What went down at Schloss Dhaun

 Unfortunately, nowadays fewer and fewer English students decide to study languages. Maybe it’s because we live in an English-speaking world, where a command of a foreign language is no longer necessary, maybe it’s because learning a language requires you to demonstrate many different skills, maybe because people mistakenly think that a languages degree will only lead to a career in either translation or teaching, or maybe it’s because the prospect of having to learn verb tables and adjective endings fills a large portion of the population with horror. For whichever reason, languages are on the decline in Britain, something I think is a real shame.

It appears, however, that the German department at my uni is defying social norms, because it is slowly on the rise. There are many reasons why the German studies department may be considered attractive, ( I have a whole list available) but undoubtedly one of the main advantages this particular department has over others, both within the university itself and elsewhere around the country, is its annual trip to Schloss Dhaun, a castle nestled in the hills of Rheinland-Pfalz, where students studying German on their year abroad have a chance to pause for breath, meet up with friends they haven’t seen in a while, do the odd bit of work and generally have a jolly good time.

Last weekend was our turn to venture to the castle. It was so lovely to see everyone again. In some ways, it felt as if only five minutes had passed since we were all last together, and in others it felt as if a whole lifetime had passed since we embarked on our year abroad adventures. I guess, in a way, it has, as we have all had to establish a new life for ourselves in a completely new place; one that for the vast majority of us does not include Warwick or each other. With that in mind, it was so good to hear tales of travels and adventures and also remind ourselves that final year is fast approaching.

Thank you Chandru for the brilliant photos! 

The aim of the weekend was ‘learning through pleasure,’ and I think the department staff did a tremendous job of organising the whole shebang and making sure that a good time was had by all. A Kafka text here, a translation or two there, and a whole load of discussions about life in Germany (and/or France) culminated in a great weekend that gently reminded us just how much work and effort is going to go into next year. It was also fairly daunting, as I suppose the road to ‘the rest of our lives’ started at Schloss Dhaun. Obviously you’re encouraged to think about careers right from the word ‘go’ at university, but this was the first time I realised properly that actually these thoughts are soon going to have to be turned into reality; a scary prospect to say the very least. What am I going to do with the rest of my life? The answer to that at present is I have no bloody idea!

Whenever we talked about the Year Abroad, either in first or second year, for me at least ‘Schloss Dhaun’ always seemed to be a very defining moment in the Year Abroad calendar. For many, it marks the beginning of the end, as we are now three quarters of the way through the year and inevitably have to conceptualise the prospect of going home. For now, at least, I’m going to pretend that that’s not happening. I still have eight weeks – that means there are still countless adventures to be had and German to be spoken in that time.

Happy Easter

Emily 

Home Sweet Home

It’s nearly the holidays. Time to dust off the suitcase, locate the passport and turn my attention to just how much time I’m going to be spending in bed during my ten days at home. As with the prospect of going home over Christmas, knowing that the Land of Hope and Glory is waiting for me just around the corner, it is very easy to slip into countdown mode; wishing everyday would go faster and romanticising everything British. Do I do this? And some. Even now I find myself positively salivating at the mere idea of roast dinners, Yorkshire puddings, and chocolate digestives. I’ll have to stop there – thinking about all the home cooked grub that is still a few days away is torture. I casually overlook the fact that it is 95% likely to start pouring down with rain the minute I step off the plane, or that I will have to walk past a large proportion of the teenagers that populate the street corners of ‘norf Laandan,’ every time I want to walk into town, and that the echo of their “oh my God yeah’s,” their “man dat woz well sick’s,” and their “innit bruv’s” will follow me down the street, completely contradicting what I have been telling my students for the past seven months, namely that English is a beautiful language.  Instead I choose to concentrate on the fact that Cadbury’s chocolate will be available in every shop I walk into, ‘Call the Midwife’ will be waiting for me on the sky+ box and that I will at last be back in a country where cars drive on the correct side of the road! I like to think that living abroad has made me far more partial when it comes to cultural differences. In actuality, however, I must admit that I am possibly more biased than ever. Not because I don’t like German culture. Indeed, I have embraced it wholeheartedly this year and have thoroughly enjoyed it. The reason is merely because the feeling of going home is second to none, and I think everyone has a little soft spot where home is concerned. 

 My family and I have a little rhyme. I have no idea where it comes from, but it has existed between us for as long as I can remember, and goes a little something like this:

“It’s nice a-going roamin’, but it’s a-nicer coming home-ing.”

What can I say, we’re a weird bunch!

It’s possibly a slightly edited version of Frank Sinatra’s ‘Travelling song.’ I don’t know. Either way, its meaning has never been as clear to me as it is now, especially when a flight bound for London with me on it is only a matter of days away. Living abroad teaches you an enormous amount about being self-reliant. The hours whiled away on my own in my flat of an evening have shown me a lot about myself, of which the main two are listed below. 

1.  I love to travel. For anyone who reads this regularly (and for that I thank you very much indeed,) I think that’s become fairly obvious. I love the thrill of journeying to a place you have never visited before; of the promise of all the new things you will see and experiences you will gain. Whether it be to huge cities like Berlin, smaller ones like Heidelberg, or merely nearby towns like Worms [pronounced Vorms], visiting as many new places as possible and broadening my cultural horizons in the process is something I hope I continue to do in my future career.

2.       The second major thing I have learnt is how much I love going home. Those two things sound fairly paradoxical in their nature, yes? I mean, a homebird who loves to travel, what’s all that about? But I think you’ll find on closer inspection that in actual fact the two are not mutually exclusive. It is ok to want to see the world and all that jazz, but still look forward to the promise of going home at the end of the adventure.

How would you describe ‘home,’ then? The Germans have a word called Heimat, of which there exists no exact English translation. Literally, it means place of home, but I think the real reason there is no precise equivalent is because you would need an entire English sentence to accurately convey the meaning of what the Germans manage in a mere two syllables. ‘Heimat’ suggests so much more than the geographical location of where your home is located. It is the feeling of being home, rather than the physical spot.

I like to think that we are tethered to our Heimat by an invisible elastic band. If you stretch it far enough, that band will take you across the seven seas, to the far corners of the earth. It can be stretched for a fairly long amount of time without breaking. Though the elastic band will willingly bear the tension of being stretched so far, however, it is always ready and waiting to ping back to its original state, carrying you home along with it. At present, my own elastic band is just about ready to ping me in the direction of Blighty.

Ironically enough, it’s taken me 500 miles and the best part of seven months living in a country on the other side of the North Sea to work out that actually, my favourite place in the entire world is in a rather unobtrusive house on a rather unobtrusive street in a rather unobtrusive town nestled in the outskirts of Greater London, despite the chavs and the bloody awful weather. I guess that's why it's so easy to romanticise the prospect of going home. It's because when all’s said and done, home is home. Home is safety. Home is relief. Home is well and truly where the heart is.

I have a few days in a castle to look forward to, and then England, I'll be on my way! Put that kettle on!

Home is never too far away:

See you after Easter.

Emily

How are you?

I started working with a new Year 12 group this week. My first task as their assistant teacher was to go through an exercise with them entitled ‘What do the British mean when they say…(insert typically British sentence here)?’ The one that caused the most reaction was the age old question, ‘How are you?’ to which the answer is always ‘I’m fine thanks, how are you?’ Whether you’re having the greatest day imaginable, or a day so abominably awful all you want to do is go home, curl up in a ball and drink tea forever more, as a Brit you are almost obliged to give the non-committal answer of ‘fine thanks, how are you?’ Why is this, I asked myself? Is it because, actually we couldn’t give a rat’s tail about how someone actually is, and anything more positive or negative than the generic ‘fine’ would mean that you inevitably end up having to listen to someone’s life story, when you would rather be at home with a brew? Do we present this façade of being an über-polite nation, whilst in actual fact we are just hoping that no one will upset the rhythm of our day to day life?

Admitting this to myself felt rather bleak. I have always prided myself on how polite British people are. So polite in fact, that we will say ‘thank you’ as we hand over money to a cashier, (even though when you pause and consider it for a moment, they are not actually doing us a favour by taking our money off us,) or even that we will hold the door open for the person behind us when they’re still a good half a mile away. So polite, that we will apologise for something, even when it’s not our fault, or give a ‘thank-you-wave’ in response to the ‘thank-you-wave’ that a fellow driver has given us when we’ve made way for them on the road.  Why, then do we shroud ourselves under a veil of politeness when inquiring as to someone’s general state of mind, when in actual fact we’d rather not know how they actually are, and anything apart from the mediocre adjective that is ‘fine’ would fill us with dread?

The Germans are much more direct than the British. This isn’t a negative thing, but perhaps merely a more logical way to live one’s life, as being direct and saying what you mean is sometimes a more efficient way of getting things done. One thing the Germans absolutely do not do is beat around the bush. The British, however, love to beat around the bush; trying to express everything in as polite and unobtrusive a way as possible, and unfortunately this doesn’t always translate across cultural boarders. I’ve experienced this many-a time this year. Take, for example, if someone at school offers me a lift home. This is how the conversation normally goes.

Teacher: Emily, I’ll drop you home if you want.
Me: Oh! That’s very kind of you, but I don’t want to make you go out of your way! I can always walk.  (Notice how in actual fact, I would love a lift home, but I don’t want them to go out of their way to take me home unless they’re absolutely sure! I’m psyching them out, you see!)
Teacher: Oh, well it was only an offer. See you tomorrow.

Damn!! So not only have I managed to talk myself out of a lift home, but  I worry that I have even been misconstrued as rude. I’ve had several of these experiences so far, which means several long walks home with heavy bags and numb fingers, giving me enough time to dwell on my nation’s love of circling a topic, with everyone too afraid to put their finger right on the buzzer and say what they think.

Which brings me back to the ‘How are you’ debacle. The answer as to why we are a nation of ‘fine’ people is actually rather simple. We British do not love anything too direct, nor do we love any over the top outpourings of emotion. Yes, every now and then we like to channel all our emotions for a cause or two; like when we watch Mo Farah running down the home straight of the 5,000m final at a Home Olympics and the whole nation gives every kilojoule of energy it possesses into cheering him on, or when we turn out in our thousands, armed with Union Jack flags to wave proudly as good old Queenie and Phil sail past on a boat in the pouring rain. There are occasions when the British can no longer conceal their emotions, and have to find an outlet for them somehow, but generally these tend to be few and far between. Instead, most of the time we are quite a reserved bunch. Britain is a country that keeps calm and carries on, where people would look at you as if you were a Martian if you tried to strike up a conversation with someone on the tube; it’s just not in our nature to be over friendly, over intrusive, over-anything, really! Giving an answer using any kind of superlative that is more positive or negative than fine would be considered over-emotional, and poking your nose into someone’s private business to ask what has brought about such a use of superlatives would be considered too direct and intrusive. The combination of the two would send any British person’s blood pressure shooting through the roof!

Mo Farah, responsible for emotional outbursts all over Britain

So, we’re a nation of socially awkward Brits, who love to make life difficult for ourselves. But, do you know what, we’re fine like that!

Emily

P.S – just to prove that we do have emotions, here’s a video of Mo Farah’s 5,000 Gold Medal Win.

Spring is sprung...

 Finally, after what seems like months of perpetual cloudy weather, spring arrived in Bensheim. The days are gradually getting longer, meaning I no longer have to walk to school in the dark, and the sun is becoming an increasingly frequent visitor in my little town, instead of just paying us the odd fleeting visit in between flurries of snow and rain. It’s amazing what a huge difference the simple notion of good weather can do to alter the atmosphere, or one’s own feelings! People are so much jollier when the sun is shining, things look so much nicer and the world is generally a better place! It’s funny, though, to observe people’s reactions to this week’s mini heatwave. Some people, the ‘glass is half-empty’ people, are still convinced it’s mid-winter, and insist on remaining wrapped up in their huge coats, scarves and hats, in the event that the cold weather might return and catch us all unawares. Then you have people on the opposite end of the spectrum who have taken the fact that the temperature is now in double figures to mean that it is practically the height of summer and have cracked out the shorts and flip-flops. Though I’m enjoying no longer having to look like the Michelin man’s twin sister, I’m not sure I’m quite ready to embrace summer clothes just yet!

The sun is shining, the grass is ris, I wonder where the birdies is.

Crazy as it may seem, I now have less than two weeks before the Easter holidays. I seem to be saying this over and over again at present, but die Zeit geht so schnell vorbei, oder?! Once I return to Bensheim after the Easter break, I have a mere eight weeks left of this most incredible adventure, before I return to life in the Heimatland and Germany prepares for its next influx of budding, young language assistants arriving in September. This weekend has been my first proper free weekend in what seems like an age! I seem to have had things to do, places to go and people to see almost every weekend since the holidays, so it has been surprisingly nice to spend an entire weekend in my onesie, watching episodes of Glee; a chance to rest, recuperate, save a little money, and most importantly, sleep! Anyone who knows me well will tell you that I am not good if I don’t get my eight hours per night. Considering, then, that I have not had a proper night’s sleep in what must be almost two or three weeks, now, I was becoming increasingly grouchier by the day!

Before I could reach the weekend and my most coveted lay-ins, however, came a phone call on Monday night from a colleague at school, asking if I could go on a school trip to Hanover with an IT class at 7am the following morning, as another colleague had to drop out at the last minute. Normally, I would be very hesitant to agree straight away. ‘Daring’ is definitely not an adjective that fits my character; preferring instead to think about the ins and outs, the pros and cons of a situation, and normally by the time my brain has finished working out whether or not it likes the idea, the opportunity has already passed. I’ve tried to adopt a ‘well why not’ attitude this year, however, so I decided to go. I’m becoming very spontaneous in my old age! Well, I suppose you only live once, after all – life may never present me with another chance to go to Hanover  and I might have spent the rest of my life wondering if I’d missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime by not going. (In all honesty, I don’t think Hanover could be described as the opportunity of a lifetime, but it was good fun, nonetheless.)

The main point of the trip was to visit the Cebit; a huge computer and technology exhibition in Hanover.  Apparently, Angela Merkel was there just before we were to start the whole thing off, but unfortunately I didn’t manage to catch a glimpse of the trouser-suited Chancellor. It appears we keep missing each other – first the Reichstag, then the Cebit. Though I’m not the most tech-savvy of folk, I still found the whole exhibition fascinating. There were many new technologies on display, including a headset that controls a tablet or computer by the power of thought, and a machine that shoots water vapour into the air, and you can control an ipad or smart phone by running your fingers through the water vapour. It was utterly incredible!

After a night spent in a youth hostel, we headed to a Volkswagen factory the following morning, where we had a tour of the plant that follows the production of one of their vans from start to finish. I won’t lie, trying to understand what the guy was telling us about the ins and outs of the car manufacturing process in German completely fried my brain, and I didn’t really understand much of it, but it was absolutely amazing to watch the machines in action. One thing that struck me on the way round, as I watched the hi-tech machines perform their duties with unfailing precision, was that they are actually only as intelligent as the people that programme them! It seems there truly is no limit to what human intelligence can achieve.

The idea that I will soon have to turn my attention to getting myself and all the stuff I seemed to have acquired over the past few months home is becoming  a reality that is drawing ever closer. I’m trying not to think about it too much yet, as I’m not really sure I’m ready to face the prospect of leaving Germany and the life I have established for myself here. But, there’s still a few page turns of my calendar left before then, and many things still to look forward to in the meantime; the most exciting of which currently is that it’s my birthday next week. I’ve never spent my birthday abroad before, so I think that celebrating German style will be a memory not to forget!

Bis dann

Emily  

Wanderlust

"Ladies, don't touch me," a VIP tour of the German Parliament, being serenaded on the U-Bahn to 'Oh When the Saints Go Marching In' and other tales from Germany's capital. 

I think it's fairly safe to say that I've taken the whole 'lust-for-wandering' thing pretty seriously so far this year. North, south, east or west, Germany has beautiful and interesting towns and cities around every corner, just waiting to be discovered by little Miss Clarke and her chums. This week's adventure, the one, the only...Berlin.

 A visit to Berlin and all the wonders it holds becomes like a rite of passage when living in Germany. It absolutely has to be done in order to feel like you've done the whole 'German-thing' properly. Living on the outskirts of a capital city myself, I was keen to see how Germany's answer to a Hauptstadt would compare to my beloved London. All I can say is, it didn’t disappoint.

 Unfortunately enough, my camera chose this weekend to pack up and die on me, so I was restricted to a mere 27 photos that I could muster from a disposable camera purchased hastily en-route in Frankfurt station. I felt like someone from the 1990s, having to wind on my camera, wait ages for the flash to fire up and squint through the camera's peep hole every time I spotted a photo opportunity. Wie peinlich! And you can forget about trying to get panorama views. So the photos here may have been pinched from Hannah, Emma and Sarah, but hopefully my own ones will turn out ok once I eventually get them developed.

Though the journey up to Berlin lasted an exhaustingly long 6 hours, there were no delays and no being abandoned in a random town, so all in all a very successful trip. Well done, Deutsche Bahn, keep up the good work! Once we'd checked into the youth hostel, there was just enough time for a beer in the bar before heading up to Bedfordshire, ready to face some hard-core sightseeing on Friday.

So Friday, 9 am, out we went for a jam-packed day of sight seeing. First pit-stop, breakfast, natch, at the Back Factory which easily sells the best chocolate croissants my mouth has ever tasted. Then onwards into the centre of Berlin for a trip to the DDR Museum; a museum dedicated to, you guessed it, life in the German Democratic Republic before the wall came down. Everything you can think of to do with East Germany, from the cars they drove, to the music they listened to, to the flats they lived in, even to the prison cells that inmates had to endure is documented inside this museum. Normally when you go to museums, you are looking at artefacts that have been preserved for hundreds of years, giving you a peep into a completely different world. It’s weird to think, however, that the separation of East and West Germany and the wall that so harshly divided them for so long only really happened just outside my lifetime. So, once we’d finished marveling at the simplicity of the East German Trabi cars, it was off down a stretch of the main road called Unter den Linden which eventually leads to the Brandenburg Gate. It was a bit of a shame, as the vast majority of this stretch of road was all under construction, but I would imagine it would look very impressive once all the cranes and diggers have buggered off! So next was the Brandenburg Gate, an instantly recognisable image of Germany’s capital, where we spent 20 minutes having our picture taken with some slightly over-friendly men dressed up as soldiers. Only in Germany!

Posing at the Brandenberger Tor

Berliner Dom [Berlin Cathedral] - a truly beautiful building

Next was a walk through to the political side of the capital, as we were lucky enough to have what I keep telling everyone was a VIP tour of the German Parliament buildings. A friend at school very kindly arranged for us to have a friend of hers take us round. Before that, however, was the task of getting into the Paul-Löbe Haus, the German answer to Portcullis House. This wasn’t your ordinary tour, I think, as we were taken all over the buildings, from the dome in the Reichstag, giving an amazing view across the city, to the underground garage and passageways that connect the different political buildings to one another. I felt like we were on some kind of secret mission, walking through the German MPs’ car park. All we needed was for our underground quest to be set to the James Bond theme tune and we’d have been good to go!! I half expected to see good old Angela Merkel wandering down the German halls of power. Definitely potential for a new best friend, there! 

Reichstag

Inside the dome of the Reichstag

One thing that struck me about the Reichstag, apart from its impressive architecture and Bondesque underground passageways was a section on one of the lower ground floors that dedicates a brick to every democratically elected MP in Germany since 1918. (That's a lot of bricks!) Though it looks somewhat like the rows upon rows of wand boxes one might find in Ollivander's, the meaning behind the Geschenk is rather more sombre. Of course you will find Angela Merkel's brick, Konrad Ardenauer's brick, Willi Brandt's brick, but there is also one dedicated to Adolf Hitler which looks entirely like the rest of them. It seemed slightly incongruous to find a symbol celebrating democracy bearing the name of the man who systematically destroyed the very concept, brick by brick! 

Each brick is dedicated to a democratically elected German MP

Once we were back out in the sunshine, we began the deceptively long walk down to the Siegessäule, a giant column commemorating Prussian victory in the 1800s. Once we had oggled at that, it was time to turn our attention to food - lots of food! I think we definitely deserved it! 

We took Saturday at a slightly slower pace, visiting the East Side Gallery in the morning. The East Side Gallery is a huge stretch of the Berlin Wall that has been left standing, ready and waiting for tourists and artists alike to leave their names, drawings or personal messages on the wall for other people to read. Similarly to how I felt in the DDR museum, it was strange to reflect that it really wasn't that long ago that East and West Berlin were essentially two entirely different countries. Imagine if the Wall had not come down. What would life be like then? Would tourists still flock to the Wall in their thousands, only slightly more cautious, in fear of being shot at by the Soviets? Or would we leave it well alone, leaving East Germany to become like a mini North Korea; retreating gradually further and further in on itself, with us on the other side, fearful of what was going on behind the Wall? As with many other things this year, reflecting on this helped me put a lot of things into perspective. Some people argue that there is too much migration in and around Europe these days. Personally, seeing the wall made me grateful that people can move around and set up a life for themselves wherever they choose - I'm a prime example! We live in a society of opportunity, where people are allowed the chance to better themselves.  Building metaphorical and literal walls around yourself and trying to keep other people out is definitely not the answer. 

"We are one people."

"There are many walls to break down."

"Even the smallest person can change the course of the future." - J.R.R. Tolkein

So after wandering along the side of the Wall for a good while, we headed back into the centre of Berlin and came across the Ampelmann shop. For anyone who is frowning at the screen round about now, wondering what the bloomin' heck I'm babbling on about, one good thing that did come of of East Berlin was its traffic light man. In England, and in most parts of West Germany, you get the bog-standard, no-necked, awkward looking man in the traffic lights, telling  you when and when not to cross the road. Not in East Germany. This one is much more friendly looking; slightly rounded at the edges (may have consumed too many pastries) and even wears a hat!! The Ampelmann has become somewhat of an icon of East Berlin, with an entire shop dedicated to his merchandise - we got very excited when we spotted it!

Ampelmann!

After scoffing on some delicious waffles over lunch, we headed to the Berliner Zoo; embracing our inner 6 year olds and cooing in delight at all the animals. Maybe it's just my perception, but I'm pretty sure the Germans aren't quite as big on the whole 'elf 'n' safety' thing as we are back at home. An inner city zoo in London, for example, would take a ferocious, man-eating carnivore such as a lion and separate you from it by at least, oh, I don't know an eight feet high fence, potentially a glass wall and five hundred signs screaming 'DO NOT GO NEAR THE ANIMALS OR ELSE YOU SHALL DIE!' Not in Germany. I'm fairly certain that if your arms were long enough, the lion was probably within touching distance. Well, I guess if you're silly enough to poke your fingers through the bar, you probably deserve to lose them. 

See what I mean?!

After one final delicious meal, followed by a viewing of Les Mis (easily one of the best films I've seen,) it was time to go back to the hostel, pack up our stuff and head home the following morning. Words cannot express how tired I was on the train journey home, but it was a weekend I will never forget and was without a doubt worth every droopy-eyed moment I had in school on Monday. 

Liebe Grüße 

Emily