble smile when I confirmed that yes, all of the stuff in the hotel lobby DID need to go in the car.
We only experienced a little traffic, thanks to the holiday weekend, and I was relieved to find that the agent was already there. I quickly unloaded the taxi and all my stuff was curbside; I really didn’t want anyone to zip by and help themselves to any of my stuff. Fortunately, the cab driver waited until my gear was inside the front door, so all I had to do was lug everything up to the first floor.
The agent and I completed an inventory of everything in the house, which gave me a better opportunity to realize just what kind of place I’ve gotten myself into. It seems the owner is a Scottish man who is working in Zurich for the next five years. Meanwhile, he took the time to kit his place in Frankfurt out pretty good. I’ve never set foot in an IKEA store, but now I don’t see any reason to. Everything from IKEA is in my place. All things considered, I’m really impressed with the guy’s taste.
The living room is fairly basic, with sofa, easy chair, coffee table, bookshelves, and a stereo television. The bedroom has plenty of storage space, and a double bed nestled in the corner. The kitchen is super modern with plenty of things to cook with. The bathroom is a dream: completely new fixtures, allowing for a full size bathtub and separate shower. It takes almost two minutes to cross the bathroom, it’s that big.
After I signed the contract, the agent took me down the street to the grocery, where I stocked up on a few staples. I live right off of Berger Strasse, which is an awesome street filled with little pubs, restaurants, and shops. It’s the main high street in the district, but runs almost to the center of the city.
I spent Friday evening unpacking all of my stuff; I’d been living out of suitcases for all of December, and many of my things were still folded into my packing envelopes from the initial move out of Spain. Around 8, I walked down the street and found a kebap shop, where I enjoyed a couple of beers as I waited for my durums. The staff were friendly, and one of the guys asked if I’d been to the pub yet. “Nope, but all in good time.”
Saturday morning, I fired up my new stove-top espresso maker (thanks Moe, it’s rockin’) and enjoyed a kaffee on my patio, which overlooks the back courtyard. Think more Rear Window as opposed to Melrose Place and you’ll have a pretty good idea of the set up. Pretty fucking cool.
I walked up and down Berger Strasse on Saturday afternoon amongst the little street markets, shoppers, glühwein wine stalls, and kept smiling. “Dang, I wish I knew what people were saying,” I thought to myself as I tried to get my bearings. It was a wee bit chilly, but I enjoyed the stroll. I located my local Schlecker, stocked up on stuff, then made a return trip to the supermarket to buy enough food to last through the holiday weekend.
At 6pm, I walked into the Irish pub, ordered a pint of John Smith, then sat down to watch the Arsenal match being showed on Sky One. I felt a little giddy as I recapped the last 24 hours: moved into a cool new place in Frankfurt, Irish pub 5 seconds away from my front door, Arsenal match on the tube…
OK, so I was a bit agitated as Arsenal lost to a relegation zone team. On the positive side, I was comfortably numb with the beers, and chatted with a couple of the pub staff, including a really nice German girl who has nice dimples. I wrapped up the evening with a return to the kebap shop, which, in hindsight, was not as good an idea two nights running, especially after a handful of pints. Ah well, I had to christen the new apartment somehow…
I woke up a little earlier on New Year’s Eve, as I had an agenda. First, I needed to check out of my Darmstadt hotel. Second, I wanted to figure out how to use the public rail service so that I can get to work every day. The metro stop is about a five minute walk away, and I more or less found myself in the train station before too long. I wandered around until I found the trains for Darmstadt, then found myself on a 35 minute ride through 15 stops on the commuter line. Must see if we can improve the logistics a bit, but it’s doable.
I collected a couple of items from my hotel, and completed the check-out, taxied back to the Darmstadt train station, bought a monats karte, and boarded an ICE train back to Frankfurt. This was more like it: 15 minutes direct from station to station, sin para. Back on the U-Bahn to my little Bornheim Mitte stop, and I was back in the apartment, where I amused myself with a little cinema on the television, including Flashdance. I’m not sure if a guy who just bought the back catalog of Bad Religion should be able to express his enthusiasm for a movie like this (er, I also watched the Wedding Singer), but hell, I’m going to. I'l even go out on a limb and say that after a few weeks watching VIVA and German MTV, I now have a new crush on Gwen Stefani. Wind it up.
The pub was pretty festive when I arrived at 9, and I paced myself on the Guinness, not wanting to repeat the previous evening’s performance. I caught up with my new acquaintances, and met a few other folks enjoying a few drinks. A dj started playing a mix of various types of music, and updated us periodically with the time. Not surprisingly, a few U2 songs were played in honor of the bar, though I’m not sure why someone wanted to play Achy Breaky Heart, nor a song by John Denver. Eclectic tastes? Definitely. However, I, too was going nuts with the rest of the bar when they played Major Tom, the popular German/English song from the 80s. 4,3,2,1 Earth below us….
A drunk Irish guy got a bit longwinded with me, but bought me a beer once he discovered that I’ve read some Keats. Midnight hit, and the packed bar ran out into the plaza to shoot off fireworks, and we’re not just talking blackcats. Some guy loaded up some super duper bottle rocket things that almost tore off a tree limb, and after a shower of burning cinders, I took the opportunity to return to the safety of the bar for another drink.
My drunk buddy disappeared at some point, and I realized that I was about to wind things down, too. My German bar maid excitedly told me about the German new wave songs that the dj was now playing while she danced around. No extra charge for the dimples.
Then, out of nowhere, on came one of my favorite Héroes del Silencio songs. Another German standing nearby clearly was a fan; he was belting out the tunes pretty well. I took the moment to reminisce on good times celebrating New Years in Spain with 12 grapes, good dinners and good company.
Everyone in the bar was pretty well oiled by this time, and I knew that I had no business ordering another drink. A quick visit to the gents (I simply didn’t want to wait 15 seconds until l I got home), then I returned home for nighty night.
Fade to Tuesday, 2 January. I made the commute via u-bahn, ice train, and autobus in about an hour flat. With the exception that I stood at the wrong bus stop for five minutes until I realized that I was mistaken, no problems whatsoever.
I'm assuming that I'll be able to reverse things and get home this evening.
Feliz Año Nuevo, guten Rutsch, y Happy New Year a todos
keep the faith
bryan
Soundtrack
Madness: Our House
H̩roes del Silencio РEntre dos tierras
U2 – New Year’s Day
Irene Cara– Flashdance, What a feeling
Carter USM – You Fat Bastard
Peter Schilling РMajor Tom (V̦llig losgel̦st)
I certainly have had no intentions to continue the daily cab excursions; I simply cannot afford it. However, with a final decision yet to be made about a car (something about $4.5 per gallon of gasoline kind of freaks me out), I needed to find a short term solution within my economic means for the work commute. Of course, it would be important to first locate suitable accommodation other than my hotel room in Darmstadt, nice as it is.
Sorting out the apartment initially seemed a bit tricky. Estate agents, deposits, high prices, and oh, the language were challenges that I had to consider. I was spending quite a bit of time on a couple of housing websites when my co-worker phoned up to say that she had arranged for me to see an apartment in Frankfurt the Monday evening before Christmas. She set up a taxi to take me into city, wait while I met with the agent, then return me to Darmstadt.
Weiterstadt is really about 30km outside of Frankfurt, and easily accessible by the autobahn. The problem was that the taxi driver wasn’t too familiar with Frankfurt, so we got a bit lost en route. Several times he’d look over to me as if I knew where we were going, and I had to continue to give him my “I haven’t a fucking clue, mate” look. After a couple of calls to the estate agent, we arrived in Bornheim, a little district on the north side of the city.
Noting the Irish pub about 15 feet from my front door, I headed upstairs to meet the estate agent, and was immediately pleased. I had already seen some on-line pictures, so had a rough feel for the place. Ten minutes after I’d arrived, I informed the lady that I was definitely interested, but would need to talk to her the week after Christmas.
On the way back to Darmstadt, the cab driver told me about his sex life in his broken English, I hadn’t actually invited him to tell me anything, but I sort of nodded and smiled from time to time and hoped that the fare wouldn’t be more than the cash I had in my pocket. 150 euros, it was, and gee, that’s a lot of money for a guy who hadn’t been reimbursed for his business expenses yet.
Speaking of high prices, the apartment is a little pricey, but being that it’s fully furnished, complete with all appliances, sheets, towels, plates, glasses, etc, I realized that I wasn’t going to find anything better for less money. Besides, the location seemed excellent, and the work commute appears doable.
So I nipped off to Spain for a few days, and returned on the 27th to the office hoping to get a bank account, my residence card, and finalize the apartment. Well, one out of three wasn’t too bad.
The office was a bit quiet the week after Christmas, but I had loads to do in my project. My co-worker was out until the 2nd of January, so I was going to end the year without a bank account, which initially meant that I wouldn’t be able to get paid. I did call my estate agent, and she explained that I could pay the deposit (two months) and first month’s rent in cash. Wow, not a small figure, really.
I had a brief word with my manager, and explained the situation. He thought for a moment, then said, “No problem. We’ll pay your expense report (which included a whopping 1000 euro hotel bill from England) along with part of your salary, all in cash.” Fine by me.
Friday morning, I showered for the last time in my Darmstadt hotel room, took an 11 euro taxi to work, had a couple of meetings, then received a note from the finance department for me to go see Frau Steller.
Up the stairs I went, and Frau Steller greeted me with a, “Do you really want this much in cash?”
“Um, I guess so,” I responded, not quite sure how much she was about to give me.
I’ve never held 5000 euros in cash before (dollars, either, for that matter), and after the initial shock, casually put the money in an envelope in my back pocket, and hoped like hell that I didn’t get jacked up in the bathroom.
Around 3pm, I called the estate agent back, and arranged to meet her at the apartment around 5.30. I packed up my hotel room, and gave the cab driver a feeble smile when I confirmed that yes, all of the stuff in the hotel lobby DID need to go in the car.
We only experienced a little traffic, thanks to the holiday weekend, and I was relieved to find that the agent was already there. I quickly unloaded the taxi and all my stuff was curbside; I really didn’t want anyone to zip by and help themselves to any of my stuff. Fortunately, the cab driver waited until my gear was inside the front door, so all I had to do was lug everything up to the first floor.
The agent and I completed an inventory of everything in the house, which gave me a better opportunity to realize just what kind of place I’ve gotten myself into. It seems the owner is a Scottish man who is working in Zurich for the next five years. Meanwhile, he took the time to kit his place in Frankfurt out pretty good. I’ve never set foot in an IKEA store, but now I don’t see any reason to. Everything from IKEA is in my place. All things considered, I’m really impressed with the guy’s taste.
The living room is fairly basic, with sofa, easy chair, coffee table, bookshelves, and a stereo television. The bedroom has plenty of storage space, and a double bed nestled in the corner. The kitchen is super modern with plenty of things to cook with. The bathroom is a dream: completely new fixtures, allowing for a full size bathtub and separate shower. It takes almost two minutes to cross the bathroom, it’s that big.
After I signed the contract, the agent took me down the street to the grocery, where I stocked up on a few staples. I live right off of Berger Strasse, which is an awesome street filled with little pubs, restaurants, and shops. It’s the main high street in the district, but runs almost to the center of the city.
I spent Friday evening unpacking all of my stuff; I’d been living out of suitcases for all of December, and many of my things were still folded into my packing envelopes from the initial move out of Spain. Around 8, I walked down the street and found a kebap shop, where I enjoyed a couple of beers as I waited for my durums. The staff were friendly, and one of the guys asked if I’d been to the pub yet. “Nope, but all in good time.”
Saturday morning, I fired up my new stove-top espresso maker (thanks Moe, it’s rockin’) and enjoyed a kaffee on my patio, which overlooks the back courtyard. Think more Rear Window as opposed to Melrose Place and you’ll have a pretty good idea of the set up. Pretty fucking cool.
I walked up and down Berger Strasse on Saturday afternoon amongst the little street markets, shoppers, glühwein wine stalls, and kept smiling. “Dang, I wish I knew what people were saying,” I thought to myself as I tried to get my bearings. It was a wee bit chilly, but I enjoyed the stroll. I located my local Schlecker, stocked up on stuff, then made a return trip to the supermarket to buy enough food to last through the holiday weekend.
At 6pm, I walked into the Irish pub, ordered a pint of John Smith, then sat down to watch the Arsenal match being showed on Sky One. I felt a little giddy as I recapped the last 24 hours: moved into a cool new place in Frankfurt, Irish pub 5 seconds away from my front door, Arsenal match on the tube…
OK, so I was a bit agitated as Arsenal lost to a relegation zone team. On the positive side, I was comfortably numb with the beers, and chatted with a couple of the pub staff, including a really nice German girl who has nice dimples. I wrapped up the evening with a return to the kebap shop, which, in hindsight, was not as good an idea two nights running, especially after a handful of pints. Ah well, I had to christen the new apartment somehow…
I woke up a little earlier on New Year’s Eve, as I had an agenda. First, I needed to check out of my Darmstadt hotel. Second, I wanted to figure out how to use the public rail service so that I can get to work every day. The metro stop is about a five minute walk away, and I more or less found myself in the train station before too long. I wandered around until I found the trains for Darmstadt, then found myself on a 35 minute ride through 15 stops on the commuter line. Must see if we can improve the logistics a bit, but it’s doable.
I collected a couple of items from my hotel, and completed the check-out, taxied back to the Darmstadt train station, bought a monats karte, and boarded an ICE train back to Frankfurt. This was more like it: 15 minutes direct from station to station, sin para. Back on the U-Bahn to my little Bornheim Mitte stop, and I was back in the apartment, where I amused myself with a little cinema on the television, including Flashdance. I’m not sure if a guy who just bought the back catalog of Bad Religion should be able to express his enthusiasm for a movie like this (er, I also watched the Wedding Singer), but hell, I’m going to. I'l even go out on a limb and say that after a few weeks watching VIVA and German MTV, I now have a new crush on Gwen Stefani. Wind it up.
The pub was pretty festive when I arrived at 9, and I paced myself on the Guinness, not wanting to repeat the previous evening’s performance. I caught up with my new acquaintances, and met a few other folks enjoying a few drinks. A dj started playing a mix of various types of music, and updated us periodically with the time. Not surprisingly, a few U2 songs were played in honor of the bar, though I’m not sure why someone wanted to play Achy Breaky Heart, nor a song by John Denver. Eclectic tastes? Definitely. However, I, too was going nuts with the rest of the bar when they played Major Tom, the popular German/English song from the 80s. 4,3,2,1 Earth below us….
A drunk Irish guy got a bit longwinded with me, but bought me a beer once he discovered that I’ve read some Keats. Midnight hit, and the packed bar ran out into the plaza to shoot off fireworks, and we’re not just talking blackcats. Some guy loaded up some super duper bottle rocket things that almost tore off a tree limb, and after a shower of burning cinders, I took the opportunity to return to the safety of the bar for another drink.
My drunk buddy disappeared at some point, and I realized that I was about to wind things down, too. My German bar maid excitedly told me about the German new wave songs that the dj was now playing while she danced around. No extra charge for the dimples.
Then, out of nowhere, on came one of my favorite Héroes del Silencio songs. Another German standing nearby clearly was a fan; he was belting out the tunes pretty well. I took the moment to reminisce on good times celebrating New Years in Spain with 12 grapes, good dinners and good company.
Everyone in the bar was pretty well oiled by this time, and I knew that I had no business ordering another drink. A quick visit to the gents (I simply didn’t want to wait 15 seconds until l I got home), then I returned home for nighty night.
Fade to Tuesday, 2 January. I made the commute via u-bahn, ice train, and autobus in about an hour flat. With the exception that I stood at the wrong bus stop for five minutes until I realized that I was mistaken, no problems whatsoever.
I'm assuming that I'll be able to reverse things and get home this evening.
Feliz Año Nuevo, guten Rutsch, y Happy New Year a todos
keep the faith
bryan
Soundtrack
Madness: Our House
H̩roes del Silencio РEntre dos tierras
U2 – New Year’s Day
Irene Cara– Flashdance, What a feeling
Carter USM – You Fat Bastard
Peter Schilling РMajor Tom (V̦llig losgel̦st)
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
What a Boxing Day
Right. It's December 27th, and I'm back in the office. Christmas break? I've got to say it was a little too short. Of course, my life is right on scale with those little inflatable bouncy rooms that everyone seems to be renting for their kids' birthday parties these days.
After a nice paella with Fran's family on Christmas afternoon, I picked up a few things at casa Tomas Trenor, then headed back to my apartment, threw a few more things in a bag, then jumped on a metro to meet a couple of friends for a Christmas evening drink. I wasn't feeling too comfortable with my packing situation; surely it would be a minor miracle to get everything stuffed into two bags and a backpack, but I figured I would calm myself down a bit with a couple of pints in town.
I'd already hung out with Jose Miguel, but was on the hook for seeing his sister Gemma. Fortunately, Gemma, another friend Maria and I managed to have a few pints at Sherlock Holmes pub, which is a few minutes walk from Finnegan's (which was closed for Christmas).
In the past few years, my Christmas night has been spent with Lynne and Fran, usually watching a movie and being lazy around the house. This year was a bit different, since I only stayed with them on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. Thus, they were free to lounge around by themselves without me plunking about.
Pints with Gemma and Maria was just the ticket. You never know who will be out and about on Christmas night, but the crowd was small in Sherlock Holmes, and festive. I was flattered that both Gemma and Maria complemented me on my Spanish; I was a regular chatterbox. We cut the evening short, however, as both of them had to work on the 26th.
This actually suited me fine, as I managed to finish most of my creative packing before midnight.
Boxing Day morning came all too quickly, and I ran about the apartment trying to clean up as best I could: this was my final day in the Alboraya apartment. I wasn't too motivated, but was short on time. Dang, isn't that the story of my life right now?
Lynne, Fran, and Daniel were to come by around 10 to bid farewells, collect the keys, and put me in a taxi to the airport. Around 10.45 without their arrival, I was getting antsy, smoking a pocketful of ciggy outside on the street. With the long lines in airports these days, even smaller sized airports, I wanted to be sure I had sufficient time to check in and all that. I was already concerned that the "your luggage is too damn heavy" police would give me trouble at the airport, and I'd be forced to either pay extra for transport, or worse, discard items that I wanted to take with me to Germany. OK, the book 501 Spanish Verbs may not seem like the most needed item for an American living in Germany, but it's a close friend to me.
At 11am, I saw Fran's car pull around the corner. Fran and I said a quick goodbye, then he left to attend a mass in memory of his father, who passed away several years ago. Lynne and Daniel stayed with me to inspect the apartment; Lynne would have to bat clean-up here, getting a few leftovers back to her place, returning the keys to the casera, etc. I'm very thankful for her help.
From there, we trudged down the street to a little café next to a taxi stand, and had one last cortado before I headed for the airport. As usual, I don't like goodbyes, nor do I like having all my stuff in various hotels around Europe. But, I needed to get to the airport. A big hug from sis helped, and Daniel, who wasn't feeling very friendly, finally came around and gave me a little hug and kiss of his own. I missed them before I even got in the cab.
I chatted with the cab driver on the way to the airport, and was flattered for the umpteenth time when he said he was impressed with my ability in Spanish. We talked about red meat, overweight Americans, and Mozart (only in Valencia, eh?) en route, and got to the airport about an hour and a half before my flight was to leave.
Check-in was a breeze, so I had time for another café and some smokes, then took the prop-job to Madrid, where I discovered that my ticket was too restricted to allow for any schedule changes in the flight to Frankfurt. Thus, I had about five hours to kill in Terminal 4 of Barajas.
I sat down at an empty bank of seats, and just sort of reflected a moment, then opened up a book my sister gave me to read, The Labyrinth. It was pretty engrossing, and I absolutely love to read, so I was actually pretty content. From time to time, I ate a couple of Christmas cookies from the tray that Lynne had prepared for me. I had almost left them behind on the account of lack of space factor, but am so very glad that I didn't. My sister still has a touch for whipping up toll house, decorated cookies, truffas, and I was set. In short, I made the most of my Boxing Day, though I would have gladly preferred to be somewhere other than the airport.
Our flight left on time from Frankfurt around 8pm, and we landed 2 and half hours later. My luggage arrived, I grabbed a cab, and 50 euros later was walking in the front door of my hotel, saying hello to my buddy Herr Fuhr, who's been watching out for me during my stay. We exchanged pleasantries (I really thought I'd turn 40 or 50 years old before using the word pleasantries), then I headed upstairs to catch a bit of sleep.
It's a grey day here on the 27th, and I'm catching up on all the emails from the past week. Fortunately a lot of people are out on holiday, so it's quiet. However, it is -1 degree right now. That's fucking cold. No snow at the moment, but it could come at any time. Can't wait til I can get an apartment and figure out how to use public transportation. Trudging three blocks through the slush to the U-Bahn stop just sounds neat.
thanks for all the updates, well wishes, and festive greetings.
keep the faith
bryan
After a nice paella with Fran's family on Christmas afternoon, I picked up a few things at casa Tomas Trenor, then headed back to my apartment, threw a few more things in a bag, then jumped on a metro to meet a couple of friends for a Christmas evening drink. I wasn't feeling too comfortable with my packing situation; surely it would be a minor miracle to get everything stuffed into two bags and a backpack, but I figured I would calm myself down a bit with a couple of pints in town.
I'd already hung out with Jose Miguel, but was on the hook for seeing his sister Gemma. Fortunately, Gemma, another friend Maria and I managed to have a few pints at Sherlock Holmes pub, which is a few minutes walk from Finnegan's (which was closed for Christmas).
In the past few years, my Christmas night has been spent with Lynne and Fran, usually watching a movie and being lazy around the house. This year was a bit different, since I only stayed with them on Christmas Eve and Christmas morning. Thus, they were free to lounge around by themselves without me plunking about.
Pints with Gemma and Maria was just the ticket. You never know who will be out and about on Christmas night, but the crowd was small in Sherlock Holmes, and festive. I was flattered that both Gemma and Maria complemented me on my Spanish; I was a regular chatterbox. We cut the evening short, however, as both of them had to work on the 26th.
This actually suited me fine, as I managed to finish most of my creative packing before midnight.
Boxing Day morning came all too quickly, and I ran about the apartment trying to clean up as best I could: this was my final day in the Alboraya apartment. I wasn't too motivated, but was short on time. Dang, isn't that the story of my life right now?
Lynne, Fran, and Daniel were to come by around 10 to bid farewells, collect the keys, and put me in a taxi to the airport. Around 10.45 without their arrival, I was getting antsy, smoking a pocketful of ciggy outside on the street. With the long lines in airports these days, even smaller sized airports, I wanted to be sure I had sufficient time to check in and all that. I was already concerned that the "your luggage is too damn heavy" police would give me trouble at the airport, and I'd be forced to either pay extra for transport, or worse, discard items that I wanted to take with me to Germany. OK, the book 501 Spanish Verbs may not seem like the most needed item for an American living in Germany, but it's a close friend to me.
At 11am, I saw Fran's car pull around the corner. Fran and I said a quick goodbye, then he left to attend a mass in memory of his father, who passed away several years ago. Lynne and Daniel stayed with me to inspect the apartment; Lynne would have to bat clean-up here, getting a few leftovers back to her place, returning the keys to the casera, etc. I'm very thankful for her help.
From there, we trudged down the street to a little café next to a taxi stand, and had one last cortado before I headed for the airport. As usual, I don't like goodbyes, nor do I like having all my stuff in various hotels around Europe. But, I needed to get to the airport. A big hug from sis helped, and Daniel, who wasn't feeling very friendly, finally came around and gave me a little hug and kiss of his own. I missed them before I even got in the cab.
I chatted with the cab driver on the way to the airport, and was flattered for the umpteenth time when he said he was impressed with my ability in Spanish. We talked about red meat, overweight Americans, and Mozart (only in Valencia, eh?) en route, and got to the airport about an hour and a half before my flight was to leave.
Check-in was a breeze, so I had time for another café and some smokes, then took the prop-job to Madrid, where I discovered that my ticket was too restricted to allow for any schedule changes in the flight to Frankfurt. Thus, I had about five hours to kill in Terminal 4 of Barajas.
I sat down at an empty bank of seats, and just sort of reflected a moment, then opened up a book my sister gave me to read, The Labyrinth. It was pretty engrossing, and I absolutely love to read, so I was actually pretty content. From time to time, I ate a couple of Christmas cookies from the tray that Lynne had prepared for me. I had almost left them behind on the account of lack of space factor, but am so very glad that I didn't. My sister still has a touch for whipping up toll house, decorated cookies, truffas, and I was set. In short, I made the most of my Boxing Day, though I would have gladly preferred to be somewhere other than the airport.
Our flight left on time from Frankfurt around 8pm, and we landed 2 and half hours later. My luggage arrived, I grabbed a cab, and 50 euros later was walking in the front door of my hotel, saying hello to my buddy Herr Fuhr, who's been watching out for me during my stay. We exchanged pleasantries (I really thought I'd turn 40 or 50 years old before using the word pleasantries), then I headed upstairs to catch a bit of sleep.
It's a grey day here on the 27th, and I'm catching up on all the emails from the past week. Fortunately a lot of people are out on holiday, so it's quiet. However, it is -1 degree right now. That's fucking cold. No snow at the moment, but it could come at any time. Can't wait til I can get an apartment and figure out how to use public transportation. Trudging three blocks through the slush to the U-Bahn stop just sounds neat.
thanks for all the updates, well wishes, and festive greetings.
keep the faith
bryan
Monday, December 25, 2006
Weihnachten, Noche Buena y la noche antes
It´s kind of a neat feeling to be back in Valencia for a few days after an action packed December in Germany and the UK. Being Christmas, it's not particularly quiet, what with shoppers rushing about in the streets and such. However, though I´ve been in the streets a bit myself, I´ve not been one of the shoppers.
Only with the slightest bit of guilt to I find myself on Christmas morning having no gifts to give anyone. OK, I actually feel a bit more guilty, but the truth of the matter is that I prefer to give a gift attached to some sentiment rather than simply buying another object for someone just to say it was a Christmas gift. Well, I´ve not been able to do any kind of shopping over the past month whatsoever. And I refuse to buy something in the bloody airport.
My nephew is just starting to understand how things work, and fortunately, he's too excited with his new firetruck with hook and ladder and working lights to be upset because he doesn't have a present from me today. (He'll be getting something from Uncle B in good time, maybe in time for King's Day, which, in fact, is the more celebrated holiday in Spain.)
I'm simply glad to be spending the holiday with Lynne, Fran, and Daniel. I've continued my tradition (8 years and counting), and this year the added positive was that I also have friends and routines from my own experience here during 2006. I arrived on Wednesday evening, saw my sister briefly on Thursday, and finally saw F and D on Friday evening; I was using the free time to see folks who were going to be out of town for their Christmas holidays.
Obviously this included several trips to the pub. Duh.
I can't stop liking pubs, and have fond memories of the Dub and the Monk in Dallas with their Christmas decorations and hot drinks. The recent week in Colchester involved several moments of pub time, and again, it was nice to see the decorations and the festive atmosphere.
Finnegan's is certainly no different. Over the course of the past few days, I´ve shared some great moments with friends, old regulars, colleagues from Casa Americana, and have met several other new friends. Personally, I´m glad to have spent the time getting into the Christmas spirit as opposed to fighting crowds trying to find some gift for someone.
Saturday afternoon, I went in to wish everyone a great holiday. The bar closes on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, which is extremely nice for the employees. However, there was one employee there that I was particularly interested in talking to. I´ve been trying for months to get up enough nerve to talk to her a bit more, and of course, about the time I get my confidence, I up and move out of the country. (pause while I try to work through the deja vu I´m feeling at present moment)
At any rate, with the help of a couple of pints of Guinness, along with a 6-2 victory by Arsenal over Blackburn, I was ready to talk at 6pm when she finished work. Unfortunately, she was leaving for her hometown in a few hours, and had to rush home to finish preparing for the trip.
Instead of letting her walk out of the bar, I grabbed my jacket and said, "I´m coming along," and together we walked to the metro stop 10 minutes away at Colon. As usual, I couldn't get off the small talk for the first five minutes, and it didn't help that there was some sort of demonstration going on in a street that we were crossing, creating further traffic to a busy shopping evening.
Thank goodness I finally came to my senses as we were getting closer to the metro stop. With a bit of an effort, I conveyed what I wanted to say, somewhat tactfully, I might add. I certainly don't deserve any points for waiting until the last possible moment to let someone know that I would really like to go out with them, and the irony is that just when I´m really able to say that in Spanish with a straight face, I don't actually live in Spain.
However, I told her. She´s a nice girl, and pretty much the only girl in Spain that I felt like telling that to. I was willing to break the rule about dating someone that works in your pub, simply because this girl is that cool, even based on the few times that we´ve actually hung out. I think I did score some points with her for flattery, not to mention surprise, and because the conversation ended with the traditional two besos at the metro stop with the agreement that we´ll see one another in 2007 in either Germany or Spain, who knows. At least I know a really cool girl in Spain who seems to like me at least a little bit. And being friends is most important, particularly in the situation where you´re bouncing all over the world right now like I seem to be.
I left the metro stop and walked back to Finnegan´s to finish my pint and start another, feeling very good about things. I spent the rest of the evening wishing friends and strangers Merry Christmas, and was fortunate that my buddy Jose Miguel had time to come out for a drink or two. That ultimately turned into some tapas in Barrio del Carmen, and we had a good time mucking about.
I work up Christmas eve morning feeling a slight ping in the head, but with a lingering smile (I talked to a pretty girl last night!). The choir was having a concert in a town close to Valencia, and I was glad to have the chance to see my choir friends perform. It was pretty cold inside the church, but the choir sang really well, and as they performed their final number, I realized that I needed to have the experience to help set the Christmas mood.
We ate in a restaurant in El Palmar that I´ve been to several times before, and it was nice to be recognized by some of the staff. Good fideua, nice wine, and a carajillo, and I was ready for a nap. Instead, however, it was bake as many Christmas cookies as possible before heading to Xuso and Mireya´s for Noche Buena.
Lynne and I powered through, with the creative help from Daniel. It´s always a nervous moment working with baking products around a four year old, but he did really well. I was rolling truffa balls as fast as I could, and Lynne was doing about 15 things at once. Hot stove, warm oven, chocolate and egg beaters; any of these could turn into problems very quickly, especially with the little one racing around the house pretty psyched up for the coming days.
It all paid off, though, because by 9.30, we were sitting at X and M´s, hanging out for Christmas Eve dinner. The kids all played, the craic was good, and just about all you could expect from the night before Christmas.
I even watched a bit of It´s a Wonderful Life before drifting off to sleep.
So it's the 25th, and I´m signing off, cos' I´d rather have another coffee then continue to type.
Feliz navidad, Schöne Weihnachten, and Happy Christmas.
Please have a safe and happy season, and a peaceful new year.
bryan
Only with the slightest bit of guilt to I find myself on Christmas morning having no gifts to give anyone. OK, I actually feel a bit more guilty, but the truth of the matter is that I prefer to give a gift attached to some sentiment rather than simply buying another object for someone just to say it was a Christmas gift. Well, I´ve not been able to do any kind of shopping over the past month whatsoever. And I refuse to buy something in the bloody airport.
My nephew is just starting to understand how things work, and fortunately, he's too excited with his new firetruck with hook and ladder and working lights to be upset because he doesn't have a present from me today. (He'll be getting something from Uncle B in good time, maybe in time for King's Day, which, in fact, is the more celebrated holiday in Spain.)
I'm simply glad to be spending the holiday with Lynne, Fran, and Daniel. I've continued my tradition (8 years and counting), and this year the added positive was that I also have friends and routines from my own experience here during 2006. I arrived on Wednesday evening, saw my sister briefly on Thursday, and finally saw F and D on Friday evening; I was using the free time to see folks who were going to be out of town for their Christmas holidays.
Obviously this included several trips to the pub. Duh.
I can't stop liking pubs, and have fond memories of the Dub and the Monk in Dallas with their Christmas decorations and hot drinks. The recent week in Colchester involved several moments of pub time, and again, it was nice to see the decorations and the festive atmosphere.
Finnegan's is certainly no different. Over the course of the past few days, I´ve shared some great moments with friends, old regulars, colleagues from Casa Americana, and have met several other new friends. Personally, I´m glad to have spent the time getting into the Christmas spirit as opposed to fighting crowds trying to find some gift for someone.
Saturday afternoon, I went in to wish everyone a great holiday. The bar closes on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, which is extremely nice for the employees. However, there was one employee there that I was particularly interested in talking to. I´ve been trying for months to get up enough nerve to talk to her a bit more, and of course, about the time I get my confidence, I up and move out of the country. (pause while I try to work through the deja vu I´m feeling at present moment)
At any rate, with the help of a couple of pints of Guinness, along with a 6-2 victory by Arsenal over Blackburn, I was ready to talk at 6pm when she finished work. Unfortunately, she was leaving for her hometown in a few hours, and had to rush home to finish preparing for the trip.
Instead of letting her walk out of the bar, I grabbed my jacket and said, "I´m coming along," and together we walked to the metro stop 10 minutes away at Colon. As usual, I couldn't get off the small talk for the first five minutes, and it didn't help that there was some sort of demonstration going on in a street that we were crossing, creating further traffic to a busy shopping evening.
Thank goodness I finally came to my senses as we were getting closer to the metro stop. With a bit of an effort, I conveyed what I wanted to say, somewhat tactfully, I might add. I certainly don't deserve any points for waiting until the last possible moment to let someone know that I would really like to go out with them, and the irony is that just when I´m really able to say that in Spanish with a straight face, I don't actually live in Spain.
However, I told her. She´s a nice girl, and pretty much the only girl in Spain that I felt like telling that to. I was willing to break the rule about dating someone that works in your pub, simply because this girl is that cool, even based on the few times that we´ve actually hung out. I think I did score some points with her for flattery, not to mention surprise, and because the conversation ended with the traditional two besos at the metro stop with the agreement that we´ll see one another in 2007 in either Germany or Spain, who knows. At least I know a really cool girl in Spain who seems to like me at least a little bit. And being friends is most important, particularly in the situation where you´re bouncing all over the world right now like I seem to be.
I left the metro stop and walked back to Finnegan´s to finish my pint and start another, feeling very good about things. I spent the rest of the evening wishing friends and strangers Merry Christmas, and was fortunate that my buddy Jose Miguel had time to come out for a drink or two. That ultimately turned into some tapas in Barrio del Carmen, and we had a good time mucking about.
I work up Christmas eve morning feeling a slight ping in the head, but with a lingering smile (I talked to a pretty girl last night!). The choir was having a concert in a town close to Valencia, and I was glad to have the chance to see my choir friends perform. It was pretty cold inside the church, but the choir sang really well, and as they performed their final number, I realized that I needed to have the experience to help set the Christmas mood.
We ate in a restaurant in El Palmar that I´ve been to several times before, and it was nice to be recognized by some of the staff. Good fideua, nice wine, and a carajillo, and I was ready for a nap. Instead, however, it was bake as many Christmas cookies as possible before heading to Xuso and Mireya´s for Noche Buena.
Lynne and I powered through, with the creative help from Daniel. It´s always a nervous moment working with baking products around a four year old, but he did really well. I was rolling truffa balls as fast as I could, and Lynne was doing about 15 things at once. Hot stove, warm oven, chocolate and egg beaters; any of these could turn into problems very quickly, especially with the little one racing around the house pretty psyched up for the coming days.
It all paid off, though, because by 9.30, we were sitting at X and M´s, hanging out for Christmas Eve dinner. The kids all played, the craic was good, and just about all you could expect from the night before Christmas.
I even watched a bit of It´s a Wonderful Life before drifting off to sleep.
So it's the 25th, and I´m signing off, cos' I´d rather have another coffee then continue to type.
Feliz navidad, Schöne Weihnachten, and Happy Christmas.
Please have a safe and happy season, and a peaceful new year.
bryan
Sunday, December 17, 2006
A dream of Festivus
OK, so I spent about 12 hours a day working in Colchester last week, trying frantically to get things going in a project. I've worked with that group before, but it was my first time in the facility. A good group of folks, and quite the experience.
It was nice trading comments with their general manager about football; he supports West Ham and kept trying to tell me that Arsenal wasn't a football club. Of course, he didn't have solid ground to stand on, as WH are struggling at the moment. They've got a new coach as of midweek, and it'll be a surprise if they can truly recover form. Then again, Arsenal had to claw a point out of their game yesterday against Portsmouth by coming from 2 goals down. I'm truly hoping that Arsenal find a way to return to their own form very quickly.
The workweek was extremely busy, but I did manage to have a few pints with some of my new colleagues, as well as my old managing director. Friday night, two of the guys from Dallas and I went to a Spanish restaurant for tapas. I was most impressed. I had been earlier in the week with a couple of clients, and had little trouble getting excited about a return trip. The family apparently comes from Andalucia, and they're very very nice, particularly our cute waitress, Estrella, from Friday night.
After several pitchers of sangria, the three of us had chupitos, then headed down the highstreet to the Hippodrome, a popular Colchester disco. They weren't quite open, so we had a pint next door in another pub full of Christmas partiers, meaning that most people were fairly well oiled, having begun their festivities several hours earlier in the afternoon.
Around 10.30, we queued up outside the disco, then got chatted up by a rather drunk local girl who was responsible for her office's party. She was trying to tell us that we were too old to be going clubbing, but of course, she was in line to go to the same queue. Eventually, however, her group tired of waiting, so they left before we actually got inside.
Once inside, the three of us grabbed pints, and watched the scene. As discos go, I prefer those from Spain, but with the holiday season in gear, it was nice to see the little Santa's helpers outfits being worn. Ultimately, I was reminded of the club scene from the film Trainspotting, though I was hoping that I wouldn't be clocked by any lager louts in the restroom.
After a couple of hours and a few more pints, we headed to another pub in time for two more shots (note to self - will I ever really learn?), another beer, and a suggestion that we go to an after hours place for a last drink.
Well, we trooped over to the next place only to find it closed to new customers. Not too surprising, considering the time (about 2am), but a bit annoying that the employee at the other pub had suggested the place to us. How come she didn't know the hours they'd be open?
At 2.30am, we were standing out in the street, and it was raining a fair amount. Furthermore, everyone else was outside trying to get a taxi, of which there are very few in the town of Colchester. Finally, thank goodness, we managed a taxi, and got back to our business hotel.
Two of us had to catch early taxis to our airports. I was leaving from Heathrow, and my American boss was leaving from Gatwick. Both airports are almost two hours away from Colchester. As my flight was leaving around 9.50, I needed to leave around 5.30 to get to the airport in time for check-in and lots of security checks.
After a night on the town, the mind sometimes makes some interesting choices. Rather than trying to catch a quick nap before the early start, I elected to have a couple more pints in the hotel bar with the night duty desk clerk. Fun as that was, my intake finally reached it's limit. I headed to my room to pack up, but made the mistake of sitting down on the bed, "only for a minute."
At 5.30, my phone rang with news that my taxi was waiting. I frantically threw my gear in my bag, hoped I wasn't forgetting anything, ran downstairs, paid the hotel bill, and rode to Heathrow, fading in and out of consciousness.
We arrived at Heathrow, I bid farewell to my taxi guy, then walked inside to the Lufthansa check-in desk to find hundreds of people already queued up. I hadn't looked in the mirror in what seemed like days, and I kept noticing a smell that I feared was coming from my person. On top of that, my mouth tasted like I'd just cleaned the floor with my tongue, and I sort of wanted a quiet safe haven.
Eventually, I got checked in, took care of business, went through three security checks, and still smelled bad. We boarded our flight on time, but then got to sit on the airplane for an hour before take off. Many passengers suddenly realized that they were going to miss their connections in Frankfurt, so everyone was a bit tense. I was glad that I'd be home soon enough, and particularly glad of the opportunity to shower.
Obviously the plane arrived an hour late, but I collected my bag, walked outside to the taxi stand, and was back at my hotel around 2pm. Oliver, the manager, was there to greet me, and made me a nice espresso while I logged on to check emails. I had a quick chat with my sister, who told me about their busy week in Valencia, then went upstairs for a bit of nap.
I wasn't feeling very hungry, but I was very tired on all fronts. Busy work week, no sleep from the previous night, and then a return to a German speaking environment. I already know that it's going to be very stressful in the coming months, and I find myself needing a bit of time to think about things a bit.
The project I'm working on has as first deadline of January 1, and it's going to be tough to get everything ready. There has not been much time for a lot of carol singing, etc. Christmas is a week away, and I've done no shopping, and don't think I'm going to have much time to shop anyway. I'm not too worried, actually, but would like a bit of Christmas spirit. I was in Colchester when the Weiterstadt team held their Christmas party, and Colchester has their party later this week, which I will miss also. That said, there are little Christmas markets in Germany, and I might run down the street to explore the one in Darmstadt a little later this afternoon. I might even find a few gifts.
This morning, my phone rang at 5.30am once again, but this time it was Chris calling to see if I had any grievances. Festivus was held at Goliad last night! Yet another party I had to miss, but I was glad to at least be included via telephone. My only grievance might have been that it's not always great when someone forgets to check the difference in time zones, but I was so out of it on the phone that I couldn't even think to say anything. I could hardly hear anything except for loads of people who seemed to have had several glasses of punch each all talking at once.
Thanks for the call, McKee. I wish I had been more alert. Maybe I'll call you in a couple of hours and return the cheer.
So it's Sunday afternoon, and I'm sitting in the hotel bar having a Kaffee. The weather is certainly chilly, and I'm starting to get in the Christmas spirit. I will work Monday and Tuesday in Germany, then return to Valencia for a quick visit, one that I'm really looking forward to.
With a little luck, one more shower will remove the last of the smell (did I step in something or what!!!???), and I'll get all my expense reports completed and approved. More on the joys of submitting expense reports in pounds, euros, and dollars later.
For now, I need to work on my feats of strength.
keep the faith
bryan
Atlanta hotel Darmstadt
suggested soundtrack:
Wham! - Last Christmas (ok, just joking)
Take That - Patience (ok, just joking again)
Nirvana - Smells Like Teen Spirit
It was nice trading comments with their general manager about football; he supports West Ham and kept trying to tell me that Arsenal wasn't a football club. Of course, he didn't have solid ground to stand on, as WH are struggling at the moment. They've got a new coach as of midweek, and it'll be a surprise if they can truly recover form. Then again, Arsenal had to claw a point out of their game yesterday against Portsmouth by coming from 2 goals down. I'm truly hoping that Arsenal find a way to return to their own form very quickly.
The workweek was extremely busy, but I did manage to have a few pints with some of my new colleagues, as well as my old managing director. Friday night, two of the guys from Dallas and I went to a Spanish restaurant for tapas. I was most impressed. I had been earlier in the week with a couple of clients, and had little trouble getting excited about a return trip. The family apparently comes from Andalucia, and they're very very nice, particularly our cute waitress, Estrella, from Friday night.
After several pitchers of sangria, the three of us had chupitos, then headed down the highstreet to the Hippodrome, a popular Colchester disco. They weren't quite open, so we had a pint next door in another pub full of Christmas partiers, meaning that most people were fairly well oiled, having begun their festivities several hours earlier in the afternoon.
Around 10.30, we queued up outside the disco, then got chatted up by a rather drunk local girl who was responsible for her office's party. She was trying to tell us that we were too old to be going clubbing, but of course, she was in line to go to the same queue. Eventually, however, her group tired of waiting, so they left before we actually got inside.
Once inside, the three of us grabbed pints, and watched the scene. As discos go, I prefer those from Spain, but with the holiday season in gear, it was nice to see the little Santa's helpers outfits being worn. Ultimately, I was reminded of the club scene from the film Trainspotting, though I was hoping that I wouldn't be clocked by any lager louts in the restroom.
After a couple of hours and a few more pints, we headed to another pub in time for two more shots (note to self - will I ever really learn?), another beer, and a suggestion that we go to an after hours place for a last drink.
Well, we trooped over to the next place only to find it closed to new customers. Not too surprising, considering the time (about 2am), but a bit annoying that the employee at the other pub had suggested the place to us. How come she didn't know the hours they'd be open?
At 2.30am, we were standing out in the street, and it was raining a fair amount. Furthermore, everyone else was outside trying to get a taxi, of which there are very few in the town of Colchester. Finally, thank goodness, we managed a taxi, and got back to our business hotel.
Two of us had to catch early taxis to our airports. I was leaving from Heathrow, and my American boss was leaving from Gatwick. Both airports are almost two hours away from Colchester. As my flight was leaving around 9.50, I needed to leave around 5.30 to get to the airport in time for check-in and lots of security checks.
After a night on the town, the mind sometimes makes some interesting choices. Rather than trying to catch a quick nap before the early start, I elected to have a couple more pints in the hotel bar with the night duty desk clerk. Fun as that was, my intake finally reached it's limit. I headed to my room to pack up, but made the mistake of sitting down on the bed, "only for a minute."
At 5.30, my phone rang with news that my taxi was waiting. I frantically threw my gear in my bag, hoped I wasn't forgetting anything, ran downstairs, paid the hotel bill, and rode to Heathrow, fading in and out of consciousness.
We arrived at Heathrow, I bid farewell to my taxi guy, then walked inside to the Lufthansa check-in desk to find hundreds of people already queued up. I hadn't looked in the mirror in what seemed like days, and I kept noticing a smell that I feared was coming from my person. On top of that, my mouth tasted like I'd just cleaned the floor with my tongue, and I sort of wanted a quiet safe haven.
Eventually, I got checked in, took care of business, went through three security checks, and still smelled bad. We boarded our flight on time, but then got to sit on the airplane for an hour before take off. Many passengers suddenly realized that they were going to miss their connections in Frankfurt, so everyone was a bit tense. I was glad that I'd be home soon enough, and particularly glad of the opportunity to shower.
Obviously the plane arrived an hour late, but I collected my bag, walked outside to the taxi stand, and was back at my hotel around 2pm. Oliver, the manager, was there to greet me, and made me a nice espresso while I logged on to check emails. I had a quick chat with my sister, who told me about their busy week in Valencia, then went upstairs for a bit of nap.
I wasn't feeling very hungry, but I was very tired on all fronts. Busy work week, no sleep from the previous night, and then a return to a German speaking environment. I already know that it's going to be very stressful in the coming months, and I find myself needing a bit of time to think about things a bit.
The project I'm working on has as first deadline of January 1, and it's going to be tough to get everything ready. There has not been much time for a lot of carol singing, etc. Christmas is a week away, and I've done no shopping, and don't think I'm going to have much time to shop anyway. I'm not too worried, actually, but would like a bit of Christmas spirit. I was in Colchester when the Weiterstadt team held their Christmas party, and Colchester has their party later this week, which I will miss also. That said, there are little Christmas markets in Germany, and I might run down the street to explore the one in Darmstadt a little later this afternoon. I might even find a few gifts.
This morning, my phone rang at 5.30am once again, but this time it was Chris calling to see if I had any grievances. Festivus was held at Goliad last night! Yet another party I had to miss, but I was glad to at least be included via telephone. My only grievance might have been that it's not always great when someone forgets to check the difference in time zones, but I was so out of it on the phone that I couldn't even think to say anything. I could hardly hear anything except for loads of people who seemed to have had several glasses of punch each all talking at once.
Thanks for the call, McKee. I wish I had been more alert. Maybe I'll call you in a couple of hours and return the cheer.
So it's Sunday afternoon, and I'm sitting in the hotel bar having a Kaffee. The weather is certainly chilly, and I'm starting to get in the Christmas spirit. I will work Monday and Tuesday in Germany, then return to Valencia for a quick visit, one that I'm really looking forward to.
With a little luck, one more shower will remove the last of the smell (did I step in something or what!!!???), and I'll get all my expense reports completed and approved. More on the joys of submitting expense reports in pounds, euros, and dollars later.
For now, I need to work on my feats of strength.
keep the faith
bryan
Atlanta hotel Darmstadt
suggested soundtrack:
Wham! - Last Christmas (ok, just joking)
Take That - Patience (ok, just joking again)
Nirvana - Smells Like Teen Spirit
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
A word about coffee, café, and Kaffee
As an American who consumes enough coffee to deserve his own coffee plantation, I feel the need to comment on the various levels of coffee I've had the pleasure, or disgust, of consuming over recent months.
We all know that I was on the frequent flyer plan at Starbuck's, which had it's perks. As much as I enjoyed playing for the Pogue Mahones (Starbucks football team), I was pretty thrilled to leave a Starbuck's environment and find myself in a land where EVERY café is espresso. Fenomenal.
Cortados and café con leches in Espania. Hmmm. The prices are always reasonable (ie. they don't charge an extra 1.95 for hot milk), and the quality is almost always above average. Sure, it is possible to have the rare bad cortado, but since it doesn't cost all that much, it's not that big of a deal. Besides, as you'll see below, I'm not so pretentious as to be unable to take this in stride.
Take Germany for example, where espresso is consumed a bit less. The drip coffee isn't nearly as good as espresso, but still drinkable. At my office, there are Kaffee pots everywhere, and loads of mugs about. It reminds me a little of Cafe Brazil coffee, if I need to offer a comparison to a Dallas location.
Though I haven't spent too much time I Frankfurt just yet, there do seem to be quite a lot of little cafe houses around, and I'm quite sure that many of them are espresso bars. I'll certainly know more in a few weeks.
Now, after a few days in England, I can comment that the coffee experience in England is simply different. In the workplace, you can spend 20p for a little plastic cup of coffee or tea that is far from delicious. Drinkable, yes, (says the guy who drinks just about anything), but a delightful experience, I think not.
However, it's the experience that makes the reward. Three guys standing around the vending machine in the canteen drinking some hot liquid out of a little plastic cup that looks like what I used to submit a urine sample to my doctor when I was a child. It's a hard visiual to get out of the head, and the warmth of the cup itself doesn't help matters.
Coffee in restaurants and bars really isn't that much better, though you normally get served with a proper cup or mug.
No complaints from me, really, it's just that I notice the differences. Of course, if that's the kind of remark you'd expect from someone who just slipped out at lunch to have a quick pint in the pub, then snarfed a plate of chips and sausage roll on the way back to the office, eh?
there you have it
keep the faith
bryan
We all know that I was on the frequent flyer plan at Starbuck's, which had it's perks. As much as I enjoyed playing for the Pogue Mahones (Starbucks football team), I was pretty thrilled to leave a Starbuck's environment and find myself in a land where EVERY café is espresso. Fenomenal.
Cortados and café con leches in Espania. Hmmm. The prices are always reasonable (ie. they don't charge an extra 1.95 for hot milk), and the quality is almost always above average. Sure, it is possible to have the rare bad cortado, but since it doesn't cost all that much, it's not that big of a deal. Besides, as you'll see below, I'm not so pretentious as to be unable to take this in stride.
Take Germany for example, where espresso is consumed a bit less. The drip coffee isn't nearly as good as espresso, but still drinkable. At my office, there are Kaffee pots everywhere, and loads of mugs about. It reminds me a little of Cafe Brazil coffee, if I need to offer a comparison to a Dallas location.
Though I haven't spent too much time I Frankfurt just yet, there do seem to be quite a lot of little cafe houses around, and I'm quite sure that many of them are espresso bars. I'll certainly know more in a few weeks.
Now, after a few days in England, I can comment that the coffee experience in England is simply different. In the workplace, you can spend 20p for a little plastic cup of coffee or tea that is far from delicious. Drinkable, yes, (says the guy who drinks just about anything), but a delightful experience, I think not.
However, it's the experience that makes the reward. Three guys standing around the vending machine in the canteen drinking some hot liquid out of a little plastic cup that looks like what I used to submit a urine sample to my doctor when I was a child. It's a hard visiual to get out of the head, and the warmth of the cup itself doesn't help matters.
Coffee in restaurants and bars really isn't that much better, though you normally get served with a proper cup or mug.
No complaints from me, really, it's just that I notice the differences. Of course, if that's the kind of remark you'd expect from someone who just slipped out at lunch to have a quick pint in the pub, then snarfed a plate of chips and sausage roll on the way back to the office, eh?
there you have it
keep the faith
bryan
Friday, December 08, 2006
So much for a quiet week at work
OK, so I managed to have two quiet days in the office before the "ka-pow! let's get zany!!" show started. No, it's not just that I've already sat through a two hour staff meeting which was conducted partly in German and party in English (er, 90% German, 10% English), it's that I go to England to another of our repair sites all next week.
No real problem as far as I'm concerned, but I just signed a contract to work in Germany, and suddenly I'm not spending any time in the German office. However, my project involves both the UK and the German site, so I knew I would be involved in some fashion. Didn't realize that I'd be sleeping in some hotel in Colchester the week before Christmas, though...
Speaking of England, let's briefly talk Arsenal football. 0-0 draw with Porto got them through to the final 16 in Champs League, which won't resume until February 2007. Good. That will give me time to get things organized and give the club time to start playing better.
Arsenal are away at Chelsea this Sunday, and play right about the time I'll be riding through the countryside on the train from Liverpool Street Station. Just my luck that I didn't think to arrange my flight a bit better so as to see the match, but oh well.
Now, I don't want to start passing commentary on Germany, the people or the culture, but a few things have struck me in the five days that I've been here.
Taxi's are more expensive here than in Spain. Hopefully I'll solve this problem soon by organizing my own transportation. Oh wait, I'm going to be out of town the next couple of weeks...
Doner kebaps are spicier in Alemania. Incredible. Doner Kebaps are almost the only late night food available in Spain, and in recent weeks, I had to consume my fair share. Not the most healthy thing for you, but I'd argue that they're certainly more healthy than Taco Hell or even IHoP, particularly my type of IHoP excursion.
While kepab places in Spain are usually tasty, they're also usually run by non-Spanish. The place in Meliana was predominately Rumanian (??), but most I've seen are Turkish or Indian. In my experience in Spain, all of the kepab houses spoke Spanish and English.
Imagine my surprise in Darmstadt (where everyone seems to speak quite a bit of English), then, when I encountered a kepab house where they didn't speak English (and certainly not Spanish). I struggled to get the right thing ordered (probably didn't help that I kept using Spanish words), but the result was excellent. Here, they put a bit of super spicy crushed pepper on everything, and I now know where I can satisfy my hot fix for comida picante.
I'm suffering from a bit of a cold at moment, but certainly felt better after chowing through a couple of spicy kebaps.
The language barrier will be a problem for me, mainly because I feel like such a dolt for knowing so little German. Almost everyone speaks a fair amount of English, which is impressive. There are small, humorous mistakes made from time to time. My office companion has a habit of using "BE" any time he needs to use a conjugation of the verb "to be". Thus, I might hear, "This be where you can drink coffee."
In my hotel, I had to request laundry service, and the cute St. Pauli girl working at the front desk said, "Sure, no problem. Where is your luggage?" This question confused me enough that I started immediately babbling in Spanish, English, and a few German words I created, which ultimately confused the matter enough that the employee had to get a colleague to help. At least I'm getting my clothes clean.
This evening, I'm headed into Frankfurt to check out the sights, and hopefully get an idea as to where I might find a decent apartment (within budget).
Hopefully a few pils will help my cold, and I can always have another kepab.
Let's go Arsenal! We need a lot of fortunate luck to win at Chelsea Sunday, but I believe. It's called keeping the faith.
Tschüs!
Bryan
soundtrack:
Robbie Williams live in Leeds. (don't know if this is available on CD or not, but I saw the vid last night on German music channel)
Juli - Dieses Leben (ok, I don't know much about German rock music, but the lead singer of this rock band looks really cute in a red and black striped sweater. And that is certainly reason enough to buy an album...)
No real problem as far as I'm concerned, but I just signed a contract to work in Germany, and suddenly I'm not spending any time in the German office. However, my project involves both the UK and the German site, so I knew I would be involved in some fashion. Didn't realize that I'd be sleeping in some hotel in Colchester the week before Christmas, though...
Speaking of England, let's briefly talk Arsenal football. 0-0 draw with Porto got them through to the final 16 in Champs League, which won't resume until February 2007. Good. That will give me time to get things organized and give the club time to start playing better.
Arsenal are away at Chelsea this Sunday, and play right about the time I'll be riding through the countryside on the train from Liverpool Street Station. Just my luck that I didn't think to arrange my flight a bit better so as to see the match, but oh well.
Now, I don't want to start passing commentary on Germany, the people or the culture, but a few things have struck me in the five days that I've been here.
Taxi's are more expensive here than in Spain. Hopefully I'll solve this problem soon by organizing my own transportation. Oh wait, I'm going to be out of town the next couple of weeks...
Doner kebaps are spicier in Alemania. Incredible. Doner Kebaps are almost the only late night food available in Spain, and in recent weeks, I had to consume my fair share. Not the most healthy thing for you, but I'd argue that they're certainly more healthy than Taco Hell or even IHoP, particularly my type of IHoP excursion.
While kepab places in Spain are usually tasty, they're also usually run by non-Spanish. The place in Meliana was predominately Rumanian (??), but most I've seen are Turkish or Indian. In my experience in Spain, all of the kepab houses spoke Spanish and English.
Imagine my surprise in Darmstadt (where everyone seems to speak quite a bit of English), then, when I encountered a kepab house where they didn't speak English (and certainly not Spanish). I struggled to get the right thing ordered (probably didn't help that I kept using Spanish words), but the result was excellent. Here, they put a bit of super spicy crushed pepper on everything, and I now know where I can satisfy my hot fix for comida picante.
I'm suffering from a bit of a cold at moment, but certainly felt better after chowing through a couple of spicy kebaps.
The language barrier will be a problem for me, mainly because I feel like such a dolt for knowing so little German. Almost everyone speaks a fair amount of English, which is impressive. There are small, humorous mistakes made from time to time. My office companion has a habit of using "BE" any time he needs to use a conjugation of the verb "to be". Thus, I might hear, "This be where you can drink coffee."
In my hotel, I had to request laundry service, and the cute St. Pauli girl working at the front desk said, "Sure, no problem. Where is your luggage?" This question confused me enough that I started immediately babbling in Spanish, English, and a few German words I created, which ultimately confused the matter enough that the employee had to get a colleague to help. At least I'm getting my clothes clean.
This evening, I'm headed into Frankfurt to check out the sights, and hopefully get an idea as to where I might find a decent apartment (within budget).
Hopefully a few pils will help my cold, and I can always have another kepab.
Let's go Arsenal! We need a lot of fortunate luck to win at Chelsea Sunday, but I believe. It's called keeping the faith.
Tschüs!
Bryan
soundtrack:
Robbie Williams live in Leeds. (don't know if this is available on CD or not, but I saw the vid last night on German music channel)
Juli - Dieses Leben (ok, I don't know much about German rock music, but the lead singer of this rock band looks really cute in a red and black striped sweater. And that is certainly reason enough to buy an album...)
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Not quite normal service resumed
I've been fortunate enough to catch several Arsenal matches in recent weeks, though it's been a bit unnerving as two of those matches were losses. There's almost nothing worse than getting fired up to watch your team play, then see them crash out in the most ridiculous ways. I mean come on, if you take a zillion shots in a match, hit the woodwork about 14 times, how can you possibly lose 1-0 off of a corner kick?
Ah well, welcome to Arsenal football.
I watched the Arsenal-Tottenham match Saturday afternoon at Finnegan's along with two new found English Arsenal fans. The three of us chucked it up over pints for the duration of the game, and then for the rest of the afternoon, which turned into quite the stretch. Fortunately, Arsenal won convincingly 3-0, which made me feel a whole lot better.
While the afternoon was fun, I couldn't help thinking of the same fixture earlier in the year that Chris and I went to. I certainly would have preferred to be at emirates stadium with him saying fun things to the Tottenham fans. Same old Tottenham, always cheating. (At this point, I'll skip over the dubious penalty that was awarded Arsenal in the first half)
It was nice spending my final afternoon in Valencia in Finnegans watching a bit of football. It's not that I won't be back there soon, but when I return, I won't actually be a resident. Trying to gear up for the Sunday move to Germany was not all that easy.
But, it's now a done deal. I'm in Weiterstadt, sitting at my desk, typing on my laptop, suffering from a cold.
Welcome to Germany.
Updates about the move, the new culture, and how pretty the girls are will come later. Right now, I've got to get myself settled into an apartment, decipher the transportation schedules, and get acquainted with the German keyboard. This keyboard thing is kind of interesting, because it's very very different from both the English and the Spanish keyboard. Since I've been a typist for many years, I rarely pay attention to the keys, save for my experiences in Spain toggling between the different layouts. However, unlike the German keyboard, the Spanish keyboard merely has a few extra symbols and accents.
Welcome to Germany.
The German keyboard actually moves the alphabet around, and while this wouldn't necessarily be that big of a deal, the Y character is where the Z character is in German keyboards. Those of you that remember the spelling of my name probably better understand my predicament.
At any rate, the chapter is starting, and I've already been to my first biergarten to watch a champs league match, ironically, Barcelona and Werder Bremen.
It's a good way to begin the experience.
prost
brZan
One last thing. C'mon Arsenal. Beat Porto tonight.
Ah well, welcome to Arsenal football.
I watched the Arsenal-Tottenham match Saturday afternoon at Finnegan's along with two new found English Arsenal fans. The three of us chucked it up over pints for the duration of the game, and then for the rest of the afternoon, which turned into quite the stretch. Fortunately, Arsenal won convincingly 3-0, which made me feel a whole lot better.
While the afternoon was fun, I couldn't help thinking of the same fixture earlier in the year that Chris and I went to. I certainly would have preferred to be at emirates stadium with him saying fun things to the Tottenham fans. Same old Tottenham, always cheating. (At this point, I'll skip over the dubious penalty that was awarded Arsenal in the first half)
It was nice spending my final afternoon in Valencia in Finnegans watching a bit of football. It's not that I won't be back there soon, but when I return, I won't actually be a resident. Trying to gear up for the Sunday move to Germany was not all that easy.
But, it's now a done deal. I'm in Weiterstadt, sitting at my desk, typing on my laptop, suffering from a cold.
Welcome to Germany.
Updates about the move, the new culture, and how pretty the girls are will come later. Right now, I've got to get myself settled into an apartment, decipher the transportation schedules, and get acquainted with the German keyboard. This keyboard thing is kind of interesting, because it's very very different from both the English and the Spanish keyboard. Since I've been a typist for many years, I rarely pay attention to the keys, save for my experiences in Spain toggling between the different layouts. However, unlike the German keyboard, the Spanish keyboard merely has a few extra symbols and accents.
Welcome to Germany.
The German keyboard actually moves the alphabet around, and while this wouldn't necessarily be that big of a deal, the Y character is where the Z character is in German keyboards. Those of you that remember the spelling of my name probably better understand my predicament.
At any rate, the chapter is starting, and I've already been to my first biergarten to watch a champs league match, ironically, Barcelona and Werder Bremen.
It's a good way to begin the experience.
prost
brZan
One last thing. C'mon Arsenal. Beat Porto tonight.
Monday, November 20, 2006
cambios, intercambios, y mas...
So after a few weeks struggle, I finally find myself putting pen to paper again. No need to ask forgiveness; I've just been busy.
After many months of planning and preparation, my grandfather and step-grandmother completed an emotionally and physically exhausting move to consolidate a large home in North Carolina and a large home in Dallas into a small home in Dallas. I have to imagine that it's got to be very difficult to leave your home after so many years, so many memories. Alas, as you get older, downsizing to a smaller habitat in which you can better manage your independence is sometimes necessary.
No sooner had Daddy Monk and Twila settled into their new north Dallas habitat, my grandmother from Dallas announced her intent to follow suit. After many years in the same house near Preston and Royal, she will be moving to an apartment in the nearby area in order to be closer to her friends, have less headaches involving maintaining a house that is starting to need more and more repairs.
I've spent a lot of time reflecting on these significant changes over the past few weeks. As a grandchild, I don't particularly like the idea that my grandparents no longer live in their houses that I'm familiar with, particularly my Grandmommy. I've only known her one house in my lifetime.
True, the happy memories of going over the hills and through the woods to grandparents house will remain happy memories. My own selfishness aside, though, I wonder how my grandparents are dealing with their changes...leaving their homes after so many years.
In my own life, despite my tendency to bounce around a bit, I make my own attchments, mostly mental, to people, places, and every once in a while, to things. Take the past nine months, for example. I have lived in Meliana with Lynne, Fran, and Daniel. Let it be said that their place is perfectly suited for three, and as we moved through 2006, the house got smaller, and I got bigger. Though I didn't really want to be there, preferring my own independence, I LIKED being there, feeling the attachment of family and a sense of home.
Unfortunately, circumstances throughout summer and fall made things incredibly difficult. Difficult for me to leave, and frustrating for everyone that I continued to stay. Ultimately, with a great rush of relief, Lynne and Fran secured some immediate short term solution for me, and by the first of November, I was living in Alboraya in an apartment of my own.
For the first week in my new place, I dealt with the guilt and frustrations of having overstayed my welcome with Lynne and Fran. It was never my intent, yet I somehow couldn't avoid it. I should have found a better way instead of imposing on family way too long. For that, I am truly sorry.
As I pushed through the guilt, I also dealt with the new environment, one away from family that I'm close to. Sure, it is more quiet, but part of that is because there's no stereo in the flat. No pizza and movie nights, no wake up hugs from a nephew, no terrace top smokes. All of these are good memories from casa de Tomas Trenor.
How funny that I become attached to situations like these.
How funny that I think about these memories while sitting in a conference room in Weiterstadt, Germany.
On top of the moves and changes I've already made this year, it appears I'm not quite through. I'm a couple of weeks away from a work visa, and with that comes a return to the chaos, excitement, and challenge of program management, this time with the new twist of the job being in Deutschland.
October really was a pensive month for me. I really like Spain, and I'm sorry to be leaving just when I'm starting to feel settled with friends, the language, and a new apartment. But, the opportunity to have employement in a capacity that suits me better...how can I pass that up, especially when it's somewhat tailored to my needs?
I'm certainly excited about this opportunity, and it's finally hitting me as I sit in some crap office park in suburban Franfurt. This will be where I live for the next six months as I do the project I've been hired to do.
I've got tons of decisions to make in the coming days and weeks, but I'm rising to the challenge. Hell, I might be toodling around Bavaria in a VW blaring Alphaville before the end of the year. I feel that I'm off to a relatively good start after meeting some new colleagues. Everyone seems most friendly and eager to help me settle, even when I've slipped into spanish once or twice, not counting the time I said joder in the taxi on the way from the airport; the cab driver covered 35 km in about 8 minutes.
It's hard to leave, but I've got to go. Fortunately, the attachment I've made with Spain is in place, and will remain in place. I think it's a good thing that I feel so sad to leave Valencia. It shows me how much I've enjoyed this experience.
keep the faith
bryan
Feldstrasse 16
Weiterstadt
soundtrack
Alphaville - Forever Young
Madness - Our House
38 Special - Hold On Loosely (But Don't Let Go)
Bouncing Souls - True Believer
Mighty Mighty Bosstones - The Impression That I Get
Joe Jackson - Steppin' Out
After many months of planning and preparation, my grandfather and step-grandmother completed an emotionally and physically exhausting move to consolidate a large home in North Carolina and a large home in Dallas into a small home in Dallas. I have to imagine that it's got to be very difficult to leave your home after so many years, so many memories. Alas, as you get older, downsizing to a smaller habitat in which you can better manage your independence is sometimes necessary.
No sooner had Daddy Monk and Twila settled into their new north Dallas habitat, my grandmother from Dallas announced her intent to follow suit. After many years in the same house near Preston and Royal, she will be moving to an apartment in the nearby area in order to be closer to her friends, have less headaches involving maintaining a house that is starting to need more and more repairs.
I've spent a lot of time reflecting on these significant changes over the past few weeks. As a grandchild, I don't particularly like the idea that my grandparents no longer live in their houses that I'm familiar with, particularly my Grandmommy. I've only known her one house in my lifetime.
True, the happy memories of going over the hills and through the woods to grandparents house will remain happy memories. My own selfishness aside, though, I wonder how my grandparents are dealing with their changes...leaving their homes after so many years.
In my own life, despite my tendency to bounce around a bit, I make my own attchments, mostly mental, to people, places, and every once in a while, to things. Take the past nine months, for example. I have lived in Meliana with Lynne, Fran, and Daniel. Let it be said that their place is perfectly suited for three, and as we moved through 2006, the house got smaller, and I got bigger. Though I didn't really want to be there, preferring my own independence, I LIKED being there, feeling the attachment of family and a sense of home.
Unfortunately, circumstances throughout summer and fall made things incredibly difficult. Difficult for me to leave, and frustrating for everyone that I continued to stay. Ultimately, with a great rush of relief, Lynne and Fran secured some immediate short term solution for me, and by the first of November, I was living in Alboraya in an apartment of my own.
For the first week in my new place, I dealt with the guilt and frustrations of having overstayed my welcome with Lynne and Fran. It was never my intent, yet I somehow couldn't avoid it. I should have found a better way instead of imposing on family way too long. For that, I am truly sorry.
As I pushed through the guilt, I also dealt with the new environment, one away from family that I'm close to. Sure, it is more quiet, but part of that is because there's no stereo in the flat. No pizza and movie nights, no wake up hugs from a nephew, no terrace top smokes. All of these are good memories from casa de Tomas Trenor.
How funny that I become attached to situations like these.
How funny that I think about these memories while sitting in a conference room in Weiterstadt, Germany.
On top of the moves and changes I've already made this year, it appears I'm not quite through. I'm a couple of weeks away from a work visa, and with that comes a return to the chaos, excitement, and challenge of program management, this time with the new twist of the job being in Deutschland.
October really was a pensive month for me. I really like Spain, and I'm sorry to be leaving just when I'm starting to feel settled with friends, the language, and a new apartment. But, the opportunity to have employement in a capacity that suits me better...how can I pass that up, especially when it's somewhat tailored to my needs?
I'm certainly excited about this opportunity, and it's finally hitting me as I sit in some crap office park in suburban Franfurt. This will be where I live for the next six months as I do the project I've been hired to do.
I've got tons of decisions to make in the coming days and weeks, but I'm rising to the challenge. Hell, I might be toodling around Bavaria in a VW blaring Alphaville before the end of the year. I feel that I'm off to a relatively good start after meeting some new colleagues. Everyone seems most friendly and eager to help me settle, even when I've slipped into spanish once or twice, not counting the time I said joder in the taxi on the way from the airport; the cab driver covered 35 km in about 8 minutes.
It's hard to leave, but I've got to go. Fortunately, the attachment I've made with Spain is in place, and will remain in place. I think it's a good thing that I feel so sad to leave Valencia. It shows me how much I've enjoyed this experience.
keep the faith
bryan
Feldstrasse 16
Weiterstadt
soundtrack
Alphaville - Forever Young
Madness - Our House
38 Special - Hold On Loosely (But Don't Let Go)
Bouncing Souls - True Believer
Mighty Mighty Bosstones - The Impression That I Get
Joe Jackson - Steppin' Out
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
...too much life running through my veins...
30 days ago, I put up my last post, thinking I'd have a pretty busy month ahead of me with football (Arsenal!), apartment hunting, spanish class, and private english classes. For the most part, I was right, though it certainly didn't happen as I expected. The last two weeks of September were almost unbearably slow. All of my private classes went on hiatus for some reason or other, and I suddenly found myself with a ton of idle time.
I'm sure the wise person would have taken advantage of the opportunity and found adequate housing, but due to some unusual circumstances, my situation was a bit more complicated, nevermind it's a bit difficult to rent apartments in Valencia in the first place. I spent a bit too much time lounging around the pub in hopes that the ideal sitio would drop into my lap.
OK, so that plan didn't work so well, but I did meet some interesting characters, including one man from Doncaster who had a habit of telling me each time he saw me (five or six times) that his favorite movie was Green Street Hooligans. GSH is a pretty good film, I must say; it's about West Ham United football club, stars Frodo Baggins, and is a bit on the violent side. However, no matter what conservation topic we happened to be on, this guy (usually five pints in) would start in again, "Green Street Hooligans" is the BEST movie EVER! (As a side note - I rather enjoyed meeting Ian, and appreciate the fact that he sat with me to watch Arsenal vs. Manchester United, a heart attack inducing match that happens no less than twice a year. As those of you who are passionate about certain teams know, sometimes it's nice to watch a match with an impartial spectator, particularly if you're sitting there trying not to break your beer glass, not hit anybody, and see your team scrape a last minute victory. I was fortunate that we won that day, so didn't even mind hearing the words, "Man, I LOVE Green Street Hooligans!" one more time. Alas, Ian's experience teaching school in Valencia didn't work out, so he chucked back to England almost as quickly as he came. All the best, mate.)
Arsenal football helped me through the slow period of September. After the win over ManU, they have managed to win every match since.
The last days of September picked up, and I got back into Spanish classes a few hours a week, then found a steady intercambio who wants to meet regularly. Neither of these helped keep my cashflow in balance, but at least my spanish is improving.
Out of the blue, a guy I met in early summer rang me up and asked me to play on his football team. After many months on the sidelines, I finally got a chance to return to the pitch, sporting a green jersey sponsored by Paiporta Construcciones, S.A. Cool. Thankfully, I held my own on the field; I haven't forgotten how to play the game.
As October began, I was nearing panic mode. I had no apartment and only limited classes at the center. I've more than overstayed my welcome with Lynne and Fran, so was particularly concerned about the apartment bit. Furthermore, a lack of classes means a lack of income, and that can start to suck in a hurry. Thus, I was a bit down.
I have continued to sing in the choir in Alboraya, and we did have a concert to look forward to early in the month. The choir had been invited to the town of Pont de Suert, and we arranged to stay in a nearby hotel & spa, all located in the Pyrenees Mountains during the holiday weekend Oct 6-9.
Las Saturday, I couldn't help but laugh to myself. Instead of watching Euro 2008 qualifiers in some bar, I was sitting in a woolen mill listening to a woman speaking in Catalan to our choir about how wool is made. In a few hours, I'd be singing a concert; songs to be sung in valenciano, catalan, gaego, italian, and castellano. I have to struggle enough with castellano, the other languages I'm just about hopeless with, but I'm doing it up, anyway. "Wow, I can't believe I'm here," I laughed to myself.
This alone was enough to boggle the mind, but to add to the zany action, less than 48 hours before, I'd received a call from my old company - they had a job with my name on it. What had merely been a quiet discussion in August was suddenly becoming reality. Me, working in my profession again. In Europe. In Germany. Almost immediately.
Holy shit.
So here in October 2006, my mind is going a million miles per hour. It's a triple ride on the super "hopeyoudidn'teatafootlongchilidogforlunchaswe'regonnafuckyouup" roller coaster at Coney Island. Two days ago, I was standing next to Jacobo and Jose Luis trying to find out what happened to my music as we sang "Te Quiero," and today I'm trying to find out the climate in someplace called Weiterstadt.
More details to come soon, but meanwhile, ¿como se dice Keep the Faith in aleman?
bryan
10/10/06
for more information about the hotel in the Pyrenees, visit www.caldesdeboi.com
suggested soundtrack for this post:
Robbie Williams greatest hits
Rock Against Bush compilation vol.2
I'm sure the wise person would have taken advantage of the opportunity and found adequate housing, but due to some unusual circumstances, my situation was a bit more complicated, nevermind it's a bit difficult to rent apartments in Valencia in the first place. I spent a bit too much time lounging around the pub in hopes that the ideal sitio would drop into my lap.
OK, so that plan didn't work so well, but I did meet some interesting characters, including one man from Doncaster who had a habit of telling me each time he saw me (five or six times) that his favorite movie was Green Street Hooligans. GSH is a pretty good film, I must say; it's about West Ham United football club, stars Frodo Baggins, and is a bit on the violent side. However, no matter what conservation topic we happened to be on, this guy (usually five pints in) would start in again, "Green Street Hooligans" is the BEST movie EVER! (As a side note - I rather enjoyed meeting Ian, and appreciate the fact that he sat with me to watch Arsenal vs. Manchester United, a heart attack inducing match that happens no less than twice a year. As those of you who are passionate about certain teams know, sometimes it's nice to watch a match with an impartial spectator, particularly if you're sitting there trying not to break your beer glass, not hit anybody, and see your team scrape a last minute victory. I was fortunate that we won that day, so didn't even mind hearing the words, "Man, I LOVE Green Street Hooligans!" one more time. Alas, Ian's experience teaching school in Valencia didn't work out, so he chucked back to England almost as quickly as he came. All the best, mate.)
Arsenal football helped me through the slow period of September. After the win over ManU, they have managed to win every match since.
The last days of September picked up, and I got back into Spanish classes a few hours a week, then found a steady intercambio who wants to meet regularly. Neither of these helped keep my cashflow in balance, but at least my spanish is improving.
Out of the blue, a guy I met in early summer rang me up and asked me to play on his football team. After many months on the sidelines, I finally got a chance to return to the pitch, sporting a green jersey sponsored by Paiporta Construcciones, S.A. Cool. Thankfully, I held my own on the field; I haven't forgotten how to play the game.
As October began, I was nearing panic mode. I had no apartment and only limited classes at the center. I've more than overstayed my welcome with Lynne and Fran, so was particularly concerned about the apartment bit. Furthermore, a lack of classes means a lack of income, and that can start to suck in a hurry. Thus, I was a bit down.
I have continued to sing in the choir in Alboraya, and we did have a concert to look forward to early in the month. The choir had been invited to the town of Pont de Suert, and we arranged to stay in a nearby hotel & spa, all located in the Pyrenees Mountains during the holiday weekend Oct 6-9.
Las Saturday, I couldn't help but laugh to myself. Instead of watching Euro 2008 qualifiers in some bar, I was sitting in a woolen mill listening to a woman speaking in Catalan to our choir about how wool is made. In a few hours, I'd be singing a concert; songs to be sung in valenciano, catalan, gaego, italian, and castellano. I have to struggle enough with castellano, the other languages I'm just about hopeless with, but I'm doing it up, anyway. "Wow, I can't believe I'm here," I laughed to myself.
This alone was enough to boggle the mind, but to add to the zany action, less than 48 hours before, I'd received a call from my old company - they had a job with my name on it. What had merely been a quiet discussion in August was suddenly becoming reality. Me, working in my profession again. In Europe. In Germany. Almost immediately.
Holy shit.
So here in October 2006, my mind is going a million miles per hour. It's a triple ride on the super "hopeyoudidn'teatafootlongchilidogforlunchaswe'regonnafuckyouup" roller coaster at Coney Island. Two days ago, I was standing next to Jacobo and Jose Luis trying to find out what happened to my music as we sang "Te Quiero," and today I'm trying to find out the climate in someplace called Weiterstadt.
More details to come soon, but meanwhile, ¿como se dice Keep the Faith in aleman?
bryan
10/10/06
for more information about the hotel in the Pyrenees, visit www.caldesdeboi.com
suggested soundtrack for this post:
Robbie Williams greatest hits
Rock Against Bush compilation vol.2
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