emily with gifts

On Monday, after skipping one class because of my 4:30 a.m. arrival back to Lüneburg after the Köln trip, I decided I should probably go to campus and attend my other class of the day.  Believe me, the decision was difficult.  But I'm glad I did, because after said class, I went into the USAC office and found a package addressed to me from my best friend, one Paige Davies.

Now, Paige knows basically everything about me, so, of course, this care package was basically the greatest care package ever sent.

The contents:

• Glamour magazine with Lea Michele on the cover.
• I don't think there was a single time last year when we didn't have at least one magazine chilling around our suite.  Now, I can get my beauty tips, boy tips, and Glee fix all in one place.
• Paul Frank folder
• Gotta keep organized, you know.  Paige is much better at this than I am.
• Two pretty notebooks
• For the thought-recording and story-writing and what not.  An English major always needs places to write.
• Highlighters
• I only brought one to Germany with me, and the reading for my EU class has almost worn it out.  It's good to have replacements.
• Index card sized sticky notes
• Studying, meet the wall.  Yes.  Also, random notes of happiness, meet places you wouldn't be expected to be.
• A corkscrew
• This package was apparently originally supposed to be for Birthday 21.
• An orange towel and washcloth
• Because Paige knows how I feel about the color orange.
• Goats milk soap
• WHOA!  That's basically the coolest thing ever.  I can't wait for my skin to get super soft.
• Nightlight: A Parody
• On the inside front cover, Paige wrote "To Emily - who loves Twilight as much as I do."
• A University of Idaho lanyard and an Anti-BSU button
• The card said they were to remind me where I came from.

An absolutely fantastic birthday/care package from one of my favorite people ever.  Thanks Paige, you made my week.

emily on the rhine

Last weekend, I went to Köln, the fourth largest city in Germany and one of the most touristy.  And, dare I say it, my favorite German city so far.  (This is saying something, because Berlin is really, really cool.)

The weekend was planned as a girls' weekend out, not as anything particularly cultural.  When we left Lüneburg, the only plans (aside from train tickets and hostel reservations) we had were to visit the chocolate museum and the Dom.

So after we got to the city and found our hostel, we headed straight to the world's most happiest place.  And no, I'm not talking about Disney World.  The Köln Schokoladen Museum combines a history of chocolate throughout the world, a description of the chocolate process from cocoa bean to chocolate bar, and a real, working Lindt factory.  With samples.

The museum was not only fascinating (and tasty) but also well-designed.  There was information clearly designed for adults, but underneath that information were sections written simply coupled with interactive exhibits.  A museum that adults and kids can enjoy simultaneously.  It was educational.

And just awesome.  There were old people in white coats and chef hats hand-crafting some of the world's best chocolate.  Sure, there were conveyer belts popping out truffles, but there were also pieces of chocolate being made by artists.  It was artistry.  I've always known that food can be art (I've tasted my brother Matt's cooking), but I was completely awed, watching those chocolatiers.  It was absolutely amazing.

As we left the chocolate museum, we looked across the river and saw a carnival going on.  We'll get back to that later.

The next morning, we went to the city's tourist office and asked the lady at the desk where we should eat breakfast.  She immediately told us to go to Bastians, pulled out a map, and showed us how to get there. She estimated it was a ten minute walk, and we wondered why she was sending us out so far when we were already in the city center.  Once we got there, we understood.  Bastians is a bakery/brunch place.  We went inside, and the place was packed.  We got a table, somehow chose our breakfasts from a large and varied menu, and then just enjoyed the atmosphere.  It was brunch, Köln-style.  Everything was bustling and happy.  And once we got our food, oh my.  I had fruit and yoghurt and an egg and bread, and it was basically heaven.  I love brunch.

After that, we headed up to the Kölner Dom, the most famous point in the city.  We'd already seen the Dom a few times, given that it's visible from basically everywhere.  But now we could appreciate its true grandeur.  The Kölner Dom houses the world's largest working bell.  Which makes sense, because its easily one of the largest cathedrals in Europe.  And absolutely gorgeous.

It's amazing that the Dom still exists.  In World War II, some 70% of the city was destroyed, including most of the area around the Dom.  Yet, it survived the war with nary a shrapnel scratch.  Truly a blessing, for this piece of architecture is not something that should be destroyed by something such as a war.

The interior of the Dom was as beautiful as its exterior, filled with detailed stained glass and ancient artifacts and everything beautiful.  Every surface seemed decorated, from the tops of the rafters to the tiles of the floors.  But it wasn't gaudy or too ornate.  It was certainly a Medieval cathedral, but it wasn't oppressive.  It was perfect.

After the Dom, we went to the Roman-German history museum which detailed the time in which Köln was under Roman rule.  Interesting, but it paled in comparison both to the grand cathedral next door and the chocolate museum from the night before.

After the museum, we kind of moseyed out way back toward the river, and we crossed the Hohenzollern Bridge, which was absolutely covered in love padlocks.  Most of the padlocks were inscribed with two names and a wedding date.  And when I say the bridge was covered, I mean it.  The Rhine River is quite wide at this point, and there were thousands or tens of thousands of locks attached across the entire river.

I considered the locks on the bridge almost as inspiring as the Dom.  While it takes an awful lot of dedication and belief to build something like a cathedral, it also takes a lot of dedication and belief to truly love someone.  And the bridge gave examples of thousands of people who have that dedication and belief.  At one point along the bridge, someone had spraypainted "Liebe ist nur ein Traum," which means "Love is just a dream."  In another color, someone else had crossed out the last four words of these statement and replaced them with "ist die Warheit," meaning "is the truth."

My absolute favorite addition to the bridge wasn't a lock, but a small plate attached instead.  Translated, it means "Happiness is the only thing that doubles when shared."

After the bridge, we went to the previously mentioned carnival and rode a few rides.  Also as previously mentioned, our trip didn't have any sort of educational experience.  And having seen the ancient culture stuff, we thought it was very culturally appropriate to end the trip on roller coasters.  And it was fantastic.

Our train back to Lüneburg that night was disrupted by people protesting against the moving of nuclear waste to nearby Gorleben, meaning Chaz and I didn't get back to Lüneburg until about 4:00 a.m.  But, despite sitting on a stopped train for over two hours, I didn't mind the journey.  Because the weekend was a complete success.

emily in the gö

The day before Halloween, I took a 3 hour train ride to Göttingen to visit Sarah, the 21-year-old daughter of my host mom whose bedroom I currently occupy.  I met Sarah in September, when she came to visit Lüneburg, and she invited me to come check out the college town where she's studying.  So I did.

Göttingen is a really cool little town in the southern-most part of Lower Saxony.  It had a fantastic vibe, mainly because it's definitely a college town.  According to Sarah, the students make up about a third of the population of the city.  (Moscow, anyone?)

I arrived at noon, and our first stop was lunch.  I had mentioned to Sarah when I met her in September that I missed Mexican food, something that rarely exists in Germany.  So she took me to the one Mexican place she knew, a little taco joint that wasn't really particularly Mexican.  But it was the closest thing I've had in a while, and I fully enjoyed it.

After taking a brief tour of the city (throughout which Sarah kept telling me that there wasn't much to see), we climbed 250 or so steps to the top of the tower of the St Johannis Kirche.  The view was absolutely incredible, of course.  Even Sarah said she saw the city in an entirely new light.

We then took an afternoon break for the German tradition of Kaffee und Kuchen at a really fantastic cafe.  Kaffee und Kuchen is basically the German version of the Brisith afternoon tea.  It's a old tradition, and it's dying out, but I've been taken out for Kaffee und Kuchen three times now, and altogether, I'm a fan.  It's a slower part of living, one that I think gets forgotten a bit too often.

My favorite part of Göttingen: the bikes.  Like most parts of Germany, Göttingen is a bike town, but I've never seen so many bikes altogether.  Everyone rides bikes, and to everywhere.  Outside the train station, there is a parking lot sized parking lot for bikes!  Clean air and exercise and whatnot, I was impressed.

Throughout the day, we spent a lot time walking through streets lined with shops and campus pathways lined with autumn trees, and we talked about our studies and our countries and our love lives.  I was only there for five hours, and I spent a total of six hours on the train, but I fully enjoyed the afternoon.  The train rides gave me a chance to catch up on homework and reading, and Göttingen gave me a chance to catch up on breathing.  Just a day away from Lüneburg, but a day well spent.

emily at the edge

The last weekend in November, I went to visit the Inner German Border, the land in the middle of nowhere that was the dividing line between the West and the East.

And when I say the middle of nowhere, I really mean it.  There's nothing there.  Even now, twenty years after reunification, there's nothing there.  The towns are small and away from the border; the trains don't run anywhere near the Grenzland.  We had to rent a small tour bus in order to see anything, given that NOTHING goes there.

Our first stop of the day was at an old (13th or so century.  German version of old.  Not American version of old.) fortress.  It was kind of fitting for there to be a fortress near the border, given how heavily fortified it was, but kind of amazing as well.  The reason there's nothing left near the border is that the DDR tore it all down.  The fact that this fortress was spared from this complete destruction is kind of amazing.

Next stop was lunch at a tiny Rundlingsdorf, a circular village.  Very, very tiny and very, very circular.  Food was good.  That's really all I have to say about that.

Next we went to Stresow, a town that is no more.  It lied along the Elba river for at least 6 centuries, but once the Elba became the border between the BRD and the DDR, it was destroyed.  Buildings are good things in which to hide, and the DDR couldn't have people hiding anywhere near the place they could escape.  While we were at Stresow, we met a very old man who was visiting the memorial site with this family.  He told us that he was born in Stresow; he walked us to the very spot his house had once been until the DDR kicked them out.  An entire village with an entire history gone with the exception of the few still living to remember it.

After we left Stresow, we went to see an old DDR watch tower, one of several scattered along the German countryside.  Though the fences it overlooked are now torn down, the nothing-ness they ran through still remains.

I am quick to explain to you just how EMPTY this entire area is.  There's nothing there.  We can see rivers and monuments and watchtowers, but that's it.  But there is one good thing to come from the nothing.  Because no people were allowed or dared to get anywhere close to the former border, plants and animals flourished.  Not just in Germany, but along the entire formed Iron Curtain.  The region now forms what it called the Grüne Band, a wildlife reserve from Norway to Turkey.  One can walk or ride a bike through beautiful territory dividing the former chunks of Europe.  And it is pretty.  Quiet, and peaceful, and pretty.  But just like Neuengamme, its serenity comes with a grain of salt.

emily haunted

The weekend following the Berlin trip, I had the opportunity to visit Neuengamme, a former concentration camp fairly close to Hamburg.  The experience was haunting but definitely something in which I'm glad I chose to participate.

The concentration camp was fairly well preserved, with the exception of its rows of wooden barracks.  In place of these stood rows of rock piles to indicate previous placement.  I couldn't get a photo capturing the entire courtyard; it was just too big.  But this is a representation of a small part of it.

Once inside the museum, we learned about the living conditions of the prisoners at Neuengamme.  They were entirely men, and, as most history books will say, underfed and overpacked.  Our guide explained that five men would sleep in each of the beds.  Not five per 3-tiered bunk, five per tier.  Fifteen per 3-tiered bunk.  Yet, each of the beds was smaller than a normal twin sized bed found in world's worst freshman dormitory.

Neuengamme wasn't a death camp in the way that Auschwitz or Dachau were.  Prisoners were not sent to Neuengamme to be exterminated.  It was primarily a work camp, serving as a brick factory for the German war effort.  Yet the average life expectancy of a Neuengamme prisoner was only 90 days.  After 90 days, a prisoner was either dead from exposure and exhaustion or completely unable to work, at which point they would be shipped to Bergen-Belsen.

This picture shows the brick factory, the largest and one of the best preserved buildings on the site.  This, the factory floor, is an extremely spacious room, yet it only shows one small part of the entire operation.

The Neuengamme tour was an intense experience for me.  The area that was once the home to thousands of men being forced into hard labor because of something as simple as religion or race is now quiet and relatively serene.  The late fall weather blew orange leaves across green grass around brick buildings reminded me almost of Moscow at this time of year.  But it's all too easy to imagine the horror that was there sixty years ago.

It's so easy for people to say the Holocaust never happened, that the atrocities committed in Germany, Austria, Poland and elsewhere were lies fabricated by allied forces.  Yet, as I walked across those grounds, it was all too easy to tell that while the people are gone, the buildings, the stories, and the ghosts remain.

emily of age

The weekend of October 9-11, I went with the International Office at Leuphana to Berlin.  Those of you with a decent memory for dates might realize that this meant I was in Berlin on my Oct 11, 2010, my 21st birthday.  Coming of age in the German capital, where, of course, the legal drinking age is 16.  Woo.

It was a most incredible weekend.  Berlin is a city with so much history and so much going on.  Unlike the tiny little Hanseatic city of Lüneburg where I live, pretty much all of Berlin was destroyed in the World War II, so most everything is new and modern.  Yet, even the new and modern buildings are racked with history, given that Berlin was a hotbed for Cold War tensions.

We took a walking tour of the city, ate pizza at this ridiculously cramped and amazing Italian place, saw La Traviotta auf Deutsch (Italian operas in German?  oh my), toured the Reichstag, visited the Stasi museum, and much more.  It was a very action packed weekend.

Unfortunately, my camera died my first day in town.  I took Flip Video of the rest of the adventure, but given that it's been a month and I'm just now WRITING about the weekend, you can guess how much video editing I've done lately.  So hopefully, more Berlin documentation is to come.

But one thing I do want to point out from one of the few buildings of which I took pictures, is this:
The words on this building, though difficult to tell from the size of this picture, say "Siehe, Ich bin bei euch alle Tage bis an der Welt Ende.  Unser Glaube ist der Sieg, der die Welt Ueberwunden hat."

The first half comes from the Gospel of St. Matthew 28:20, the King James Version of which reads, "Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world."

The second half comes from the First Epistle of John 5:4, which reads (again KJV) "And this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith."

The building is, fittingly, the Berlin Cathedral, but I believe the words it displays are applicable to the history of this great city and this great country.  This church was built in 1905, and in the hundred years since, Germany has undergone changes in borders, structure, government, and culture about as many times as a country can and still be a functioning country.  But through the entire span, their faith in the future was a victory that overcame the world.

emily in wonderland

Every spring, Moscow holds its annual Renaissance Faire.  People pull out their craftworks and dress in funny clothing and spend a weekend in the rain and mud pretending to live in an older time.  At the beginning of Oktober, Lüneburg held its annual Sülfmeistertage, a tradition that reflects Lüneburg's beginnings as a salt mining town in the 11th century.  Am Sande, one of the town's squares, was blocked to traffic and filled with games and craftsmen and, oh my, food.  It was basically like a Renaissance Faire in a place that actually, well, had a Renaissance.

I laughed as teams competed for the title of Sülfmeister, and I was awed by the quality of the craftsmanship, and I ate enough currywurst and crepes to last me until May.  Lüneburg's a small city, but it's an old city, and it's a proud city.  And when it parties, it parties.

That weekend was also another important day for the German people.  Sunday, 3. Oktober, was Der Tag der Deutschen Einheit: the Day of German Unity.  It marked 20 years since East and West Germany reunited into the country that is today the Bundesrepublik Deutschland.  It's pretty crazy for me to think that I've been alive the entire time that Germany has been a country.  I was born a month before the wall came down, and I was a year old when unification was declared.

And that really makes me think.  I live in a city that is a thousand years old, that used to be one of the richest cities in Europe because of it's massive salt trade.  Yet, I live in a country that's not even as old as I am.  Even pre-WWII Germany was only a few decades old, having been solidified from old pieces of the Prussian empire and the Holy Roman empire and whatnot only in the 19th century.  In fact, most of Europe is that way.  Borders as they currently exist are relatively new, having been constantly adjusted due to wars and marriages over the past thousand years.  The cities are old; the states are young.

My mother tells the story of celebrating the bicentennial of American Independence while living in Austria.  The Austrians she knew were happy for the Americans but smiled wryly to themselves.  200 years, they said?  That's all?  Salzburg had been around for centuries.  But, Austria hasn't.  Its current existance is a product of the Second World War.  Quite a few countries in today's world are a product of the Second World War or the end of colonial rule or the fall of the Soviet Union, all of which occurred in the 20th century.  The world is an ever-evolving place.  At that rate, the fact that the United States has maintained the same basic governmental system for over 200 years is basically a miracle.

emily awed

I recently completed a project to determine what my core values are, which ideals I believe in most.  One of the eight I ended up choosing was awe.  I believe in being in awe of something.  I believe in feeling small and insignificant while looking at something so bigger than myself.  I believe in noticing small things and admiring them for their simple worth.

Being in Germany has completely warped my sense of awe.  I walk down cobblestone streets that were built 800+ years ago next to buildings that are nearly as old.  I see sculpture in stone and wood and paintings on ceilings 30 feet tall.  The first week I was in Lüneburg, I was in awe of these things.  And I still am, but only when I force myself to pay attention.

But today, I found something small of which to be in awe.

This jungle/waterfall/sky scene was done in chalk on a sidewalk in Hamburg.  There are about 15 signatures around it (also written in chalk), indicating that it was a group effort.  It's pretty impressive for a chalk drawing; this photograph doesn't really do it much justice.  But the part that awes me is the artistic medium: chalk.

Now, for those of you who have yet to hear my half-hearted griping, Northern Germany has this obnoxious habit of raining.  Usually about six days a week.  Or more.  Rarely a day goes by that doesn't include at least a drizzle.  My host mom, Ilke, keeps three umbrellas in her car.

So, to make a chalk drawing such as this in a city such as Hamburg is to do so for the sheer joy of doing so.  The artists got pleasure out of making it, and the people of the city got pleasure out of it for, I'm assuming, only a few hours.  Since it rained yesterday, I can only assume it was drawn this morning,  And about a half hour after I walked past this square, it started raining again.  By the time I left Hamburg this evening, it was pouring.  There's no way said drawing is still there.  As a piece of art, its value lasted only the day.

Whoever drew it probably knew the weather forecast.  It doesn't change much day to day.  And they drew it anyway.

I'm in awe.

emily locked out

I have now been in Germany for about 36 hours.  And I have had exactly one traumatic experience.

(I'll talk about Lüneburg and my living arrangements soon.  This topic just needs to be covered now.)

I arrived home from orientation at about 7.00 pm.  My landlady/housemate wasn't home, so I pulled out the key I had been given and proceeded to let myself in.  But I couldn't.  I hadn't actually used this key before, as I spent most of my first day in Germany unpacking (and sleeping), and every time I had gone out, I was with Ilke (said landlady/housemate).  I tried unlocking the door for several minutes, rather unsuccessfully.  At that point, I went around to the backdoor, knowing it was the same key and hoping that it was easier to use.  It wasn't.  While I was hopelessly jiggling the door handle, Ilke's next door neighbor looked over and said, "Kann ich Ihnen helfen?" meaning "May I help you?" which I took to mean "Why are you breaking into my dear, sweet neighbor's house while she is away?"

Now, nothing reminds you how much you suck at a language until you meet someone who doesn't speak yours.  Ilke speaks English decently, so when I stumble with German, she is able to fill in the words I am missing.  However, I'm pretty sure this older woman spoke no English whatsoever.  And the traumatic experience I was experiencing made me forget that I spoke any German whatsoever.  To the best of my ability, I explained who I was and what was wrong.  She told me to go back to the front of the house.  Okay.  I did so, and tried the lock again.  Again, no luck.  Alas.  I vaguely considered going back to the bus stop and riding the route a few times until Ilke got home, but that seemed a bit like overkill. So I sat on the step, pulled out the information booklet I had received at the orientation earlier that day, and started reading.  The next door neighbor saw me sitting there, and exclaimed that it was too cold outside; that I would get sick.  (At least, she definitely said the first part ("Es ist zu kalt draußen") and I definitely caught the word "krank" in the second part.)  She took me across the street to the home of an elderly couple who also have a key to Ilke's house.  Alas, they were also not home.  So, I was invited into the house of a stranger with whom my communication was limited.

And there I sat for almost an hour and a half.

She made me tea and gave me cookies, and after giving up on the awkward small talk ("Wie lange bleiben Sie?"), she turned on the television.  I clutched my tea, and we watched the news, the weather, and then the beginning of what seemed to me to be a sort of German CSI.  Finally, the couple across the street came home.  She called them, and another older lady came to my rescue.  She compared her key and mine to be sure I had been given the correct one (I had), and opened the door for me.  I was in.  At 8.30.

When Ilke finally came home around 9.20, I told her what had happened and she showed me how to use the door.  (It's old.  It requires a bit of extra pulling and pushing and such.  It's rather easy to open once you know the secret.)  So tomorrow, I'll have no problems.

But.  I was prepared to sit on that step until Ilke got home.  It was certainly getting chilly, but I assumed she'd be back soon.  I would have been sitting on that step for over two hours had this woman not been concerned for the well-being of a girl she thought was a burglar ten minutes prior.  I am extremely grateful for the kindness of two women whom I had never met and with whom I could barely communicate.  Chamomile tea (Kamillentee) has never tasted so good.

emily abroad

This blog begins as the tale of Emily Abroad.

As of this coming Thursday, September 2,  I will be a resident of Lüneburg, Niedersachsen, Germany.  I am studying abroad for one semester through the University Studies Abroad Consortium.  I will spend four months studying at a German university, speaking the German language, and living with a German family (and their German dog!).

My suitcases are packed, and my maps are marked.

I promise these posts will get longer once I actually have things to say.