Things I'm going to miss

In no particular order:

1. Gun control. I have yet to see a newspaper headline about someone being shot in Baden-Wuerttemberg. On the website where I check my hometown news, three of today's regional headlines are about people being shot: a seven-year-old hit by a stray bullet at an ice-skating rink in Charlotte, a Goldsboro teenager hit by a stray bullet while hunting with his father, a Sanford man murdered in his apartment. Germans tend to use knives to kill one another. When people fight with their rivals and wave weapons around to look intimidating, they're less likely to accidentally stab a skating seven-year-old in the knee than they are to accidentally shoot her.

2. Walkability. 90% of what we need here can be reached by foot.

3. A philosophy that discourages befouling one's environment. Germans recycle pretty much everything. The government offers incentives for reducing carbon footprints, from providing affordable mass transit to building extensive networks of bicycle paths. Solar panels abound on rooftops.

4. The idea that it is worth sacrificing excess consumption for improved quality of life. The grocery store on the corner is small, but it has pretty much everything we need, it's innocuous, and we can walk there.

5. Abundant farmers' markets that emphasize fresh local and regional produce. At the St. Urban farmers' market in particular: the ravioli guy, and the produce lady who always has a pear or apple or clementine for Elias, whether he's shopping with me that day or not.

6. Having an elementary school in the backyard.

7. Elias's third grade teacher, who is mature, laid back, practical, and enthusiastic, with sensible priorities.

8. A school system that gives teachers flexibility with classroom curricula, that maintains high enough standards for certification that no one thinks twice about trusting teachers with said curricula, and that doesn't mandate day after day of in-class, multiple-choice testing as a way to answer the question, "is our children learning?"

9. Trail-covered mountains five blocks east of the front door, and the option to walk or bike from any town in Germany to any other town entirely on designated pedestrian and bike trails.

10. The idea that all of society benefits when its members are well educated and in good health, backed up with a general willingness for tax dollars to go toward services that serve people other than oneself.

11. Alemannisch, Bairisch, and Schwyzerduetsch.

12. Rot Spaetburgunder, trocken.

Not a typical Saturday

Today has been one long day of visual stimulation: Die kleine Hexe, buskers, an anti-Nazi demonstration, and the 54th World Roller Figure Skating Championships (Junior division).

Elias's class is going on a field trip in February to see a stage production of Die kleine Hexe. The play is based on the classic 1957 German children's novel by Otfried Preußler. We'll be back in the states in February, so Elias told his teacher, Frau F., that he regretfully couldn't see the show with the class.

At about 9:45 this morning, Frau F.'s husband rang the doorbell to deliver a note from her: would Elias like to be her guest at the private showing for educators today at 10:30? The answer, of course, was a resounding YES.

While Elias was at the play, I strolled several times through the Saturday farmers' market, admiring the assortment of stalls and carefully mulling all the broccoli, lettuce, and egg vendors before finally making my purchases. And then, suddenly, ringing out from afar: the best busking my ears have ever heard. The Kiew-Brass-Quintett was performing just off the Muenster plaza, drawing an enthusiastic audience and raking in donations for needy children in Kiev. They were goosebumpingly good.

Elias and I returned to the Altstadt later this afternoon on our way to the skating championships across town. As we approached the Schwabentor, we encountered a gathering crowd of several hundred people, along with at least 100 police officers looking mighty intimidating with their big black batons and white helmets. The demonstrators, members and supporters of an anti-fascism group (Antifa), were protesting increased Neonazi activities by the Nationaldemokratische Partei Deutschlands (NPD), including recent bomb making in Lörrach, a city south of Freiburg. The large police presence was in part because the protest was organized without city permits; but two different people on two different ends of the street also told us that "the police and the Left have a tradition of not getting along in Freiburg." Elias and I left before things got ugly.

By the time the clashes started, we were safely away in the Schauenberghalle watching the last day of the junior division roller figure skating world championships. The hall was small enough that athletes and trainers sat mixed with the general public. When we arrived, members of the Japanese team were sitting in front of us, and the Brazilian team behind us. By the end of the evening, we were surrounded by members of the U.S. team.

It was a thorough pleasure watching all those young, athletic, coordinated, bespangled bodies accomplishing impressive jumps and turns. It was interesting to see the difference between the lyrical skaters, the aggressively athletic skaters, and the skaters who could successfully combine artistry with technical prowess. There was no comparison between those who were good and those who were great. Italy's skaters stole the show, from the women's and the men's long programs to the couples free dance; they were followed close behind by skaters from Brazil and France.

The take-away lesson of the evening: if the world championships of anything ever come to your home town, go.

A Bfund Kadoffen

Elias and I had a date in the Altstadt yesterday afternoon: we caught the new Pettersson und Findus movie at the Harmonie Kino and then had dinner at our favorite cheap restaurant, Euphrat.

On the way home, we stopped by the Thalia bookstore, where I coveted but did not buy the Alemannisches Wörterbuch für Baden. I'm starting to think of suitcase space and schlepping things back to the U.S., and it's a big book. I suppose it would have to be, considering that there are fifty different ways just to say "potato." So instead, I went for a small pocket paperback entitled Bairisch: das echte Hochdeutsch (Bavarian: the real High-German), by Richard H. Kölbl.

The book offers a fine sample dialog on buying potatoes at the market, which I quote in its entirety (English translations added) because of what it tells us about both potatoes and market transactions in Germany:

Biddsche, wås deafsn sei?
Bitteschön, was darfs denn sein?
[Please, what would you like?]

I hädd gean ā Bfund Kadoffen.
Ich hätte gerne ein Pfund Kartoffeln.
[I'd like a pound of potatoes.]

Woiche woinSn då? De fesdn odā bißl woachāre?
Welche wollen Sie da? Festkochende oder weichere?
[Which kind would you like? Those that hold together when cooked or those that are soft (waxy or starchy)?]

De fesdn hädd i gean ghabd.
Die festen, bitte.
[I'd like the waxy ones.]

Deafs ā wengāl mearā sei?
Darfs ein bisschen mehr sein?
[Is it OK if there's a little more (than a pound)?]

āja freile.
Natürlich.
[Yes, sure.]

HåmS sunsd no ān Wunsch?
Darf es noch etwas sein?
[Do you desire anything else?]

Nā, dangsche, des wārs.
Nein, danke, das wärs.
[No, thanks, that's all.]

Dann machāds drei Eiro grådaus.
Genau drei Euro, bitte.
[That comes to three Euros even.]
(pp. 98-99)

What can we learn from this conversation?

First, observe the unit of measurement, ā Bfund. In the U.S., we are taught that there are 2.2 pounds per kilogram.* In Germany, however, ein Pfund is half a kilogram, an even 500 grams rather than 454 grams. To an American like me, that's kind of like saying π is 3.2 (which, regrettably, is an American sort of thing to say), but if you try to discuss this with, for example, your Bavarian husband, he gets all defensive. For marital harmony, we agree ā Bfund is not a pound the world around.

It's a moot point, anyway, as demonstrated by the question, Deafs ā wengāl mearā sei? It's not uncommon that when you ask for a certain amount of something, say 100 g of olives, the stall proprietor puts a 200 g scoop into a bag for you and then asks if the extra amount is OK. The good thing about this is that the proprietor has much more experience weighing olives than you do, so he knows that when you said 100 g, you really meant 200 g.

Next, observe that the exchange includes a pivotal question: De fesdn odā bißl woachāre? In Germany, every potato has a role to play, a function to fulfill. It is vitally important to know what kind of potato to use for what situation. Perish the thought that you would use woachāre Kadoffen for a casserole, or fesdn for mashed potatoes. Be prepared for blank stares when you say you intend to bake them. Germans probably bake potatoes as often as they bake pie, which is to say, close to never. The proprietor may have to consult with her colleague, but in the end you will get the best potato for the job.

Finally, notice the price: drei Eiro grådaus. While the requested vs. proffered amount of olives might differ by a factor of two, it's easy to be more precise when weighing potatoes. At most you now have maybe a Pfund and a quarter. Dialect aside, you know you're in Bayern, and not in the bread-basket of Germany that is Baden-Württemberg, when a little more than a Pfund of potatoes costs a whopping three Euros. Note also that it costs exactly three Euros, despite the bit of extra weight. Costs often get rounded down for ease of transaction--one of the pleasant bonuses of shopping at farmers' markets.

*On Earth, anyway, where, conveniently, both Germany and the U.S. are located. A pound is a unit of weight. A kilogram is a unit of mass--as is, apparently, ā Bfund.

Schneeburg

When your child is done with school for the day at 12:10, he not only has enough time to do his homework, but also to begrudgingly accompany his mother on what was supposed to be a reasonably short hike. Thanks to remarkably poor signage (as the pocket Badische Zeitung hiking guide explains, many of the trail signs were stolen shortly after the trail was updated a dozen years ago), we ended up spending three hours on a six-mile hike--and that, an abbreviated version of what was only supposed to be a 9 km round trip. There were ruins involved, of course, but after today, I believe I can speak for both myself and Elias when I say we've had our fill of the dinky ones. As Elias said, "I wish we could see some ruins that were never ruined."

Today's destination was the Ruinen Schneeburg, located atop the Schoenberg, near the village Merzhausen, on the southern edge of Freiburg. Built in the 13th century by the Lords of Hornberg, ownership had transferred by 1349 to the leaders of Ebringen, a town owned by the Kloster St. Gallen. The Burg was abandoned by 1500 because the commanding authority had built a new residence down the hill in Ebringen. Like the Zaehringer ruins, Schneeburg (which wasn't so named until 1575) became a casualty of the German Peasants' War in 1525.

We didn't make it home until 18:30. Despite the relatively late hour (by German standards), the Tuesday farmers' market in front of St. Urban church was still in full swing. We wrapped up our evening pleasantly with a dinner of homemade ravioli (half pesto, half sun-dried tomato/mozzerella) with diced tomatoes, parsley, and fresh garlic--all from the market. After Elias was in bed, Rodi and Renate returned from their two-day tour of Burgundy, bringing tales of Romanesque churches and one non-ruined Burg after another. They also brough a bottle of red wine, which, after a few months of the local Spaetburgunders, was startlingly rich and complex.

Overview

Once upon a time, back in the sepia-tinted olden days, Stefan was a student at the University of Hamburg, where one of his friends in the Holzwirtschaft program was named Matthias. Yesterday, Matthias, his wife Bettina, and their kids Jona and Lina visited us in Freiburg. We did the touristy thing and went on a double-loop downtown meander. In addition to the requisite farmer's market shopping trip, Muenster tower climb, Gummibaerchen purchases, and Schlossberg hike, we also enjoyed the annual bread market at the Rathausplatz, where Stefan bought a round loaf a good two feet in diameter, and Elias tried his very first, long-coveted "Spaghetti Eis"--vanilla ice cream extruded to look like noodles, with strawberries (tomato sauce) and grated white chocolate (parmesan cheese) on top.

I'm pleased to report that, having survived climbing the Muenster tower last month, I gamely climbed it again. I learned that it is much easier to climb steep, narrow stone stairs when you do it with other people, as instead of imagining plummeting through the protective wrought-iron fence onto the hard cobblestones several stories below, you are forced to focus on the Arsch ahead of you lest you bump into it.

Which reminds me that Elias's peer-taught cursing vocabulary has progressed from "Mist" ("manure") to the slightly more expressive "Mist Haufen" ("heaping pile of manure"). The Badische Zeitung had an article on Saturday that refered to the pastoral odor of the Bavarian town Wahl, where the early morning air smells specifically of "Kuhmist" ("cow Mist"). Apparently there's a vast array of different Mist bouquets waiting to be smelled in Germany.

The article on the village Wahl (where, barring accidents, they expect 100% turn-out of all seven or so registered voters) was in honor of the national elections (Wahl/Waehlen) being held today. Germans vote on Sundays, when few people work and almost every business is closed, so no one has an excuse not to vote--except Stefan, alas, for reasons having to do with changes of address, non-fucntioning websites, and a slow postal system.

<-- Blooming artichokes, Batman!

Herdern

Our apartment is in a neighborhood called Herdern. Up the street is the St. Urban catholic church. Bells ring before every service. Sunday mornings are especially musical, with interesting little melodic patterns emerging as the higher bells are joined by the lower ones.

There's a small farmer's market in the church square twice a week, with fruits, vegetables, cheeses, eggs, meats, flowers, and more varieties of olives than I knew existed.

The roads and footpaths behind the church (the above photo was taken from one) lead up into the hills; many follow canals or natural creeks. If you stay out of the woods, you get some nice panoramic views of Freiburg over the occasional vineyard.

Elias and I took a walk this evening and found two musicians hanging out near the top of the hill. They had brought their acoustic guitars, a mike, and some lawn chairs, and were sitting in the middle of the sidewalk next to their parked car, singing and jamming away.

Daily life

We arrived in Freiburg just in time for the start of summer vacation. Elias is attending a day camp for the next two weeks in the hopes of making some friends and becoming more comfortable speaking German.

After dropping Elias off this morning, I walked through the Altstadt and across the Dreisam river to the Freiburg public authorities office and Ausländerbehörde (Aliens Authority). I had tried to visit the office yesterday afternoon, but forgot that in Germany, the day you decide to visit a government office is the day the office closes at 12pm. Because we're living here more than three months, both Elias and I need to apply for visas. Our family also needs to register with the city--even Germans need to do that--so that the city knows we're here and so we can get our garbage collection sticker.

Germans take garbage and recycling very seriously--so seriously that there's very little actual garbage. Paper and cardboard go into one container, glass bottles into another, biodegradable food waste into a third, and all packaging materials (plastic containers, cans, foil lids, etc.) into the "gelbe Sack" (yellow sack). What's left is Restmuell. We share Restmuell space with another tenant in our apartment building; our combined monthly allotment is about two cubic feet. That's not a lot of garbage. The gelbe Sacks, however, fill up fast, so we need that sticker.

After speaking with a friendly woman at the Ausländerbehörde, I made a visa application appointment for September and collected a stack of forms to fill out in the meantime. On my way home, I visited the farmer's market at the cathedral. Locally grown produce is sold on the north side; local and international produce and goods are sold on the south side.

Daily markets facilitate daily shopping. Germans go grocery shopping more often than Americans, in part because the daily shopping habit developed when most households included a stay-at-home wife, and also because most refrigerator-freezers are only about three feet tall. My new rule for buying food: if the backpack is full, the fridge will be full. Also, a kilo of green beans is a heckuva lot of green beans.

Last night, our landlord, Frau H.--a retired Gymnasium English and French teacher and a trained tour guide--took us on a tour of the Altstadt, so thanks to her I know the Muenster has been a market site for at least 700 years. The west tower was completed in 1330; carved into its base are records of the size of a loaf of bread in AD MCCLXX (1270), AD MCCCXVII (1317), and AD MCCCXX (1320). Want to make sure you're getting your money's worth? Hold your loaf up to the loaf outline carved into the Muenster stone. (Click on the photo for a larger image. I don't know if the three white circles are graffiti or other bread records.)

Frau H. also pointed out the very rude gargoyle on the south side of the Muenster. Seems the stonemason was displeased with his pay, so he arranged to have the bishop's house permanently mooned.