~Martin Buber
I'm starting this post from my new placement in Bad Münster am Stein. The light from the laptop glares obnoxiously because the room is quickly going dark and I haven't been able to locate the light switch for the ceiling light.
Another thing to ask your host, Bourget. Make sure you know how to work all the lights before they leave for the night.
After some scrambling, I managed to find a small lamp by the bed, but after a bit more scrambling with outlets and wires, I discovered that the bulb must have burned out.
I suppose my eyes can tolerate one evening of laptop glare, I gave up the hunt, deciding to wait until the morning to ask my hosts about the lights and bulbs and switches and things.
I do know how to make coffee in the morning. This is the most important thing.
The sun has long gone down, but the sky is still faintly grey and bright enough for me to peer through the window to see the neighbor's dozens of ponies chowing down on their evening hay. I sip a cup of warm herbal tea in a quirky, handle-less mug, sink back into a large black office chair and rest my feet on the wooden desk in front of me.
I'm in another loft. I'll wake up to the sun shining in through the slanted windows tomorrow. It'll make me think of Buckinghamshire and that will be a splendid way to start the day.
I'm looking forward to my three weeks of volunteering here. I don't know the first thing about alpacas and this farm seems to be very isolated, but it's breathtakingly beautiful and it'll be a perfect opportunity for me to spend my free hours practicing yoga, writing, and reconnecting with the part of myself that likes to work. It's been a long time since I've really worked with my hands, as the last few months have been writing, cooking, teaching yoga, walking dogs, and living one long sublime vacation. I'm happy to have the opportunity to give back a little during my stay in Bad Münster -- even if giving back involves transporting alpaca poop from one corner of the field to the other.
Stefan left for work at 7:15 Sunday morning. I heard the sounds of water running in the bathroom and footsteps in the hall and I had to remind myself that, Aimee, this is Germany, not the French Riviera; people here go to work before the sun gets up, not after.
I spent the morning writing, drinking coffee, and dreaming about what I might eat for lunch between paragraphs and sips. Because of my nonsensically tight budget, I never take good care of myself when I'm couchsurfing. I eat like royalty when I volunteer, but I feel so guilty spending money (I think in plane tickets -- ten euros on food is a tenth of a ferry ticket to Corsica) that I'll look at a sausage, think about a ferry ticket, look at a sausage, think about a ferry ticket, feel the rumbling of my angry tummy, and think about CORSICA, Bourget!
I generally don't buy the sausage. Corsica always wins because it's a lot easier to say,
You can just wait to eat until tomorrow.
than
Corsica can just wait until my next big adventure.
This isn't healthy, but it's a vast improvement from the time I wouldn't buy floss because the 2 euro splurge was unfathomable to my thrifty brain and guilty conscious. I've rearranged my priorities enough that I usually buy food when I'm hungry, but I've gone days without eating when surfing in Ireland in 2011 (which I don't recommend). I believe I subsisted entirely off of coffee and tea.
I think that was probably when this purist started adding milk and sugar to her beverages.
After taking pictures of a few google maps leading to the Kleinmarkthalle, I closed my laptop, stuffed my camera and phone into my bag, and stepped out onto the street. I'd anticipated that Frankfurt would be as frigid as the day before, so had bundled up in smartwool socks, smartwool long underwear, jeans, boots, and two sweaters.
Frankfurt was hot and I cooked inside my woolen clothes so thoroughly that I could have stripped off my jeans and taken a bite out of my leg. I was almost hungry enough to do so.
But this is a first world problem. I was too warm, yada, yada, yada. Geez.
I made it to the Kleinmarkthalle (translated as "little market hall -- go HERE if you're ever in Frankfurt) without getting lost (much to my surprise) and spent the next half hour walking up and down the aisles, stealing samples of candied ginger and wasabi covered peas.
It's amazing how amazing food tastes when you're ravenous.
After strolling past the fruit, vegetables, meats, cheeses, olives, and dried candies enough times to be warily eyed by the shopkeepers in charge of samples, I stopped at a promising cheese stand to purchase grüne soße and handkase for my Germany food challenges.
"Excuse me, do you speak any English?" I hung my head.
"A little bit," the tall, scruffy blonde replied.
"Could I have 200 grams of green sauce and two pieces of hand cheese?" I asked rather timidly.
"Vould you like a bag?" the man deftly smeared the herby paste into a plastic container.
"No, I'm fine. But thank-you."
"Grazie," the German took my euros and clink-clanked the heavy change into my hands with a cheerful "buongiorno!"
"Grazie... I mean, merci... I mean, danke!" my brain was fuzzy.
He thought I was Italian. I must be losing my American accent! This is wonderful. First that French photographer said I sounded English and now this German cheese guy thinks I sound Italian. I will be from EVERYWHERE.
I unwrapped one of the slices of hand cheese and demolished it on the spot. The smell was strong, the texture was firm and rubbery, and the taste was sour. Very low in fat and high in protein, this dairy product is frequently consumed by dieters and bodybuilders. And by tourists like me who want to experience local foods. Handkase is usually served with raw onions and caraway, but I couldn't afford to purchase the caraway, so I ate it on its own. When consumed in the traditional manner, this appetizer specific to Hessen is called Handkase mit Musik.
Mit Musik = with music.
"What? Hand cheese with music?" you might ask. "What does music have to do with cheese?"
"Vell," the German might respond with a knowing smile, "Za music comes later."
So don't plan any hot dates after eating Handkase mit Musik. Because the kind of music this dish creates isn't exactly of the romantic genre.
I popped into a Penny's (super cheap shop in Germany) to splurge on sausages (the cacophony from my stomach would have eclipsed the sound of all of Scotland's bagpipes played together) and eggs.
"Danke," I smiled at the cashier.
Yes! Look at me acclimating.
Once at Stefan's flat, I cooked half a sausage and two eggs. I plopped a pile of green sauce beside the eggs and proceeded to dig in.
Before I forget, "dig in" makes me think of something distressing about America. In other countries, people say "Bon appetite!" or "Guten appetite!" or something along those lines.
Only in America do we say "dig in!" before a meal.
This disturbs me so much.
But anyway. Green sauce. This specialty of Frankfurt is made from hard boiled eggs, salt, vinegar, sour cream, and seasonal herbs. It's usually eaten with eggs, meat and potatoes.
I ate it with sausage and eggs and would have thoroughly enjoyed it even if I hadn't been famished.
The rest of the day was filled with reading Chekhov in a nearby flower/Korean garden --
 |
| I love the colors this time of year |
slacklining with Stefan in the park --
and biking through the outskirts of Frankfurt at night. We wound our way in and out of narrow, muddy lanes with blindingly bright headlamps until we found ourselves at the top of a hill with a view of the city that my iPhone couldn't capture but I'll still never forget.
Preconceptions: Driving fast is relative, I suppose. However, Germans seem to be very considerate of pedestrians. Everyone obeys the traffic lights (including the pedestrians -- not much jaywalking in Germany).
Challenges: Grüne Soße and Handkase!
Beautiful!!
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