What Did I Sign Up For?
But ‘America First’ is a worthy strategy,” the Russian interjects. I stammer through my limited geopolitical, German vocabulary in order to form a retort about that myopic strategy and its long-term impact on foreign relations. Unfortunately, the response sounds more akin to “that is stupid and will work for only one year” than the fully-formed, persuasive concept which contained footnotes of economic stability and future trade negotiations.
I had not prepared for tonight – a chance meeting of two Germans, one Russian, and one American – where an evening meal, followed by drinks, followed by alcohol, followed by 80’s music, ends in political one-upmanship. My vocabulary sorely needs bracing with terms of “political consequences”, “global condemnation”, and “economic ramifications”.
The restaurant cleared out hours ago, but the proprietor remains which means that the taps remain open. The other German chimes in, “yes, that strategy is short-sighted.” New vocabulary word added. The Russian acknowledges the point, does not concede to the argument, but chooses not to press the issue.
He segues the conversation into the media’s portrayal of foreign leaders, making an argument that Putin is an intelligent speaker; when heard by people fluent in Russian, his policies and vision for the county are sound and attainable. The participant admits that actual implementation of said policies is another thing altogether. The Russian furthers his point by talking about the news media in Germany pointing to a rival candidate as preferable, where his opinion of this candidate’s intelligence leaves a lot to be desired.
The discussion helps me realize how little I know about the Putin regime and the impact he is having on his people. The information in my news feed revolves solely around election hacking. I postulate that if the US can install new governments in countries where they would like to do business, I could argue that the Russians can meddle in other countries’ election processes. The US risks world condemnation, and Russia risks sanctions; there’s a process in place for this. I pack away this drink-induced hypothesis for further consideration at another time.
As I had been positing and presuming, the conversation found its way back to me. “Why did Obama sign paperwork every morning to initiate drone strikes on innocent people with no intelligence to support their threat?” Interpreting the silence to mean the question was not rhetorical, I can only reply that I was not aware that he was doing that, but it does not sound like him. I furrow my brow and woefully shake my head in the hopes that my meaning is clear: how did we get to the point where we can identify clearly-biased and hyperbolic news reporting, yet find the courage to demand ridiculous responses to outrageous accusations?
“Should diplomacy be taught when studying a foreign language?”Should diplomacy be taught when studying a foreign language? The focus on language learning has always been to make sure the speaker knows how to ask where the library is. ¿Donde está la biblioteca? This is obviously intended so the learner can have access to a large book in order to slap the crazy out of a local.
One of the Germans picks up on the furrowed brow and pushes on to the lovely topic of America’s healthcare. He requests an answer to America’s decision against having universal healthcare. Wishing that we would simply go back to the 80’s music, I joke that it’s because we are not Commies. While answering, I make sure to keep the Russian in my peripheral in case of sudden movement. Picking up on the hint, the German moves on to tell me that in his 10 days in New York and Boston, he witnessed people performing unnecessary jobs (e.g., hanging streamers on a windy day), which clearly shows that America is lying about its true unemployment. Où est la bibliothèque?
Undeterred, he plows on to his visit to the Ground Zero memorial. He replays his efforts to hold back his laughter while visiting the site; the “nationalism” that was on display was apparently humorous to him. However, it is when he casually drops that 9/11 was an inside job, planned by the US government, proved by the fact that the buildings were insured, that I realize that no amount of books from a library could save this man from his suffering.
Wo ist die Scheißbibliothek?
Sunday heralded the beginning of Fasching (or Carnival) here in Germany. Technically, the season started on the 11th day of November at exactly 11 minutes after 11 AM, but reasonable people start their heavy drinking on the Sunday before Ash Wednesday. As I struggled to wrap my head around what the point of this odd Halloween-like festival is, it dawns on me that New Orleans’s Mardi Gras is the sibling to Germany’s celebrations – both end on Ash Wednesday and lead into Lent; a period of extreme gluttony followed by fasting.
I find myself on Sunday standing on the side of the road awaiting the parade. Although the weather has cooperated by providing a temperature above freezing, the wind gusts take away any warmth your body can muster. I find I can only withstand the first 45 minutes of the slow-moving, tractor-heavy, music-blaring, candy-throwing, too-cold-for-sexy-costumes parade. However, I applaud the soft-lobbing of Schnapps bottles to awaiting adults; some of us are too old for candy. Well played, Germany.
After the conclusion of the parade, the friendly baker’s father has arranged coffee and cake for friends and family; I now fall into the former category. He had hand-made all the cake earlier that morning, his 82-year-old friend is to play the accordion, and I will be tap dancing on a small wooden board. Yes, it was awkward; and, no, it did not go well. However, to my advantage, coffee and cake quickly transitions to beer and booze; my contribution to the evening ends up being more of an introduction to tap shoes and their construction, rather than an homage to the art.
The party winds down around 8 PM, which allows me four hours to go home and rest before going back there for work. The season of Fasching means Pfannkuchen! As opposed to last year in Tambach, where we made at least 500 Pfannkuchen, this shop was only tasked to make about half that. My eyes burn from the fumes from the heated lard; my fingers burn from the hot-lard-covered doughnuts.
New for me this year is learning that schools and other organizations, which are ordering two or more dozen Pfannkuchen, also ask for one or two of them to be filled with mustard instead of jelly. When I ask locals about this, some say that the one who bites into the mustard-filled cake receives luck, the others mimic a Mr. Burns-style laugh: Excellent…
