Germany, my New Expatriotism

Descending through a snowy field of white clouds, I saw Germany for the first time in four years. It looked like golf courses speckled with A-framish towns, and everything watched over by windmills. I thought of Quixote´s giants.

I mentioned Frauke and Lothar before, they are my gracious hosts (so are their three children, the best German teachers I´ve ever had). They live in a town called Buchschlag. I hear it and I think of book-slag. Something I wouldn´t want to read. German is like that though; I had a friend who said it felt like "garbled English." You can try to make sense of it, but it´s better to admit complete ignorance and then act surprised in the face of a true cognate.

Linus, 10, is the middle child. He led the way by bicycle to get an ice cream in Dreieich. We went through an old castle, past grain fields, hay bales and little A-framed houses. We stopped for a detailed look at this wooden bird he desperately wanted to explain to me. At the time, it went over my head.

Lothar, the father, is in educational publishing, and would rather tell you about his work than have you ask. He´s really busy, but comes home with enough energy to race the kids up and down the backyard. When we speak English and he can´t come up with the right word, he drops everything and turns to the dictionary. Just that precise.

For lunch, we had sushi - my second go at it. We chased it down with strawberry cake and a spur-of-the-moment German lesson, facilitated by a colorful handful of SillyBandz. This meant that I learned the words for heart, seal, house, castle, magic wand, that kind of thing. Very useful, practical stuff. If I ever need a train ticket, I´m all set.

I sat in the living room while Linus did a Tae Kwon Do demonstration. Quentin´s (the youngest, 6) wobbly mimicry turned everything into a father-children gymnastics routine, not without tickling and a little rough-housing.

In this house, I sleep in the playroom, on top of the fitted sheet and under the comforter. It really puts the "comfort" in comforter, not gonna lie. In the morning, I wake up to my three "cousins" saying "Good morning" to me. Life is good. Even if I can´t stumble over that simple phrase in German to save my life. My teachers have their work cut out for them.

Guten nacht,
-a

Italian Crossword Puzzles

Here's a brief profile of my friends I'm staying with. Anna, a bubbly and irreverent brunette hooked on Grey's Anatomy, and Juliana, an sweet blonde who'll kill you with her affection. Both are spoiling me at their apartment in Venice. I do what I can to repay them.

My favorite part of this place: I close myself behind the shower's wobbly doors and uncoil the shower head from the wall to the music of campanile bells and a mother reprimanding her child in the backyard, sounds that filter through a colorful layer or two of hanging laundry.

Traveling in vaporetto: I didn't forget the sound of one of these bus-boats pulling up to a stop, or the image of the sailor lasooing the dock and twisting a knot probably passed down from generation to generation. I don't think I ever will, either.

Today, at Lido. Perfect sun, chilly water. I love digging through my pockets and having to distinguish between Eurocent coins and shells.

In the vaporetto on the way to Lido, I helped Anna with an Italian crossword puzzle. Meaning she taught me several new Italian words and completely ridiculous definitions for them.

On the beach, we played volleyball and Italian tennis-badminton. I fell asleep in the heat and had dreams I couldn't remember. After which we ate lunch along a sidewalk, spending as much time watching the people pass as enjoying our tramezzini. And of course, gelato.

I'm here for a pretty long haul, but when I get bogged down I just read more of "The Sun Also Rises" and it's better. Instantly. Here's what I hit recently: "You're an expatriate. You've lost touch with the soil. You get precious. You drink yourself to death. You become obsessed by sex. You spend all your time talking, not working. You are an expatriate, see? You hang around cafés."

Tonight, I did not hang around cafès. I ate sushi for the very first time. This was in Mestre, the city on the mainland right outside Venice. The place was called "Sushi Wok," and was an all-you-can-eat buffet. Needless to say, I feel like an elephant seal right now. One nice thing about Italian restaurants is that you don't tip. I know you don't like that, Matt Maerowitz.

Juliana went home to Pergine for the weekend. So at the sushi place were me, Anna, her boyfriend Giovanni, and four of his friends that he studies Japanese with. So cute going to a sushi joint with your Japanese classmates. They spoke fast, and this is only my second day back in this lingual world. I got issues. I thought, what would be easier, following this conversation, or doing Anna's crossword puzzle by myself?

All the Blockbuster stores I ever knew in the United States have gone out of business. Today, I saw one in Mestre. There were both lights on and people inside. Blast from the past.

Do I feel American? Absolutely. Do I care? I don't know. All I know is when I indulge my friends and speak English, it sounds about as weird as "Deliverance" dubbed in Italian. Which I haven't seen.

This isn't really a sightseeing blog, is it?