Home Is Where You Buy Sundries
And it is official: my tourist visa has expired. In the Schengen, as it stands today, an American can remain in the group of 26 European countries for a maximum of 90 days of a consecutive 180 days on an established tourist visa. Those found overstaying their welcome are greeted with hefty fines and a list of soon-to-depart flights which leave the area entirely. To my relief, the verbal acknowledgment of the granting of my National Visa (six weeks ago) has recently been confirmed with a letter stating the actual card is arriving soon – just in time. While I can now comfortably claim fluency in German, I found the letter so difficult to understand that I had a local peruse it, too – he also had difficulty understanding intent and next steps. Seems to be yet another hurdle in the process; well played, Germany.
Hark, most esteemed one. Thine application is forthwith accepted and thou shalt expect a handy-dandy card to be produced in short order. Regardless, please do not withhold unasked questions, which may not be unimportant. It can been useful when one requires information, that one may call when, one, the question one has is a related one (vis-à-vis a visa), and, two, confusion from point one is troubling to one. Have a great day!
These three months have also beaten my previous record for time spent in mainland Europe. In 2004, after graduating college, I maxed out my tourist visa in this very town. That stay lasted through the summer, where one didn’t have to content with late-April snow storms… Just sayin’ that I did not sign up for the weather we are seeing these last two weeks of the month.
A quarter of a year also means that my sundries have been gradually switched out for ones of local brands, where the instructions for shampoo need not state, “do not ingest”, and the deodorant sticks simply assume the consumer knows where to apply it. In addition, older clothes that made the journey are meeting their demise and are being replaced.
It is also in this time in which haircuts become a must. Yesterday, I made my second visit to a barber. Unlike my first visit where the feeling was more relaxed and we used the informal “you” with each other, this visit was a bit more uptight and formal “you” was used throughout. (I do have to admit that I am using my time in a new environment to try out some things that I would not have attempted before. Long story short: the attempted man-bun is gone.)
As I explained my typical semi-pompadour to the stylist, she dismissed much of what I said and simply artistically removed hair that would result in a general side-part. I was more excited to get rid of the length that I was not too concerned with her choices. However, I did specifically ask for the back to look a certain way. She flat out told me, “no.” She then clarified that 30 years ago, during the former German Democratic Republic, the Stasi had a similar hairstyle; it would be inappropriate to wear something similar. Oh. Good to know.
In these last couple weeks, in addition to continuing my time at the bakery, I have also been able to ferment some more carrots (this time with some mustard seeds) and make some feta. The feta will not be ready for a couple months; it is currently soaking in some brine underneath the bungalow (i.e., a root cellar of sorts) because I would have had to remove all of the shelves in the European-sized refrigerator for it to fit. The carrots are ready, but I am still working on finishing off the last batch.
My time spent at the Erfurt dance studio is starting to open up other opportunities. I have not yet been directly asked, but many hints have been dropped regarding a new Erfurt choir that meets on Tuesdays. Interestingly they are looking for tenors… and members. “When I lived in Belfast for six months, I learned to play the concertina – a traditional Irish instrument; apparently in Germany, I will be learning the bongos.” Additionally, after asking about what happens in the percussion class that precedes the tap class, I was asked to join them this week. So, I found myself sitting behind a bongo drum yesterday. I was slightly saddened that we formed merely a semicircle, but hopefully the class builds into a full drum circle; maybe I cut my hair too soon. When I lived in Belfast for six months, I learned to play the concertina – a traditional Irish instrument; apparently in Germany, I will be learning the bongos.
While life in small-town Germany moves apace, May will bring some much-needed excitement. I will be joining a visitor from the colonies for many days of exploration of Munich and Berlin. After her departure, I will officially be starting my new gig as a butcher.
