Düsseldorf

A 25-minute train ride away, this city is our closest "hub:" home to our local airport, my weekly "mums group," and our favorite place to visit new parks, shop for non-Ruhrgebiet fashion, and grab some ice cream. Although it's no Paris or London, we've come to appreciate Düsseldorf and I've realized that I owe it a post.

Düsseldorf consistently ranks in Mercer's top 10 world cities ranked on quality of life, joining such biggies as Vienna, Zurich, Vancouver and Auckland, and definitely ousting both Paris and London. My own theory is that high-ranking "quality of life" indicates that there's extensive public transportation, clean and safe streets, good schools, general happiness, and plenty of artistic offerings.

The only thing I knew about Düsseldorf before visiting was its famous spicy mustard in traditional pots. Löwensenf and ABB are the two brands to know (I'll bring some home for Christmas, Dad). People bring in emptied pots for refills, it's that serious.

None other than Vincent Van Gogh immortalized an ABB pot in a still life:

German cities specialize in a given beer, actually banning other cities from producing it. For example, Bamberg makes a smoky Rauchbier, Köln makes a light Kölsch, and even Mülheim makes Mölmsch. Düsseldorf's popular variety is called Altbier, a relation to the British ale, but sold in tinier glasses. Because people generally go through a number of these throughout the course of their meals, servers swipe penciled tallies onto coasters. This was our official bill at Uerige, a classic pre-WWI establishment in the Old Town:

The daily (which of course means every day except for Sunday) Karlplatz outdoor market is always bursting with...everything. Blooms, wooden crafts, specialty spices, homemade pastas, fresh produce, honey from Provence and oil from Italy. I always want it all. For example, all these roses:

With its roots in the romantic Düsseldorf school of painting in the mid-1800's and expressionists like Max Ernst and Otto Dix in the mid-1900's, Düsseldorf continues to lean forward with its art and houses many modern art museums.

The city also commissioned Californian Frank Gehry to design these three office buildings in the media harbor (1999). Reflections of the red and white buildings as well as the changing sky play across the silver surfaces. I love this trio, and I'm excited to see more Gehry in Prague in a couple of months.

This fine city hall and cobbled square lie near the Rhine.

Back in December, the square looked a little different:
In general, it's just a nice place to stroll along the promenade...

...listen to street musicians (these kids were on fire! Future Hanson!)...

...look at the Rhine...

...and enjoy an ice cream cone on a summer's night.

Slide show: "Home"

I feel very sheepish posting this since I realize how conceited it can seem, but I know that some of my relatives will like it, so here it is. When I recently heard the song "Home," by Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros, my mind tore through a mental flip book of my little family's journeys around Europe together. Since I have some creative time on my hands these days while Chris is working and Daisy is sleeping like a little angel, I got to try my hand at reproducing the truth that wherever we are together, that's home. I am holding this belief as a promise as we face another new transition to an unknown home next year. I hope you enjoy this sprint through our last year and a half!

Mallorca

While Chris was at a chemistry conference in Maine (in June! I'm so behind), Daisy and I went on a little vacation to Mallorca. In case Mallorca does not immediately ring a bell, I've included a map showing the Mediterranean island, shown by its capital, Palma de Mallorca. There's a seven hour ferry to Barcelona, just to give an idea of distance.

Mallorca belongs to Spain, but in Germany it is known as the "17th German state" because of the vast number of Germans who live and vacation there. When I told neighbors that I was going to visit, they sighed, "Oh, Malla," pronouncing the L's in the affectionate nickname. I purposefully stayed in a predominantly German area (there is also a sizable British colony elsewhere on the island), where menus, signage, and greetings were all in German. Sangria was still served in the biergartens, though! It was wildly mixed up.

After I booked our plane tickets, I learned of some famous people from Mallorca. Rafa Nadal, the tennis star, grew up here and still lives in a mansion on the northeastern side of the island. Father Junipero Serra grew up, taught philosophy, and got his doctorate in theology here in the mid-1700's. I first learned of Father Serra when I visited his missions that dot the California coast. I also distinctly remember that my first school report that needed to be typed on a computer was about Father Serra. My dad brought home the computer from work that night so that I could type (painstakingly, with my little pointers).

My main objective in traveling with Daisy was to get some warm beachy time where both of us could play. Although our trip to the French Riviera and Cinque Terre last summer definitely topped this, the beach itself on Mallorca was better than either of those coasts. Fine white sand and a huge expanse of warm, shallow swimming water...







The city of Palma was surprisingly big, with shopping avenues, bustling plazas, and a huge Gothic cathedral.

Gaudi left his mark in this city. His designs are so refreshingly whimsical.

"La Seu" was built on the grounds of an Arab mosque. It ranks among Europe's largest cathedrals and lies very near the sea, which you can barely see in the background here:

The cathedral is architecturally significant because it has the narrowest pillars supporting the nave's vaults anywhere in the world. Also, Gaudi was invited in 1901 to add some artistic elements like this fantastic canopy:

More recently, this chapel of the cathedral was built by a local architect. It was kind of creepy to feel like I was in an underwater cave, but really fun to see some daring art in a church.

One day, we took a slow wooden train dating from 1912 into the mountains.

It felt like California: blue mountains, citrus trees, and red-tiled roofs. We had some fresh-squeezed orange juice in Soller and then took the train back. Because all we really wanted to do was....

...play at the beach!

Copenhagen

At last, the final chapter of our Scandinavia trip in June, following Helsinki, Tallinn, and Stockholm...

We arrived in Copenhagen tired from the six hour train ride, hot in the muggy weather, and confused about why we even left Sweden. Since this was the 6th day of a hectic pace, we decided to skip the museums and just absorb the city. If we go back, we still have a lot to see.

Our hotel was bare-bones but wonderfully located, right on the colorful Nyhavn (New Harbor), a sailors' quarter dating from the 1670's.
Surprisingly, sitting sounded good (probably the heat), so we took a one-hour canal and harbor cruise departing from Nyhavn. Easy peasy.

Our serene tour guide gave every spiel in Danish, English, and German. She told us that we should have come the next day when she was doing kids' cruises while dressed as a pirate, and apparently speaking Pirate as her 4th language? Or, maybe her Danish, English, and German all carry pirate inflections? We'll never know. From the boat, we saw:

The 2005 opera house, much of which is built under water. I blame the angle on a wave.

Amalienborg Palace, home to Queen Margrethe II and her husband.

...and no Little Mermaid statue. She is at the Beijing Expo. Wah.

After, we wandered through the university district- 30,000 students, free tuition - and feasted on Riz-Raz's vegetarian buffet. We also found the bust of Niels Bohr, who won the 1922 Nobel Prize for theoretical physics as professor here in Copenhagen before moving to the US in 1943, where he helped develop the atomic bomb.

After dinner, I managed to talk Chris into visiting Christiania, the alternative squatters' colony. I was too embarrassed to take out my guide book (not like I fit in anyway!), so we learned the details back at our hotel. There are huge, graffiti "no photography" murals, so this is the only one we have, taken at the entrance. On the flip side of this sign, it reads, "You are now entering the EU."
Just a few of the fascinating things I learned about Christiania: It was established in 1971 with 700 squatters, of which 180 remain (of the present total of 600 adults and 200 kids). It's built on a former military base still owned by the ministry of defense. There's no buying or selling of property - when someone moves, the residents decide who will be invited in. Rick Steves reports that a third of the residents work outside the community, a third work inside, and a third don't work much at all. The community pays $1 million per year to the city for utilities and another $1 million to run its local affairs. Apparently, they don't use the standard police force much and settle things internally. That was one thing that made me not want to stay long. Or take pictures. Sadly, the soil is poisoned from its military days so nothing is grown here. Maybe they should move.

It's nice to room in a central location - we returned to our little Nyhavn for the last of the evening's glow, with a Carlsberg, of course. Our hotel is the brick building on the far left, and the red building two houses over is where Hans Christian Anderson lived and wrote his first stories.

The next day was rainy the whole day long. We stepped into the city hall, which was modeled on Siena's in Italy.

I posed with H.C.'s statue outside the city hall. Then, we ran to a bookstore to find a collection of his stories. Along with that, we bought "The Wonderful Adventures of Nils," by Selma Lagerlöf. She was the first woman to receive the Nobel Prize in Literature, and we were excited to read her masterful weaving of Swedish folklore and nature. We both devoured the book and are poised to buy "The Further Adventures of Nils" online. Anyway, sorry, this post is about Denmark.

More rain: We decided to brave Tivoli Gardens, the 2nd oldest amusement park in the world (the oldest is also in Denmark). Walt Disney came here and was obviously inspired. Daisy fell asleep in the buggy once inside the park, so we were able to have some tea and crack open our new books.

The park is very pretty and filled with rides and outdoor performance venues. I read that there is ice skating and a Christmas market here in the winter. Because it was a Monday, a quiet day in the city, there were no pantomimes or concerts for us, which was fine. It was fun to teach Daisy what a ride was. The first one involved sitting in a flying treasure chest and soaring through scenes from Anderson fairy tales. The next one was a carousel.

The third and final ride was an airplane. She eventually got the hang of it! I love how her hood makes her look like a serious pilot.

And that was it! Soaking wet and facing our flight home that night, we decided on a coffee and "danish" finale. It's typical that "danishes" are actually called "Vienna bread" here. They were delicious, yum!

The 7 Hurdles of the Language Barrier

I used to dismiss the Language Barrier. I was sure that with an apologetic smile and a few gestures linking new vocabulary words, the Barrier would vanish. I was in denial.

After a year and half of making mistakes in German, I have pooled my embarrassing diary entries and cataloged the seven obstacles that are always in my way.

1) The plurals is different.
I know that eyeglasses are "die Brille" and that hair is "die Haare." However, in German, glasses are singular and hair is plural. I can sometimes remember to spit the equivalent of "Is that a new glasses?" and "Your hairs look nice," but I can never get my eyes to stop laughing at my words.

2) I avoid certain words because they make me giggle.
Could I ever say, "I feel like swimming?" The answer is no, because it requires me to say, "Ich habe Lust zu schwimmen," which involves me saying "I have Lust" with a capital L, which makes my face turn pink and my pulse quicken confessionally. I also do not like to talk about the "Fahrt" button on the elevator or the Malzbier bottles labeled "Tut gut."

3) Unnaturally comes Old English sentence structure to me.
I can still hear little Lis plaintively sighing, "Mehr hast du nicht!" (More have you not!) Or Sarah, with her charming "Regenbogen finde ich toll" (Rainbows find I cool.) I love them when I hear them, but I need to personally try more of these quaint, flip-flopped sentence structures on for size.

4) "There is an old German saying..."
In stilted German, I once explained to my friend Trixi about how Chris and I like Europe but would like to live close to our families. Trixi started talking about lilies-of-the-valley. What? She took a minute to explain - in English, thankfully - that it was an old adage about how you can't have both lilies-of-the-valley and plaid. Which, upon reflection, I agreed with. (These German sayings can really be very insightful.) I was happy to share the English saying with a similar message: "You can't have your cake and eat it too." This didn't really impress Trixi, since it's hard to understand why someone would want a cake to remain uneaten. If the Germans win this Proverb Competition, it's because they have such a huge pot of proverbs choose from. It seems like every time Chris and I go out in public, we come home with a new wise saying. Someday, maybe we'll be able to sprinkle conversations with them, too.

5) Please, if you can remember, maybe try to be a little less polite.
It is a well-known fact that Americans say thank-you too frequently and say excuse-me when they don't need to. If I just zipped my lips, I could blend right in. But no, I have an overpowering urge to look people in the eye and say a red, white and blue apology when I almost run into them with the buggy, and I draw some attention when the nice bakery ladies give Daisy a cookie and I smile a bit too brightly.


6) "I speak English."
When Kathrin, who speaks very good "school" English, asked if I'd like anything to drink from her kitchen, I said "I'll have a water, thanks!" After she nodded and walked back to the play room to supervise the girls, I realized that she thought I meant, "I have a water, thanks for offering." I should have spoken more clearly for my non-native-English-speaking friend. (Also, referring back to #5 on my list, I should have signaled "please" instead of a preemptive and misleading "thanks.") At doctor's offices and elsewhere, we are learning to support teetering English misunderstandings with emergency German phrases, resulting in awkward, meandering Germish dialogues.

7) I don't speak English.
Germans here have learned Englishy-English. They walk, not on sidewalks, but on pavement. Which has a kerb, by the way. They shall tell you to bring your diary because they fancy scheduling future playdates. They have never heard the word "diaper" and I surprise myself by changing Daisy's nappy. Of course, you all know that Daisy has a buggy and not a stroller. The word "vacation" gets a vacant stare, but saying holiday clears it up. At every parting, I stiffly accept the formal, "Greetings to Chris!" They are trying to speak my language, but it is not mine. It's just another part of the - very real - Language Barrier.

Tallinn, Estonia

This is a continuation of my Scandinavia story in June. Stockholm and Copenhagen will follow, eventually.

From Helsinki, we day-tripped to Tallinn via a 2-hour cruise ship. With a play area like this, we happily breezed across the Baltic. Why can't airplanes be like this?


Tallinn's medieval wall and watchtowers greeted us. This city's flag is the same as Denmark's red and white cross, since Denmark ruled Tallinn in the 13th century. Since then, ownership has passed to Germany during the Hanseatic Golden Age, who lost it to Sweden, who then lost it to Russia, after a brief independence and Nazi occupation. It was a very long road to Estonia's independence in 1991. The layers of history are evident all throughout this city. How the unique Estonian language, cuisine, and traditions survived the centuries is beyond me.

One of Tallinn's many small surprises. I have a thing for doors.

The medieval German-merchant street leading up from the harbor. Old KGB headquarters are just down this street.

Pulpit of the 14th-century "Church of the Holy Ghost"

We soaked it up: Tallinn's bustling Town Hall Square on a crisp day in early June. Lots of handknits, but we weren't really in the mood for mittens or sweaters. (Plus, I didn't really believe half of the women who said they were handknit.)

We slipped into a quiet inner courtyard for lunch at Von Krahli Baar. It felt like we had arrived in Eastern Europe.

Cold potato pancakes stuffed with shrimp. Sounds funny, but they were delicious! We also tried borsch for the first time and really liked it (a soup made with beets and tomatoes). After paying for our (cheap!) meal with our bank card to avoid needing Estonian krooni for the day, we wanted to leave a tip and decided to ask our server if she took Euros. We thought that this was reasonable, since Estonia is switching to the Euro on January 1. Little did we expect her to grasp our coins excitedly, examining them as if they contained the answers to all of her questions about the future. As we left, she was still huddled over them with her coworker.

In the 18th century, Russia built this pink palace which now serves as Estonia's parliament building, topped by the Estonian flag and seal.

Perched on a hilltop is the beautiful Russian cathedral, strategically built in 1900 over the grave of an Estonian hero. Rick Steves aptly calls it "muscle-flexing."

Something I love about world history is the peaceful end of the Cold War. It's thrilling to imagine the optimistic momentum that was necessary to produce the Baltic Chain in 1989. From here to Lithuania, hopeful nationalists clasped hands to form a 360 mile human chain symbolizing their solidarity against the USSR. Recently, Estonia has chosen to join the EU and further distance itself from its Russian/Soviet past. However, Estonia remains 25% Russian; a seemingly difficult line for the government to walk.
Because prices are so much lower in Estonia than Finland, our ship back was packed with Finns with packed suitcases. All. full of. beer.

Lessons from a 2-year-old

I can learn a lot from Daisy.

Characteristic of children everywhere, her language is exploding. This middle-class, 21st century girl knows that "C" is for "computer" and "coffee." A toy is starting to be "mine" instead of "Daisy's." When I ask her to pull the plug in the bathtub, she responds with an off-the-cuff, "Oh yeah, sure, I can pull the plug!"

I've noticed little teleological tags that she adds to nouns. For example, she will note that a ladder is for climbing, smack her lips while explaining that a cup of milk is for drinking, and gesture excitedly to a bird that is, always, for chasing.

I smile at this simple 2-year-old worldview, one in which an object has a single purpose. She will outgrow this. By now, we adults can brainstorm a variety of verbs to attach to birds: watching, feeding, imitating, photographing... If pressed, I'm sure I could list 100 bird-verbs.

But sometimes, I like to silence the Creative Brainstorm-er and try to see my surroundings Daisy's way. Let's see, the piano is for playing (but when is the last time I did that?), the crumbs are for cleaning up (oh, don't remind me), and the bills are for paying. If I saw everything this way, I would be as energetic as a toddler, jumping from task to task as my eye wanders. When I take this mindset a step further, I can decide that tantrums are for patience building, rude service people are for forgiving, and homeless people are for helping.

And voila! I am on my way to sainthood and satisfaction; not by reading "The Purpose-Driven Life," but by copying my daughter. A bird is for chasing, after all.

Time for Ballet

Sometimes I think about enrolling Daisy in a kindergarten, which is actually a state-funded preschool for over-3's. Attending a kindergarten would be the best way for Daisy to learn German. I recently looked into a very nice kindergarten in our neighborhood. I had a tour and was impressed by how orderly the materials were arranged and how many rooms the children rotate between.
However, the hours of kindergarten run from 7:00-2:00 every day. Of course, I could consistently be late and early, but it just does not seem like the ideal scenario. First of all, I don't have a job, and day-care, however educational, is not necessary. What would I do during that time? Grocery shop? Blog!?
Another concern is that, though Daisy would learn German, she would struggle to communicate. For example, Daisy is in an wildly possessive stage right now. Yesterday, another toddler touched her buggy and she screamed in outrage, "No, girl, this is Daisy's!" Fascinatingly, this conviction also applies in reverse. Today, she trailed her friend Berenike all around the park, arms outstretched with B's sand toy, reminding - scolding? - "Here's your toy, this is Berenike's..." It's sad to imagine Daisy in a frantic situation like this without an English-speaking moderator to understand her. But it's tragic to imagine Daisy getting used to it, to having this way of life for a year, to imagine inflicting that kind of knock to her self-esteem. I believe that there are gentler ways to learn a new language.

Something that has always made sense is local parent-child groups. Daisy has me, I have a social setting with other parents, and we both have German in surround-sound. Besides our Thursday Spielgruppe, we've been enjoying a Monday forest group. Fridays we're in Dusseldorf for a British "Mums" group. But we have some open days!

Yesterday, we tried out a new Tuesday group: "Mami und Ich" dancing! I expected Daisy to take a while to warm up to the new situation, like she usually does. We discussed the first class a lot the night before and morning of, just like we did for her recent amazing doctor appointment. We read one of her favorite books, "Time for Ballet." We got there early. She wore her "tutu dress" with pink bows in her hair. We were ready.

Contrary to my very realistic expectations, Daisy ran in like it was home. Smiling, laughing, spinning. It was everything she -and I - ever dreamed it could be. The teacher is efficient and bubbly, the music selections are great, we have great props like tambourines with flowing ribbons, scarves, and magic wands, and there's times for the moms to get a work-out, for instance, by prancing with our little darlings on our backs. During a peaceful flute melody, we all paired off and waved big colorful banners up and down. Apparently, Daisy was swept away by the beauty of it all and joined in with a lovely falsetto coo. I think I felt my eyes welling up. She kept up her cooing for the rest of the class, though, a little to my chagrin. But who has the heart to make a 2-year-old stop singing along with the music while she dances? Not Miss Katrin, nor I.

Success! Next on the docket: swimming, music, or gymnastic classes? I'll keep you posted.

World Cup Stories

Summer 2002 - Chris and I had just met and were hanging out with mutual friends from church to watch the semi-finals of the World Cup at something like 4:30 AM in California. Germany was playing against South Korea. I came in waving a German flag, bearing some of Granny's German Chocolate Cake, and Chris swears that I had face paint. I'm not so sure. The next game, we were both cheering for Germany!

Summer 2006 - Chris, sporting his Schweinsteiger jersey, and I were cheering on the German team once again, this time in Madison at State Street Brats. The World Cup was actually in Germany this year.

Summer 2010 - Our third World Cup together! It's like an anniversary.

We count it a huge stroke of luck that we are in Europe during a World Cup year. Never before have we seen this level of patriotism in Germany. Flags now hang down out of apartment windows, decals adorn every car, and soccer balls are the theme of every imaginable item at the store (hard boiled eggs that are painted like soccer balls, hamburger buns that are embossed with them...) With the help of vuvuzelas, those extremely loud plastic trumpets, we are reminded of every game by someone heralding it in the neighborhood. I should mention how satisfying it is to blast our vuvuzela every time Germany scores a goal! Do they sell these in the US?

We've jumped into the celebration! Here are some pre-game pictures at home before the big England-Germany game.



Our apartment building lies on a fairly busy street, for our city. After the first Germany win, we could not believe the great "parade" we got to see (and hear) from our windows. Probably 45 minutes of constant honking, blasting, and hollering. Sure, it woke Daisy up, but it was exciting! This time, we had our camera ready (though the video camera needed a good charging!) and we hope we can share a little bit of the excitement.




I'm probably a bad fan to even think this, but I'm worried that this is the last celebration we'll witness. Argentina will be tough to beat on Saturday!