Absentee Balot

Before I came home to the US last year, I promised myself that I would try to be gone again by the 2012 presidential election.

Score.

Being away for the months leading up to the election has probably been good for my psyche. I get pretty passionate about politics given the venue.

To a certain extent, I've been able to turn my head and pretend that the US isn't in a battle of ideologies and fighting for two very different visions of the future (regardless of the actual capacity of either man to change the course of said future - read: policy, congress).

But given that, being away hasn't lessened my passion on the subject and I still read the news vehemently and watched The Daily Show religiously.  My limited windows of US public opinion (ie Facebook) had left me feeling confident that most people were swayed in the same general direction as myself.  To further my confidence, outside the US (foreigners and ex-pats alike) there is hardly the split opinion over which man people think should be granted the reigns for the next for four years.

But in the last few days I've been feeling anxious, to say the least. And now, to some extent I wish I had been home so I could have volunteered - knocked on doors, made some calls - and gotten out the vote. Because when all is said and done, it just doesn't feel like I did enough to fight for the things I believe in and for the path I wish my country to follow. Regardless of the outcome, I don't feel like I participated enough. If My Guy wins, then it wont be on account of anything I did (especially because I vote in a state where my vote is lost to the Electoral College).  But then, if The Other Guy wins, I know I'll feel even worse.

So the lesson I learned (again):

I may have avoided some personal injury from leaving the trenches of the battle.  But a battle worth winning is also worth fighting.

The Last day of Summer

Ok, so really the official last day of summer was over a month ago, but for one week in October, we had a resurgence of warmer weather. It was especially welcome after the week before has been unseasonably chilly, and we had already submitted ourselves to the winter months ahead. And by "we," I mean me.

The sun was out and the birds were chirping. We saw that from there on out, temperatures were all downhill and getting chilly. So, we figured we'd take advantage of the beautiful day.

YUM.

We started out with brunch at a neighborhood cafe where we could sit outside enjoy the warmer temps, just perfect with the light fleece blanket draped over my legs.

We then walked it of in the park which was at its height of autumn splendor. At the top, the view of the city was complete with the spectrum of leaves and the clear blue sky above. I would have felt silly if not for all the others that were also there taking it in. The stroll wouldn't have been complete without some tossing of the fall leaves in the air. Yep, I'm 5.

Panoramic of the Park (and Berlin) from the top.

Taking off from Tegel

Backtrack: for my birthday Bosse had gotten me a book of 111 things one must see/do in Berlin. One of the things that interested us both, and we were limited on time was checking out the best place to watch the planes come in and take off at the-soon-to-be-no-longer Tegel Airport (and we certainly weren't going to go come winter!) although the spot wasn't as close to the action as we had hoped, it was interesting in another way: the lookout was a on a hill straddling a neighborhood and the autobahn.   Onlookers could sit on the partition between the two, watching the flights take off and the cars zoom by (many even honking their hellos).

We finished the evening by "celebrating" the last evening of the Festival of Lights.  For the previous 10 days, buildings around the city had been artistically lit up.  Some weren't anything spectacular.  Others sites were incredible: with moving projections that completely converted them - into apartments, machines, or would tell a story.  One of my favorites was the Brandenburg Gate that went from a rainbow, to a summer sky, to apartments - each window a vignette.

Now, it's been over a week of highs in the low 40s.  But our wonderful last day of Summer should help to keep me warm through the winter.

The Dome and the TV Tower, lit up all special.

The different shades of the Brandenburg Gate

Hipters Unite

Gotta get me a jacket like that.

Weeks ago, as Bosse and I were making our way to a friend's apartment on the other side of town, a gentleman with a thick unidentified-English-speaking-country accent told us that if we hadn't seen it yet, we had to check out the karaoke in Mauer park on Sundays.  Huh?  Karaoke?  In the park?

So we did a little investigating and discovered that since 2009, what began as an impromptu karaoke session sponsored by a Irish ex-pat named Gareth Lennon (Stage-name: Joe Hatchiban) had become a Summer Sunday ritual, attracting thousands of locals and tourists to the stony hillside theater.  Its name:  the Bearpit Karaoke Show.  And it has over 23,000 likes on Facebook.  This year, it all nearly came to a halt because the city, tired of cleaning bill, dramatically increased the cost of the permit to €1,500 and restricted the available dates.  Fortunately, there was enough public pressure - some coming from foreign newspapers like the Guardian - that the city reversed its decision and allowed the karaoke to continue uninhibited.

So, after a string of bad weather (and generally forgetting about it) we hadn't gotten to the the park for some weeks.  However, in an effort to procrastinate, we fortunately remembered to make it to Mauer Park a couple Sundays ago.

With a nice view of
the TV tower.

We were a bit clueless on how to get there, but after getting off at the right U-bahn stop, it was easy to simply follow the hordes of people walking in a single direction towards what was once the "deathstrip" between East and West Berlin.

Before we heard any singing, we saw the tents of the flea market standing at the bottom of a hill. Admittedly, The versions of flea markets that i had become accustomed to mostly involved transients selling found/used nuts, bolts, and shampoo. To my delight, the Mauer Park flea market was something similar to the Rose Bowl market, with a splash of an artisans fair, and still a dollop of those still selling their old garage gadgets.

Anybody interested in old family
photos and slides?

After making our initial round through the flea market, we drifted to the hill above the market, which held the main spectacle.  I was astonished at the number of people that flooded the now-hidden greek theater and poured onto the sides.  We scaled up to the top of the hill where the only free spots were and watched the last of a girl doing her own rendition of "I touch myself."  During the next songs, a man went through the crowd selling beer from his crate - harkening back to any other stadium performance.

We stayed for a few songs, leaving after a quiet singing of Sinatra, and then moseyed back through the flea market for a look at the other half.  The market seemed to be so typical of something you might expect to find in Berlin: old photos and license plates, china and beer steins, armoires and armchairs, LPs and fur coats, and all those characters pawning those treasures.

 I was a bit disappointed that we had only discovered the flea market and karaoke at the end of its season, and were unlikely to come back before it closed until the next.  But it certainly left me with something to look forward to until next year.

Our view from the top of the Greek theater.  

The hordes of people.  

I think the railroad cars are a nice touch. 

Truly vintage.

You pick of the furs.

An F for First Day

Today I had my first official English class.  I wont lie: I felt like a bit of a hack.

A few weeks ago, I was called by Berlitz for an interview.  They said they weren't expecting to recruit (I'd actually already received a "Thank you for you CV, but..." reply from them earlier) but they had some spots they needed to fill, fast.  Lucky me! (No sarcasm implied).

After 2 interviews, I was invited to their 8-day training session to learn the "Berlitz Method."  Oy vey, is it involved.  Given, a lot is teaching-English common sense and familiar to anyone having gone through either an education or TEFL/TESOL course: there's still your PPP (Presentation, Practice, Performance) and your TTT (teacher talking time), your listening/speaking/reading/writing activities, and your Role Plays and Skits.  Then there's the actual method.  I'd tell you, but I'd have to kill you.  Well, maybe not, but I did sign a confidentiality contract.

During the 64 hours of training, me and 6 other teachers-in-training had many opportunities to practice with and for each other, the different methods.  We also had two separate mock-classes on which we were more formally evaluated.  There was also just a half-day devoted to understanding the myriad of paperwork that goes into each class and student.

Admittedly, I may have had a sip of the Kool-Aid.  Berlitz seems pretty cool.  The company is certainly well organized and as a product, it makes big promises.  I'm hoping for my own opportunity to take some Berlitz classes.  I would love to see if the method works for me and my slow-going German (while also hoping to take notes from other teachers).

Most importantly, I'm also very grateful to now have a paying job.  Although the pay is not spectacular, it's also average for Berlin. And, after my performance today, I don't necessarily fault them for it.

Today was my first class, the first of the next 20, I'll have with this small group of women.  I certainly committed a couple of the teaching sins: I managed to neither get any whiteboard markers or check that I had a CD player in my room before class started.  Smart Katie, really smart.  And as much as I tried to stick to the formula we went over (and over and over and over...) in training, I don't know if I really succeeded.  I know that I didn't really feel successful.  But more than anything, I think I just felt nervous.

At the end of each of our demos during training, we were first asked how we would evaluate our own performance.  I wouldn't give myself very high marks for todays performance.  I don't know how I would really change it, other than simply being more prepared and less nervous (a "duh" statement, I'm aware).  In the end, I know what most of it comes down to is that I'm learning as much about teaching (and teaching at Berlitz) as my students are English.  I might even argue that I'm learning more.

Phew.  And this was just the first class.

So this is "fall"

I'm fully expecting to defrost the turkey and start peeling the potatoes in just a couple of days.  And then I keep reminding myself that it is NOT, I repeat NOT, November.  It is in fact just September.

Sure, I'm always anxious for the holidays to begin.  But really, I'm of the belief that Thanksgiving is just around the corner because I'm not really used to it being this cold already. 

Today was actually a beautiful fall day (or what I've always seen in the movies as "fall").  The wind was blowing but the sun was bright and it was comfortable enough to enjoy sitting in the park, complete with pants and a sweater.  The leaves have been falling from the trees for weeks now (but maybe they always do this?).  The dampness and cold of recent nights have made me feel like I was out enjoying a brisk Christmas evening in Phoenix.

The end of "summer"...

And this is why I'm so conned.  Living in Phoenix for so long, most of my experiences with "seasons" have actually been through pictures, other people, and short vacations.  I've been fortunate enough to see the leaves change in the New England, and even got excited for the same thing in Los Angeles (yes, LA still has more autumn color than central Arizona).  I lived through one season change while studying abroad in New Zealand, but I hardly remember that now.  And my years in Spain, although colder (and in Cordoba, wetter) than in AZ or LA, I'm all too aware (but not at all prepared) that Berlin is much, much, colder than anywhere I've lived before.

So, for now, I'll put away the poultry seasoning and oven bags, pack away my shorts, and bring out my heavier coats and scarves.  I'm in it for the long haul.

The ride without as much amusement

Yesterday marks 8 weeks since my arrival in Berlin, and Tuesday will make two months.  Since then not much has happened, and so much has happened.  Or, that's how it feels.

Monday night, before we fell asleep, Bosse and I were talking about that day's events.  We had both been aware that it had been a day of extreme highs and lows.  During our discussion, I recalled writing about such an occurrence a couple of years ago during my first months in Cordoba.  Then, I noticed that my emotions fell into extremes: the good was really good and the bad was really bad, the highs were very high and the lows, well, yeah.

Despite feeling like I'm a little bit more seasoned when it comes to traveling and adapting, I think I've  come to the conclusion that those extremes are more of the rule than the exception when even a little bit outside my comfort zone.

A few examples of Monday's roller coaster:

High: I got my visa (yay!).  We woke up at 4:45 to be on the 5:09 train, to get to the Ausländerbehörde by 6:00 because it opened up at 7:00 on Mondays.  We had gone in the previous Thursday in hopes of getting it then, only to have my health insurance rejected (we waited in line for 2 hours to find that out).  Of course, when we got home and again scanned the 691 page (German) document for the exact wording on the types of acceptable health insurance for freelance english teachers (yes, there's a section, just for that - hence the 691 pages) and assured ourselves that we did indeed have the right insurance.  We only needed to prove it (ie. print off relevant portion of said document and present it when applying again).  Probably in an effort to avoid further paperwork and arguments, they took a quick look at my papers, and shortly after 7:30, I had my visa in hand and the right to stay and work as a freelance English teacher for the next 365 days.  And I made it all happen well before my 90-day deadline.

Low: As soon as we got home and took a brief nap, I called one of the schools that provided me with one of my two letters of intention, to inform them that I had my visa and I was able to start working.  He then told me that he'd be in touch with me when he actually had a position open.  Wait, so no job?  No positions?  (Translation: no income?!?!).  I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I must feel grateful that he still provided me with the one of the documents I needed for my visa.  But I felt silly for thinking that I had the job when I clearly didn't.  Furthermore, it meant I had to get on the job hunt again, and soon.

High/Low: I did have one school that had offered me a class, the Friday before.  Not exactly a language school, it was a work-learn University.  There were a couple downsides: at the most I would have 4 class-hours a week, my first class with my students was a full 4 hours long, and the class size was 30.  Thirty.  Visions of my classes in Cordoba of nearly that many 14-year-olds haunted me.  But regardless, they were offering me one class to start and possibly more after that.  The staff was also one of the nicest I had encountered along my job hunt.

Low: In the hustle and bustle of the foreigners office, I got pen marks right on the front of my leather jacket.  Mostly adding to the infuriating memory, it was made more frustrating when I didn't know how to ask for "rubbing alcohol" in German at the drugstore (and then even wondering if I was in the right place) in the hopes of fixing it.  In the end, I bet on the fact that hand sanitizer might do the trick.  I lost that bet.

High: That evening, we met up with Bosse's friends (an intercambio-turned-aquantaince-turned-couple-to-do-things-with) who had invited us to play beach volleyball with them (I know, you're thinking "beach volleyball in Berlin?" but indeed there is a field of about 50 sand volleyball courts walking distance from our apartment for all to enjoy for only €8/hour!)  Although I wasn't initially too enthused about it - harking back to my grammar-school gym experiences - it ended up being a great hour, enjoying the cool sand and fresh air, and meeting other Spaniards and Germans (even while losing miserably each game we played).

Conclusion: Separately, none of these occurrences were any big deal (ok, maybe getting my visa secured is a big deal).  Nor were they necessarily as they were, in succession.  But given the context, and (at this point) fragile ego, they swung me around like a carousel.  As I get settled - obtain stable employment, learn more German, and find decent peanut butter - I expect my emotions will as well.  And experiencing the extreme highs and lows is all part of this new adventure.

Eins, zwei, drei...

I'm currently on hiatus from the job hunt.  I've found a couple of schools that are going to write me the letters needed to apply for my visa.  I have an interview at another school next week, which hopefully will provide more stability (i.e. hours/higher pay), and several other schools that have my CV "on file" (the circular one?).  Right now, I'm really just waiting for those letters and on health insurance to kick in.  Hopefully I can apply for my visa sometime in the next couple weeks.  Oy vey.

In the meantime, I've been trying to stay occupied.  I've throughly distracted Bosse from his studies, and  now we both must get down to business.  For me, that means studying German.

I will channel a bit of Chandler Bing when I say: "Could German BE any more difficult to learn?"

Seriously.

Ok, so I've learned one foreign language.  I don't think I ever took for granted the relative ease of which I learned Spanish simply because I was moderately exposed to it from infancy.  I remember sitting in first and second grade and watching these ridiculous videos with a fluffy human dog teaching us the numbers and colors and words like gato and perro.  Although I can barely remember it, my transcript says I took a couple semesters of Spanish in middle school.  I vividly remember my years of Spanish in high school with Th-enora Th-inke who terrified us into learning the verb tenses.  I even dabbled in a 102, 201 and a conversation class in college, not yet giving up.  But, as predicted, it wasn't until I got to Spain that I was forced to really learn the language.  And then all those years of learning Spanish - from the human dog, Th-enora Th-inke, college, and all my southwest-community experiences in-between - came flooding back to me.

Until last year, my exposure to German was limited to the few yiddish words I picked up from TV.  And movies about World War II.  Oh, and bratwurst.  And strudel.  And sauerkraut.  I love sauerkraut.

Since dating Bosse, I've picked up my German textbooks several times, only to get a few pages in and then get distracted by work, or family, or really anything else more interesting.  But now, there are no excuses.  I have the time.  I'm in the venue.

And I need to learn.  There's nothing more frustrating than not being able to express yourself.  Any travelers will know this experience thoroughly: going to a country where you don't speak the language.  You are resourceful.  You will get by.  But it is exhausting, and sometimes absolutely anger-inducing.

So I'm learning.  Or trying to anyway.  I'm going through the textbook(s).  I'm doing the exercises.  I've made tons of notes, and diagrams, and lists.  I've littered our apartment with sticky notes identifying objects in their German equivalents.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the German language, a little insight into why I'm already pulling my hair out:

• Every noun in German has a "gender" - similar to Spanish.  Except there are three genders in German - masculine, feminine, and neuter.  Furthermore, there are few ways to predict the gender of the words by what they are or how they're spelled (unlike in Spanish).  This basically means that you must learn every noun with its corresponding article (ie gender).  Eg: der Tisch, die Küche, das Zimmer.
• There is not just one way to form a plural noun.  There are FIVE ways to form a plural, even these having their variations.  Again, their formations are not usually predictable or consistent.  This means that for every noun you learn, you must also learn its plural.  Eg: die Tische, die Küchen, die Zimmer.  
• There are four different "cases" for each noun, depending on its function in the sentence and/or what preposition it follows: the nominative, accusative, dative, genitive.  For each case, the article changes and sometimes even the ending of the nouns.  This means that are essentially 8 - count them: EIGHT - different "forms" of the noun and its article.  Eg: der Vater/den Vater/dem Vater/des Vaters/die Väter/die Väter/den Vätern/der Väter.
• Sentence structure is heinous, and is counter to English in most ways.  A question like "Können Sie mir bitte die Telefonnummer geben?" in English literally translates to: "Can you to me please the telephone number give?"  Where English typically puts the verb (and all parts of it) somewhere near the beginning of the sentence, German likes to keep the suspense going, giving you part of it at the beginning but the rest of it at the very end.  It's like conversational ransom. 
• Pronunciation.  This is the main reason why Bosse can't teach me.  Not because he doesn't know or try.  It's because when I try and repeat after him, I think I'm saying it the right way, and he disagrees.  It's like a bad comedy act that sort of reminds me of "Who's on first base" but it really doesn't feel that funny. 

Yeah.  And I'm just on page 80 of my textbook.

So really, what's motivating me now is that I'm betting high on the fact that it will all get easier with time and practice. 

And eventually, I would like to haggle with the Turks at the market.  

Red tape and brick walls

I am a little bit acquainted with foreign bureaucracy.  I've had a few experiences applying for visas and residency permits over the years.  I am well aware of the amount of paperwork, and time, and sweat that is typically necessary for one to survive the process.  But of course, prior knowledge and experience only makes it more predictable, but no less tiresome.

In my previous experiences, I have had the luxury of "security" - by which I define as the knowledge that all I needed was to gather the necessary documents and submit within the proper time frame, and it was (more-or-less) guaranteed that I would be able to conduct my business as desired in the respective country.

However, Germany has definitely got me a bit more anxious.

Before I made the decision to come and try and find work (i.e. teaching jobs) in Berlin, I had the good fortune of being able to talk with another Oxy alum (and fellow Econ student, whoop whoop!) who had undergone the same process after graduation: coming to Germany, looking for a job, finding a job, applying for the visa.  I also felt like I did a fair bit of homework of my own - either browsing forums or TEFL websites - for advice.  My conclusions were these:

1. No, I did not need to know any German to find a teaching job in Germany.
2. Schools may not pay much, but they were willing to offer jobs.  
3. There may be fewer teaching jobs in Berlin, but they were still there (and maybe offering limited hours).

Now I feel as though I not only overestimated my ability (or maybe the ease) of finding work here, but have just gotten things all wrong.

I have sent out more than 50 resumes, and have received about 11 responses.  (I will first give props, because I know that kind of percentage is unheard-of in the US at the present.)  I have had 3 interviews offers, and 2 interviews.

One interview went well, but they probably can't hire me because of my (relatively) nonexistent German.

The final interview was an offer to write me the needed paperwork to help obtain my visa, but no hours were guaranteed.

Finally, the stray interview offer didn't work out because I didn't already have my work permit and the position needed to be filled immediately.  It's really circular logic: I need a school to hire me before I can get a permit, but most schools hesitate to hire someone without a permit.

Well... ok, so then what?

Since being here, I have also gotten some of the specifics on what I need to apply for the "freelance" work visa:

1. I need to register as a resident (and thereby have a rental agreement).
2. I need to have a bank account (for which I need to register an address first).
3. I need to have private health insurance (for which I need a bank account)
4. I need to have "Letters of Intent" from at least 2 different Language schools.

So, I've started to make progress on this list of "to-dos."

Fortunately, since I was moving in with Bosse, getting a rental agreement was mostly him "officially" subletting his apartment to me and all the accompanied legal jargon and signatures.  To make this really official, Bosse and I waited 3 1/2 hours at the Rathaus around the corner so we could sit in an office for 5 minutes and have a woman enter my new address into the system.

I have a bank account, as of today, of which was a relatively painless process since Bosse just told me where to sign.  It's really a good thing that I trust him so much... I think.

We're in the process of applying for health insurance.  Being that I only have my American experiences, it's hard to be positive about it.  But as far as I've heard, it's better and cheaper here.  Here's hoping.

Finally, the letters.  Ohhhhhh the letters.  We've spoken to some people and read on some forms that I may, may, only need one school to write me a letter in order to apply for the visa.  So since we haven't had any luck contacting the foreigners office via phone, today we thought we might try to do this in person.  OH MY GOSH.

It's actually quite funny.  It never occurred to Bosse to come earlier than the 10:00 opening time for the office, and he didn't really understand why I suggested we go earlier.  But then it occurred to me when we got there and his jaw dropped upon seeing the multitudes of people pushing against closed doors.  Of course he wouldn't know and not to his fault: he's never had to apply for an EU visa.  And yes, I was familiar with the long lines of the foreigners office, but even I was a bit overwhelmed.  Especially when I heard screams of panic when the doors finally did open.  

So, needless to say, our questions went unanswered.  We decided that we'd come back and try for it again when I had the one promised letter and just try, even if it meant failure and having to come back a third time.  Coming home, we even tried to make an appointment at the office (because apparently, you can do that too, makes sense) and the next available appointments weren't until SEPTEMBER 11.  Oh, and that's only like 2 weeks away from the expiration of my tourist visa.  But no big deal.

A couple weeks ago, Bosse shared with me the The Last Lecture, and although I didn't see it all (I keep wanting to get back to it), one thing Mr. Pausch said has stuck with me.

"But remember, the brick walls are there for a reason. The brick walls are not there to keep us out. The brick walls are there to give us a chance to show how badly we want something. Because the brick walls are there to stop the people who don’t want it badly enough. They’re there to stop the other people."

And I just keep reminding myself: the paperwork, the offices, the phone calls, the interviews, the red tape - these are just brick walls.  I want this.  And I can prove it.

La vida española

On Thursday, we got back from a week long "vacation" to Spain.  Obviously, I say "vacation" because when neither of us is an active student or employee of any kind and you go galavanting off for a week, calling it a vacation only seems unfair to others who are really deserving of a vacation. (And ok, I'm still going to give myself a little break since I worked an average of 65 hours a week in the 9 months leading up the move).

Semantics aside, it was a great little jaunt and we were fortunate enough to cover all the bases and see most of our friends that remain there.  Starting in Granada, we made it for Vanessa's birthday and spent plenty of time with her, Justin, Ivan, Isa... unfortunately, German wasn't there due to a family emergency.  It definitely felt quiet without him, but it was still great to see everyone else.  In Malaga, we spent time with precious Vero who indulged me in my nostalgic afternoon paseo around the city.  It was already so different - hard to believe that so much had changed in a year, especially given it's Spain - but its character remained.  I was reminded of how fortunate I was to have lived there, and how much I would like to come back... someday.

Finally, we made it to Madrid, where Bosse's sister and her fiancé live.  It was great to see their new place (pretty close to amazing: 3rd floor corner apartment, on the plaza, wooden floors and doors, with plenty of balcones) and get back to my favorite candy shop (a ritual for me now).

And of all the places I noticed the difference in Spain, it was certainly in Madrid.

One thing that always impressed me the most, and sometimes outright annoyed me, was how clean public spaces were kept in the cities of Spain.  Street cleaners are prevalent, trash cans are rampant, and one can frequently encounter city workers simply power-washing the sidewalks for that extra sparkle.  That didn't seem to be the case this year, and for good reason too.  Walking down many of the streets, I saw more trash on the ground than I could ever remember.  The trash cans were full and workers were few.

We asked around our group of friends that had been there this past year, after we left, if there had been a marked difference in the sentiment they felt or had discussed among their Spanish friends, students, colleagues.  None of the responses seemed positive, and some were outright despondent.  Distrust in the government was high among Spaniards, and many seemed to lack the hope that they would see their country ever recover.  We know some who have moved their money to other countries.  My friend Vero left Spain last year to find au pair work in the UK, and she's already certain that she doesn't ever want to come home.

It makes me sad.  I love Spain.  Granted, we've certainly had our ups and downs, and most of the things that drive me the most crazy about the country I'm also convinced are many of the same things that are at the root of their current crisis (eg. not paying their taxes, exorbitant unemployment benefits, inconsistent education policies).  But the parts I love most are also at risk of being lost at the expense of the ailing economy - even siesta is already on the chopping block.  Most of all the country is in despair, and the vibrancy that defines Spanish life now flickers.

But I still remain hopeful that one day, not too far into the future, Spain will emerge and I'll be there in my own little casita on the Costa del Sol.  

Two weeks in. Berlin.

I've been in Berlin slightly over two weeks.  This blog is about that much time overdue too.

And even after 2 weeks, it's still easy to feel as if I'm just on vacation, despite having packed up my room at home and bringing over 200+lbs of luggage (and that was scaling back).

Life in Berlin has so far been wet, to say the least.  Today has been only (maybe) the second day without rain since I've been here.  The first few days of it (and maybe even the first week) I was ok with it; it was certainly a nice reprieve from the 110+ temperatures of the arid desert.  But then it just kept on going, and seemed to only get wetter and colder.  I've been in sweaters and jeans and drinking tea, in JULY.  Again, I can't say I'm really complaining, other than I did bring over a drawer full of beautiful summer clothes that I'm just afraid I'll never have the opportunity to flaunt living in a place that barely gets over 75 in the summer.  Everyone here has so far claimed that this is so "unusual" - strikingly familiar to the sentiments I got from the Spaniards in "Spring" of 2010 when Andalucia received a record amount of rainfall.  Sure, that might be the case, but it doesn't exactly make you feel any better about the fact that you can't leave the house without a scarf and umbrella.

But obviously, I didn't come here for the weather.  As anyone who knows me can testify, I'm a bit of a pussycat when it comes to cold(er) temperatures - stepping outside in temps under 65F will cause my leg hair to grow a centimeter.  Needless to say, Berlin in the winter is hardly where I'd choose to vacation.  But now, yes, I'm choosing to make the move here on account of my wonderful man, who, for educational reasons, is more or less bound-to-Berlin for at least another year.

He'd had just enough time to get used to being his lonesome self in his little, central apartment before I came to crash the party.  Now we're making IKEA runs because there're clearly not enough places to put all the stuff (reminder: 200+ lbs) that I brought.  Additionally, I insisted on getting more bowls and coffee mugs because I wasn't thrilled with the notion of eating muesli out of a salad bowl.  For that matter, I insisted on wine glasses too, because the water mugs weren't going to cut it.  It was also a shame that as the American, I was the one that bought the beer glasses.

Honestly, I kid.  Because really, he's quite amazing, and has actually been the one to insist we get anything and everything (*cough* that we can afford) to make me comfortable in my new home.  He actually wanted to get an additional armoire even before I arrived, but it was I who insisted he didn't.  I was (am) afraid that it would just jinx the bound-to-be bureaucratic nightmare of finding a job and getting a visa to stay longer than my allotted 90-days as a "tourist."

Thanks to Dad, for his accompaniment (and help with said 200+lbs of luggage), I was able to use my first days in Berlin as an excuse to actually be a tourist and learn about the city I hope to make home.  We covered all the highlights from the Brandenburg Gate to the Reichstag, with plenty of beer and brats in between.

In a couple of days, we took both the "Third Reicht" and "Cold War" walking tours, both of which were sobering, to say the least, very least.  Berlin, in its entirety, is a constant reminder of the horrors humans are capable of.  In turn, Berlin (and to a greater extent, Germany) is also a reminder of the wonderful humanity that can prevail after such horrors.  It is evident that there is such an ethos of acceptance and individuality here.  In a short passing, one is likely to hear (at least) every European language (Spanish being half of that), see several unnatural hair colors (Pink is in!) and more characters than in Valentines Day.  "Diversity" sort of defines Berlin, and I'm beginning to think that it could actually be the other way around.  It's not for all people.  But I definitely like it.

I'll be sending out my letters to Language schools over the weekend.  And hopefully, without too much anguish and too many tears, I'll find a way to stay with Bosse in this place.  I'm certainly eager for the experience I know it will bestow upon me.