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.