A Weekend in Köln

It was Friday afternoon, and I was anxious to take advantage of the early weekend policy at work. At 2:30 I was already leaving my office. It's so much easier to leave work or class or mass or (insert other obligatory events here) on time than it is to arrive. This punctuality wasn't just encouraged by the desire to end the workweek; I had plans.

During the previous week, I had been trading emails with the other nine American TREE interns and my friend and UD classmate, Sara, next to whom I frequently sit during German class. It all began when Sara, who is also interning in Germany this summer, asked if I wanted to meet up for the weekend in Köln, spelled Cologne when Anglicized. Sara was living and working in the southernmost part of Germany, where Germany, Austria, and Switzerland along the Bodensee, and I was in the far north, so Köln offered a fitting compromise in distance where we could meet. One of the TREE interns who was working in Bonn, which is only a half hour train ride away from Köln, RSVP'd along with another intern from Berlin.

In my attempts to plan on a budget, I racked my brain for any possible contacts in Köln where I could somehow arrange to crash on the floor for free lodging. As a Lumen Christi alumnus, I recalled that the Oblates of St. Francis de Sales had a German influence in the Köln area, and with the help of some Oblates from back home I put myself to work sending emails to oblates that I had never met before, expressing meet with them during the weekend, subtly hinting at the free lodging for a night. Unfortunately though, I didn't hear back from them until my Köln excursion was finished.

Not having received my stipend from the TREE program yet, I began my Friday afternoon of preparation by checking at the bank to see if the money transfer had been completed yet. It had not. That left me with 50 euro in my walet to get me to Köln, cover my food and bed, and get me back; a tight order when the 50% off train ticket that I was looking at was 46 euro roundtrip. Luckily, the Michigander in me knew just what to do: Collect the deposit from all of the bottles and cans that were lying around, or course. I proceeded to load up two crates and two bags of bottles (courtesy of my less-than-ambitious Mitbewohner Thomas) on my bike when I was interrupted by Anna, one of the girls from the apartment below me. After explaining to her my weekend plans and my money predicament, Anna suggested traveling through MitfahrZentral.de or Mitfahrgelegenheit.de, websites that match passengers with drivers. With Anna's help, I was able to catch a ride from Vechta to Köln for only 15 euro. If you add the nearly 10 euro that I picked up from the bottles and cans, I was now sitting on a 17+ euro cushion for my weekend budget. The only problem created was that I was leaving Friday night instead of early Saturday morning. I quickly called my friend Hannah (the TREE intern in Bonn) and arranged to stay the night at her place with Chris, the Berlin intern. Crisis averted.

Riding with complete strangers was surprisingly very comfortable, although part of that comfort should rightfully be attributed to the BMW that I was riding in. The two other passengers were old 20/young 30 somethings from Bremen who somehow worked in the shipping industry as engineers. We shared pleasentries, thoughts, and experiences while multiple Coldplay albums and instrumental rock/electronica dutifully filled any silent pauses during the three hour journey.

I was dropped off at the Wiener Platz Bahnhof (train station) in a heavily Turkish part of Köln. Because I had to wait for 50 minutes til the next train to Bonn, I spent the first half of the Turkey gegen Croatia Fußballspiel in a Turkish Kneipe. Because I covered this in the last post, I'll fast forward.

***

A few minutes after I arrived in Bonn, the streets came alive, in a second-coming-of-Christ-if-Christ-were-a-Turkish-soccer-fan kind of way. Cars were flying down the street in front of the Hauptbahnhof ("haupt" meaning "main") with passengers hanging out of windowns and standing up through sun roofs, proudly waving Turkish flags. Occasionally this cruising strip celebration was acccompanied by a pod of young Turks sporadically chanting in their native, three syllable pronounciation, "Tur-Ki-Ye! Tur-Ki-Ye!".
It was about 10 minutes into this sporadic parading of national pride that I met up with Chris and Hannah. Earlier that night, when the two of them had been watching the game at a local Biergarten, they were treated to a few rounds by a small group of complete strangers. As it turned out, one of them was an American who had left his native Utah to marry a fair German Fräuline a few years earlier. It was with this same group of guys that we were planning on meeting at a nearby club.

As we reached the first street corner, Chris, Hannah, and I paused to watch what had now become an organized parade of Turks. The cars were lined up behind a group of at least 30 flag bearres, all sharing the weight of one enormous Turkish flah. I wasn't quite sure what the fans were celebrating more, the victory over Croatia, or the right to play Germany in the Semi-Final.

I must admit, I was a little apprehensive about going to a club. I mean, UD's finest "bar & grill," Timothy's, had still yet to be graced with my attendance. Plus, I was still carrying my bookbag. Despit my inhibitions, "Blow Up" did not dissapoint. A renoveated brothel, " BlowUp" was wallpapered in dark green, draped with red velvet, and lit by musty sconces. Moreover, the guys that had invited us turned out to be class acts. All young professionals in Bonn's IT industry, they treated us (again) to a few rounds, as we challenged the breadth of their English fluency by diving into politics and personal history.

I spent most of my time talking with Vinod, an Indian raised in Bonn, and educated by its international school system, one of the perks of living in the former capital of West Germany. AFter completing Gymnasium, the German equivalent of our college prep high schools, Vince studied Economics in England and then spent seven years in India where he studied IT and worked in their booming industry. Since Chris, Hannah, and I were on a renewable energy focused internship, we discussed environmental policy, namely the Kyoto Protocal and the US's decision not to sign. Vince, in his global wisdom said that he understood the US's logic in not signing unless China and India stepped up as well but iterated the need for the US to be a leader on environmental policy saying, "Kyoto means nothing if the US doesn't join."

***

The next morning Chris, Hannah, and I met up with Sara just outside of Köln's Hauptbahnhof. Köln's Hauptbahnhof is by far my favorite, not because of the trainstation itself but because of its location. The fron doors of the Bahnhof are portals to another reality in a way rivaled only by C.S. Lewis's wardrobe and J.K. Rowlings's Platform 9 3/4. As tarvelers leave the bustel of the transportation hub through the automatic doors, they are struck immobile and overcome in awe of the immense, ornately gothic Kölner Dom towering over them.

The fantastic succumbed to the real as we scaled the innumberable spiraling steps of one of the Dom's towers. Although it may be clichè, it was definitely worth the € 1 student price.

We spent the rest of the day sprawled on the riparian park lawn along the Rhein, enjoying waffle cones of Eis (a Germanized gelato), leafing through bookstore offerings (I came across a stock of German copies of Reading Lolita in Tehran), and taking advantage of the relaxed European dining experience, where I indulged in my biweekly ration of meat in the form of a 1/4 meter house-sausage, crafted special to complement the taste of the microbrewerey's Kölsch brew. Here's a little tidbit: Kölsch is the only beer taht is also a German dialect.

After dinner, we met up with a friend of Chris' named Küra. Küra was working in Köln's film industry, and as our de facto tour guide, she shepherded us to the Belgian district of the city, known for its artsy cafès and theater scene. Although we couldn't find space at our first stop, a trendy vintage-themed cafè complete with outdoor Biergarten-like seating, we settled in at a cozy theater-owned cafè that was showing the Netherlands gegen Russia quarterfianl EM game. These are pictures of the cafè's two chandeliers. Cool, huh?

After the Russian's victory in overtime, Sara and I caught an S-bahn destined for our Jugendherberge, or youth hostel. When we arrived, I was incredibly disappointed. I had been expecting a seedy tenement building with pea soup colored paisley wall paper and a grimy film covering all surfaces because of the incessant candle burning and dirty backpacker traffic. What Sara and I found was a brand new chic hostel, complete with an elevator, thematic lighting, hotel art, and continental breakfast. In fact, the only way that this Jugendherberge differed from a hotel was that the rooms, in standard hotel form, were furnished with three sets of bunk beds.

On Sunday morning Sara and I began our day with 11:00 mass at the Dom. As we approached the revolving isde door, we were interceped by an obviously Catholic greeter dressed in a ridiculous red robe, informing us in Gemran that, "Sorry, you can't go in now. Service is going on." For a split second I was offended. In Catholic paper-scissors-rock, silly-red-robe-wearing-greeter does not trump informed-travelling-Catholic. It was like throwing a vertical paper on the playground, ready to disguise it as either paper or scissors at the first indication of your opponent's throw. This man had obviously spent hi schildhood recesses somewhere other than St. Mary's.

After my moment of offense, I politely informed the costumed greeter thta we were in fact, there to celebrate mass. In silent repsonse, Sara and I were ushered through the revolving doors.

Service wan't going on. We had arrived twenty minutes early in worry that we wouldn't be able to find seats, and to allow time to meet up with Chris. Although we didn't need to worry about a shortage of seats, the twenty minutes was not at all a waste. From our pew we could admire the architectural interior of the Dom, the contrast between the hundred-year-old andpost WWII stained glass windows (one of which was more than a pixilated pattern, crafted by a local artist), the ornate Tabernacle at the Latin alter (which legend tells contains relics from all three wisemen), and of course private paryer and reflection.

Mass ran for an hour and a half, not that I was counting or anything. The Dom parishioners took every opportunity to showcase their choir, and rightfully so, because the were incredible. The homily, perhpas in hope of asserting the Chuch's ability to respond to the times, employed an extended metaphor of a soccer game to the life of a Christian. This was the second consecutive Sunday sermon to feature such an extended metaphor. Highlights included, "we are all players on the field," and then referencing Corinthians wit, " As Christians we are all participants in the race (Mitlaufers), the oldest and truest competition..." Maybe it was just a Zufall, coincidence, but even the priests seemed to have caught EM fever.

Before we all had to depart that afternoon, we enjoyed the day in Köln in a similar fashion to Saturday; sitting on the edge of the Rhein, indulging in carefree cafè etiquette and enjoying on another's company.


Thanks for reading. I know this was a long post. Please leave comments.

Europa Meisterschaft!

I should have packed my Poland jersey; Trikot, if you're still trying to build up your German vocab. Even a red T-shirt would have been nice. Without either, I was left in the "Fan Zone" surrounded by at least 1,000 German fans wearing a green shirt. It's not the fact that I didn't have something fitting to wear for the game that upsets me. Rather, it's knowing that had I been wearing that jersey, Poland would have won or at the very least, lost by a slimmer margin than the 2-0 fate that they suffered at the hands of the Germans.

Such is the logic of fans. It's a good thing that I'm not a cradle Fußball fanatic though, otherwise I would have been facing much worse than the jersey-induced doubt.

The Europe Cup is now in its third week, and Germany is still going strong. Cars have their little window flags, displaying proudly the black red and yellow as they load up on groceries. The girls that live below me made sure that they were sporting the national colors and matching for the opening game. This is a picture that I snapped of one of the pair on our bike ride downtown where there was a public viewing of the game or in German, Public Viewing. It's not the best quality, but in my defense, I was riding a bike while I took it.

For those who haven't been following the cup back in the States, here's a synopsis:
Poland unfortunately didn't make it out of the first round. They lost to Germany, ended up settling for a tie against Austria when they gave up a goal in the last few minutes of play, and they lost to Croatia.
Italy, the defending champions of the world, started off with a terrible 3-0 loss to the Netherlands, but were able to manage in the end with wins over Romania and France. They just lost last night to Spain in the second round, so they're out.
Germany luckily survived a first round loss to Croatia but ended up in second in their 4 team pod with Poland and Austria and therefore were able to move to the second round. There Germany proved victorious over the talented Portugal squad with a 3-2 win. They play again on Wednesday against the cinderella Turkey team.
Turkey has pulled off at least two miraculous games where they snatched victory from their opponents at the very last minutes. Recently, they upset Croatia and in doing so, moved on to the third round game.

The game on Wednesday between Germany and Turkey is particularly volatile because the Turks are the largest minority group in Germany. In the past few decades there has been several incidents of xenophobia crimes committed against Turks in Germany. Earlier this winter tensions between Turks and Germans were tested when a Turkish immigrant-filled apartment building suffered heavily from a fire. Fingers were pointed and arsen was suggested, but in the end the conflagration was blamed on the shoddy electrical wiring.
When either the Germans or Turks when, the streets of Germany's cities become stages for immediate parades. Cars will drive around for more than an hour, liberally sounding their horns.

During Turkey's last game, I found myself in a immigrant-district of Cologne with an hour long wait for my train. Naturally, I walked into the nearest bar to catch the first half of the game and was able to snag the last remaining seat. Although I may have been the only non-Turk in the bar, the two guys sitting next to me didn't mind, probably because they knew I was neither a native speaker nor a Croatia supporter. In gratitude for their hospitality, I bought the two another round of beer as I left to catch my train. Who said diplomacy had to be difficult?

Right now though, it isn't looking too good for the Turks. In their nail biter finishes, and double overtime-extended games several Turkey players collected injury, red and yellow/red cards, and for the lucky single yellow cards. Red cards bar the player from the rest of the game as well as the next game. Players are allowed to accumulate two yellow cards before suffering the same consequences as the red card. In a tournament situation, you can imagine how penalties can haunt a team. I think Turkey will be short seven players on Wednesday. Advantage, Deutschland.

Father's Day in Vechta

Now that we're in semi-real time, I just wanted to post for Father's Day. I was in Nicaragua for Mother's Day and now I'm in Germany for Father's Day, so I guess that makes me pretty equal in my love for my parents, right? No favoritism?

All joking aside, I'd love to be with my family right now, especially with my dad and grandpa on their special day. Unfortunately I can't, but here's a post for you two.

Happy Father's Day Dad and Grandpa! You two are terrific role models for me. I don't just look up to you, ich liebe euch.

Love,
Franz

Catch-up Part 5: The Last of the Catch-ups

My journey from Freiburg in the southern Bundesland (like our states) of Badden-Würtemberg to Vechta in the northern Niedersachsen took about eight hours by train; not bad considering that the train stopped at every city on the way to pick-up and drop-off passengers. The eight hours also accommodated the missed connecting train in the final leg from Osnabrück to Vechta, which would have cut my train time down to seven hours. Let the record show that this delay was entirely the fault of engine driver, as our train pulled into Osnabrück 14 minutes late and seven minutes after the hourly departing train to Vechta had left.

In the silver-lining, I was able to finish one of the books that I had picked up a week earlier at the Nomad Bookhouse in downtown Jackson. The book was The Other Side of the River by former Wall Street Journal journalist Alex Kotlowitz and told the story of a death in the St. Joseph, Michigan that reignited a history of racial segregation and injustice in the St. Joseph - Benton Harbor, twin cities relationship. The prominence of the St. Joseph River as a instrument in the segregation and injustice was highlighted by Kotlowitz, securing the book's relevance to UD River Stewards and Dayton as a whole. If you have the means, I highly recommend picking one up.

My late arrival in Vechta presented an initial challenge, as I was originally going to be met at the train station by an company employee and get a ride to my WG (pronounced 'Vay-Gay'). Not knowing about my delay, however, said employee left the station before my late arrival. Luckily, I received the address in an email from my company. Unluckily, I had never bothered to right in down on paper. So began my stroll through downtown Vechta, backpack, tote bag, and wheely-luggage and all. My first stop, a family health center, provided directions to the nearest internet cafe. After about a 10 minute walk through the bustling heart of the city and over a river, I arrived at a rather tacky internet cafe. However tacky though, I had my address as well as the GoogleMap directions to get there, which ended up being just a short walk from the cafe.

I was greeted at my apartment by my Mitbewohnerin (gender-specific-ending foreshadow) Leah. Leah was a masters in education student at the local Uni. In fact, so were my other three Mitbewohner Rene, Thomas, and Basti. All four of them spoke near-fluent English, Leah having a subtle Canadian accent. Being masters students, all four were also older than me, averaging 23. This ended being a perk, because our WG was really very nice and enhanced by a dozen or more different pieces of art that either Rene or Leah had painted, drawn, or sculpted. More important though my Mitbewohner were all very nice, too. They were very helpful with my move in and very friendly. If they had weekend plans they would invite me, which during the first weekend turned into a road trip to Hamburg for a birthday party of a former Mitbewohnerin.

So here I am, caught up to semi-present time, living and working in Vechta. My landlord, Herr Schweinefuß (not a made up name) was able to find a bike for me which I use to ride to work every morning at WELtec-BioPower, where I have been reading about industrial Anaerobic Digesters, searching for different techniques to implement into a (hopefully) sustainable method of treating the post-digested eflluent.

Catch-up Part 4: A Taste of Freiburg

The ten American interns taking part in TREE were split as evenly as possible; five girls and five guys, five technical students, and five liberal arts students, four vegetarians and six omnivores, five Michiganders and five "other". Apparently it isn't very possible to get an even representation of the States when it comes to German speakers. For the record, only four of us were from Michigan, while the fifth was an out-of-state student at the University of Michigan, but still... The particulars are as follows:

1. A Political Science/International Relations masters student at Northeastern University

2. An Environmental Policy, History junior at the University of Michigan

3. An Environmental Science, Political Science recent graduate from the University of Michigan

4. A Mechanical Engineering, German Studies fifth year at the University of Illinois

5. An Environmental Policy, German Studies senior at the University of North Carolina

6. A Chemical Engineering, Materials Sciences senior at the University of Michigan

7. A Computer Science, German Studies recent graduate from Gustavus Adolphus College, MN
8. An Environmental Policy recent graduate from Michigan State University

9. A Mechanical Engineering recent graduate from the University of Illinois

Since stats don't always speak for themselves, I'll vouch for them. These nine were impressive, and it was great getting to get to know them and hearing of their adventures and passions during our four day seminar. Each day we had a different lecture on themes ranging from Germany's EEG for Eneuerbar Energie Gesatz (Renewable Energy Law) to guidelines for Americans living and working in Germany. We also learned about separate types of renewable energy each day, featuring Wind, Solar, and Biogas from Anaerobic Digesters. (I'll be posting on these specific topics and my experiences on the on-education in later posts.)

In between our scheduled events, we would occasionally be granted enough time to explore the neighborhood in which we were staying. During our first day, we checked out the "Utopian Celebration" in a park a half km from our place. I had never seen such a high concentration of dreadlocks in my life before. There were about 20 graduate-level students working or playing in between two party-sized tents, one of which would have fit well at a Circus. While a handful of the students were playing in the soccer game against the neighborhoods young talent, the other student organizers were totally engrossed in chopping up a rather large amount of Cabbage, carrots, onions, garlic, tomatoes, the works for vegetables, and tossing them into a bathtub sized tin bucket. Above these hard working vegetarians hung a painted sheet, which when translated, advertised something to the point of "Come and live in Solidarity with us in Utopia, May 23 - June 23." In my curiosity, I worked up the necessary courage to ask one of the dreadlocked students about some of the details behind their cause. It turned out that the particular neighborhood in which this celebration was taking place was home to a very high population of refugees and immigrants, many of whom were faced with the prospect of not receiving the necessary extensions of residence for which they were constantly applying.

Since our days were well filled with speakers, presentations, and excursions throughout greater Freiburg, it was our relaxed evenings that allowed us to get to know each other much better. More often than not, this was centered around dinner. During the first night of our seminar, we were treated to a welcome dinner at a local restaurant with sat upon the shore of a swan-graced lake. Since it was asparagus season, I decided to order the Spargel mit Kratze und Hollandaise Sauce with a half liter of the local Ganter brew. With the best effort from my Milwaukee's Best trained palate, I'd describe the Ganter's taste as hops-y. My entree, on the other hand is much easier conveyed through words, as I received a plate of what I now can recognize as 500 g of steamed white asparagus with scraps of fresh pancake pieces and the side of Hollandaise sauce. For those unfamiliar with shopping by the metric system, a half kg of asparagus is a lot. Imagine the most asparagus that you've eaten for a single meal and then multiply it by three. Also, because white asparagus is seldom seen at Polly's country market here's my best description: the taste is slightly sweeter and less earthy, perhaps because of the slightly different texture, which is tenderer. (I found this picture online. I actually had like 3 times that much asparagus with my order)

The extravagance of the first night gave way to the more frugal weekly dinner. Since there was a furnished kitchen on our residence floor, we decided to throw in a few euros for groceries and cook our own dinner. It was a college classic: spaghetti pasta with meat sauce, sauce without the meat, and with pesto. The entree was framed nicely with salad and garlic bread. We ended up sharing another dinner like this, and between the two of them I learned that Mary had just finished living in India, Tim had immersed himself in daily Tunisian life, Elise was learning Arabic, Chris had traveled to Chile to attend an environmental leadership conference for students from around the world, Dave had studied for a semester at the technical university in Munich, Hannah was focusing her undergraduate years around urban planning and development, and Priya was working with fellow engineers from her university to design a closed-loop bio-diesel engine, in which the byproduct of glycerin would be combusted for additional efficiency. All of us had been to Germany before.

While the names aren't important, the motivations are. This was a group of passionate individuals, and I was thankful to be able to trade experiences and ideas with them. Among the Michiganders we would talk about the state of the State, local politics, and our aspirations to improve our native Michigan. One of the four, it turned out was very involved with the Michigan Student Sustainability Coalition which organized different actions like sending petitions in the form of valentines to our elected officials expressing their desires for environmental legislation. This same student group organized during the annual Detroit Auto Show were they donned green work helmets and setup shop with signs that read, "Toyota, pull up your Prius, your Tundra is showing!"

Since I seem to be highlighting a lot on food and drink in this post, it would be a shame to leave out our farewell dinner. On the last night of the seminar, we were treated to dinner at the Feierling Biergarten in the heart of Freiburg. Leading up to this evening, we had heard raving reviews from local Freiburgers of the incredible taste of the Feierling beer, which as we finally looked at the menu was Bio certified. The Bio designation is pretty much our equivalent of "organic". Still, I had never heard of organic beer before, let alone tasted any. Luckily, the menu offered the option of ordering a Maß, or "measure", the standard 1 L mug.
True to our recommendations, the beer was delicious! Imagine beer made by honey bees, and you might start to imagine the taste. Instead of a hopsy bitterness, it had a subtle sweetness to it. It's crazy how different the Braumeisters can get their brews to taste, all while using the same four ingredients, water, grain, yeast, and hops. I'd rate it a Puma on the the Animal Kingdom scale.

Catch-up Part 3: Welcome to Freiburg

With the aid of a seven hour jump forward in time zones, I arrived in Frankfurt almost a full day after I had left Detroit. I caught a train ticket headed south to Freiburg, where I was to attend an introductory seminar with the nine other internship program participants. Some background: Shortly after Easter, I had received acceptance into the Transatlantic Renewable Energy Exchange (TREE), for which I had applied in winter. The program was federally funded by the German government for American and Canadian university students and recent graduates who wished to work in Germany’s booming renewable energy field. For me, the internship offered the combination of my two educational pursuits; German and what I deemed through my twenty-year aged idealism as merited engineering.


Due to my travelling complications which were mentioned in the earlier post, I had arrived in Freiburg two days before my seminar began, that is to say, two days before my room and board were to be provided. Luckily, my friend Karin, who was participating in a year of study at the University of Freiburg, had agreed to host me for the two unexpected days. Had I not been aware of Karin’s respectable credentials, expectations of such short-noticed hospitality would have been thought naїve. I am, of course, speaking of our shared alma mater and home parish, St. Mary Star of Sea.


After much difficulty and plenty of help from local Freiburgers, I was able to call Karin from a pay phone at the Freiburg Bahnhof, or train station. In no time at all, Karin and I were riding the Straßenbahn, literally street train, through downtown Freiburg on our way to her WG, Wohnen Gemeinshaft, or shared apartment. There I was introduced to Karin’s five mixed male and female Mitbewohner; three native Germans, one Pole, and one native of China. I had just tipped the WG scales in favor of the foreigners.


That night I shared dinner with Karin, her boyfriend Michael, his two older brothers, and his sister-in-law. The three brothers were all students at the University of Freiburg, with the oldest just finishing up his final few months of medical school. They also were all completely fluent in American English, as their Mother is American and always spoke English with them as children. After a delicious meal of pasta salad, curry-beef and rice, accompanied by a local, rather heavy-tasting Rothaus beer, we made our way to see the new Indiana Jones movie, which big surprise, was in English.


The next day, after an exorbidantly long sleep, Karin gave me a brief tour of the city, ending with a walk up to the Schlossberg, a tower ontop of a Hill just outside of the old city walls. The walk ended up being quite the trek, as the trails were also used by the many mountain biking enthusiasts that made Freiburg their adventure destination. When we reached the top of the Schlossberg though, it was clear why these bikers decided on Freiburg. The city was so completely surrounded by hills that you felt, as Karin put it best, hugged by them.


On Saturday morning, Karin and I met up with a friend of hers at the Münster, the present day cathedral that was first begun being built in 1120. Karin's friend, it turned out, had was our own private tour guide, which was really sweet because he seemed to know the young priest who let us behind the altar and into the private chapels and crypts. Yeah, near thousand year-old tombs...the Catholic equivalent of backstage passes.


After finishing the tour, our tour guide suggested an noontime snack, for which he generously offered to pay. Our snack options were myriad, since a bustling market sets up shop Monday through Saturday in the old city, which just happens to have the Münster as its center. There were bread stands and meat stands, fruit stands and vegetable stands. There were stands devoted entirely to asparagus, which in Germany is almost always white due to how it is grown. With all of the English that I had been hearing, I was ready for something classically German, and few things are more German than meals of bread and cheese. In the end, we all shared a half meter long baguette, bleu cheese, and bear's garlic cheese from a French stand. Close enough.


As we sat at an outdoor cafe table, our benefactor filled the conversation with his experiences of having grown up during an divided Germany. He spoke sincerely when expressing gratitude in the US's commitment to rebuilding a vibrant Germany and Europe after the WWII, and the US's further commitment to a democratic Europe during the Cold War. Here, more than my surprise at the ubiquity of English, more than my surrender to a French meal, was what I had been searching for. This was beyond the standard cultural fare. This was personal. This was German.

Catch-up Part 2: Home

Although I thoroughly enjoyed my time in Nicaragua, I was glad to be back in the states. My first night back, I stayed at my friend Sam’s in Dayton. He welcomed me back with familiar diet staples of mine: milk, cereal, and ice cream. What a guy! The next morning I rode back to Jackson with my sister Monica, who was nice enough to make the drive down to Dayton to pick me up. I was looking at five full days with the family before I had another plane to board. I did my best to knock off items systematically on the “To-Do” list, but some things were more of a challenge than I expected. My younger sister Gretchen luckily was already out of school, so we were able to catch up a fair bit, but much of the rest of my family were victims of one volatile “To-Do”… my plane ticket. I had reluctantly put off purchasing my plane ticket to Germany because my parents had graciously offered to gift some of their frequent flyer points to me, an offer that the cons of Procrastination never stood a chance at discouraging me from accepting.

Unfortunately, I, my mom, and my dad all lacked the necessary account information to make such a transaction, so we spent a good deal of time mixing up holding-time with increasingly more frantic explanations to the good people at Northwest Airlines’ 1-800 number. In the end it worked out, but the price I paid for booking my flight days before my intended departure was harsh; Instead of leaving on a Friday, I had to settle for Wednesday, and instead of flying direct, I was left with no other option but to connect from Detroit to Hartford to Amsterdam to Frankfurt.

New Mission: pack and arrange all travel accommodations in a day and a half. Yikes! I raced from the Nomad Bookhouse in downtown Jackson to pick up some books from my long hours to be spent en route, to St. Vincent de Paul’s to pick up some work slacks and shirts, to Gramer’s Chocolates on Waterloo to get some gifts for my hosts and friends that I would be meeting up with in Germany, only to come home receive gift cards to Elder Beerman’s from a mother who isn’t too keen on hearing that her son intends to wear thrift while overseas in fashion conscience Europe. Moms… aren’t they great?

Unfortunately, I still hadn’t packed. In fact I still needed to wash my clothes from Nicaragua. While my multiple loads of laundry passed through their spin cycles, I was graced by a last-night visit from my friend Mark; so much for sleeping. Mark and I covered a lot of ground, from dreams of grandeur and life plans to theology. By 4:00 or 5:00 in the morning of departure, I was back to folding my laundry and ready to start packing. By 8:00 AM, I figured I could lie down for a half hour, which inevitably turned into an hour. No worries, I recalled that my flight was to leave Detroit Metro at 12:40 or something like that. I can always sleep on the plane, I told myself.

Just as I finished the morning particulars, I decided to once again check my plane ticket. Yes, it’s still where I remember putting it, in my breast pocket. Departure time, 12:40? Departure time… Wait. Oh God, this can’t be right, I swear… 10:40? With heart beat gaining momentum, I quickly checked my watch. 9:17!

I burst into Monica’s room, who on the previous night offered to drive me to the airport, and awoke her from her sleep. This can’t be happening. I grabbed my bags and leaped down the stairs like I’m a contestant in the Gloucestershire Cheese Rolling race.Luckily, my dad walked in the front door as I tore through the family room. I don’t even know if I explained the full situation, but with one look, I knew that he understood. Four minutes later we already on the road, and I was already through a mental check of what I had forgotten in my scramble to get out of the door. All that I could come up with was my cell phone, which didn’t worry me too much, because I didn’t plan on making calls on it from Germany anyway, and besides, it didn’t work all too well. After trying to calculate the time that it would take to reach Detroit Metro and imploring my dad to drive faster, my list of left-behinds gained another member… the three 1-lb boxes of Dark Chocolate Turtles from Jackson’s very own Gramer’s Chocolates. Bummer, but still only a flesh wound. My hosts’ losses would just become my family's gain. After saying a clutch rosary with my dad, my heart rate started to settle down to a “dead at 45” obituary.

By the time we were driving through Ann Arbor, my flight was already boarding. I read on my boarding pass, for all International Flights present passport an hour previous to boarding. By the time we idled outside of McNamara Terminal, my watch read 10:15, at which I sincerely thanked my dad with a hug and made my way to the check-in Kiosk. As I hurriedly passed through Security and waited for the next Tram to my gate, I glanced yet again at my watch. 10:32. Although that had to be a record for airport security, I had only a few minutes until my plane took off!

As luck would have it, a guy next to me on the Tram was also on my flight to Hartford, and because of him and the fact that he was riding first class, I'm pretty sure the flight attendants kept the door open for just a bit longer than they usually would have. Without a minute to spare, I had made my flight. With a now obligingly descending heart rate, I succeeded in accomplishing at least one of my mental “To-Do” prompts without any complication. Sleep had never been so reassuring.

Catch-up Part 1: Nicaragua ETHOS Breakout

At 4:00 AM on the morning after my older sister Monica's graduation, I (along with 11 other UD Engineering undergraduates, 1 graduate student, and 1 professor) made my tired way to the Dayton International Airport for my departure. After a very punishing semester, summer was finally here, and by "here", I mean Nicaragua. Organized through UD's homegrown ETHOS organization (Engineers in Technical, Humanitarian Opportunities of Service-learning), the 14 of us immersed ourselves into the Nicaraguan culture while learning and working with renewable energy and appropriate technology.

Although the national transportation strike provided an unforeseen challenge, we made our way from the capital of Managua to the small village of Sabana Grande, near the northern border with Honduras. While in Managua for the first few days, we met with students at the National Technical University (UNI- for Universidad Nacional de Ingeniería) and exchanged research presentations with each other. But it was in rural Sabana Grande where we spent the bulk of our 11 day breakout living with host families and working with the women's solar group to build solar ovens. These ovens were designed with the goal to wean rural Nicaraguans from cooking over wood fires in enclosed spaces because the contained carcinogenic fumes of inefficiently burnt wood can have serious health affects to the women and children, those most likely to spend time in the kitchen. Everyday, our lunches were prepared in similar ovens, which in the Nicaraguan sun are able to sustain temperatures of 150 degrees Celsius or right around 300 degrees Fahrenheit. These temperatures are high enough to kill food bacteria like salmonella in chicken, which is exactly what we ate, delicious and salmonella-free chicken. After about 3 days of work building the solar ovens, we tackled photovoltaics.

The solar community that we were living, learning, and working with had organized themselves in such a way that established their own little labor-based economy where the currency was the hour worked. After a few years of working to build solar cookers, the buildings, and permaculture farm from which they operated, some of the women had accumulated several hundred and in some cases more than a thousand hours worked. These hours could then be used to buy items from the green store, which was stocked with inventories brought by groups like ours with clothes, books, school supplies, soccer balls, and cooking ware. The hours could also be saved to purchase a photovoltaic system for a home. In preparation for our own installations, we visited several homes that already were being powered by solar panels. The consumption was meager, as only 3 or 4 compact fluorescent or LED equivalent lights were being powered by the solar cells, but it was able to make an incredible difference. Kids could now read at night, study after dark, or just share some time with friends and family. It was truly inspiring to experience what passion, vision, and organization can accomplish, as all of the PV systems were assembled and installed by local villagers by small solar cells that didn’t make the cut at their original producer in Maine. It also gave us a better value for the service that we were providing through our installations, as the materials necessary for the two PV installations that we completed were paid for by the cost of our breakout.

Before we ended up flying back to the States, our service-learning part of the trip yielded to a few days of traveling, where we were able to see a little bit more of Nicaragua’s natural beauty. We spent one night tucked in the mountains near the city of Esteli, where we hiked through the lovely pine forests. Our last night was spent on the heart of touristy Granada, where we were preyed upon by the manifold of street vendors. Between the boat tour of the inland mansions on the lagoon and patronizing the overwhelming number of foreign-owned restaurants and bars, our time in Granada provided the just the right amount of irony and comparison to better digest the real motivations for our time spent on breakout.

While this post certainly can’t accurately account for my 10 days in Nicaragua, I did keep a decent journal while I was there, so I’ll try to post those later on. That way you should be able to get a more thoughtful, as opposed to factual account of my time spent under the Nicaraguan Sun.

Jumping Right In

I'm off to a late start with this blog, but hey, it's all a learning experience, so please bear with me through the initial confusion. In order to best remedy this lack in organization, I'll give a summary of what I've been up to thus far this summer. The details will be woven in to what I hope will be chronologically-acceptable, frequent postings. Enjoy!