A Day in the Life at Englischhausen -- The Black Forest, Germany

The title of this post is a boldfaced lie. I'm not writing from the Black Forest -- I'm typing away, click-clacking quietly from Martin's kitchen in Munich. I was a reprehensible blogger and hardly wrote at all during my five day stint as a volunteer English teacher at Englischhausen. I was too dog-tired the majority of the time, and used my precious extra moments to cuddle with my multiple soft pillows, mindlessly watch the Daily Show and plug away at French via duolingo.

So instead of reiterating each of the past five days (which would be impossible, overwhelming, and probably just bad writing), I'm simply going to post an entry that describes a typical day.

Although a typical day for me is significantly different than a typical day for the poor German students who were forced to speak English for five days straight.

A Day in the Life at Englischhausen

(from the unique perspective of Aimee Bourget)

4:00 -- Eyes pop open. It's pitch black in my room plush hotel room.  Except for the pitter-patter of rain, it's deathly still. Every normal, non-nocturnal creature is sleeping at this unnatural time. I close my eyes and try to fall back asleep, but the wheels are turning in my brain and I can't make them stop. Thoughts are racing back and forth, carrying annoying little messages that poke and prick and guilt-trip with their liberal use of "should". I should be writing... I should be practicing yoga... I should be studying French... I should be... Bourget! It's 4:00 in the f*cking morning! You shouldn't be shoulding on yourself this early! Yeah, but I should be working harder on my laughter play... I resentfully open my eyes, blindly switch on the light (opening my eyes doesn't really change that much due to my lamentably bad vision), and grudgingly open up my macbook pro. I don't have the energy to practice yoga, the clarity to write, the patience to study French or the peace of mind to sleep. Suck. 

7:30 --  I drag myself off the floor where I've been rather apathetically practicing yoga for the past forty-five minutes and hop into the shower. The water is hot and the pressure is amazing. Spending months in farmhouses in Ireland has instilled in me a profound appreciation of hot water and good pressure. I have four or five different fluffy white towels to choose from and am nearly giddy to discover that a cinnamon scented moisturizer is included in the bathroom bowl of goodies. Moisturizer is one of those things luxurious items I just don't spend money on when I travel, so finding little bottles of it lying about makes me feel like it's Christmas. Like it's Christmas in Narnia after Aslan has finally vanquished the White Witch. It's a good feeling.

8:00 -- Breakfast. I grab my room key with number 105 engraved on its wooden chain and clomp down the stairs to the dining room. Each table is set for four with little water goblets, coffee cups, a silver pot of coffee and a small pitcher of milk. I scan the area for a table with room for another Anglo, as each must seat two English speakers and two Germans. After the quick look about, I hang my purse on the chair to stake my claim, grab my plate and eagerly head to the buffet. Good god, I'm going to miss the breakfast here, I think as I stab at the various slices of cured ham and hack off generous portions of cheese. Cheese and meat and coffee for breakfast. Ah. Love.

I gleefully carry my plate of charcuterie back to my table and try not to feel embarrassed when I see the modest helpings of my breakfast companions. I just... love... cheese. I tried to justify the massive mountain of fermented dairy products. Why are you so good? Between mouthfuls, we attempt morning banter, but the language barrier plus the early hour makes our conversation stilted and rather superficial.

"How did you sleep?"

"Fine. And you?"

"Yes, yes, I slept okay. But zere was za noise again."

"What noise?"

"I don't know. Perhaps za water pipes. Do you not hear za noise?"

"No, no my room is quiet."

"Oh, okay." 

*silence*

"I really love cheese for breakfast."

"Sorry?"

"I really love cheese for breakfast."

9:00 -- I mosey over to the schedule to check with whom I will be speaking for the next hour. As I love each and every German at this program and the one-to-ones are my favorite part, I approach list with almost as much enthusiasm as I approached the glorious breakfast cheese plate. Michael... Michael... Where's Michael? I search the dining room for my first German victim, a passionate, assertive, pleasant journalist who seems to be trying extraordinarily hard to improve his English. In fact, sometimes it can be relatively difficult to speak with him because  One to one's are interesting because they give you the chance to really get to know people -- as long as you're open, patient and have the ability to ask questions. My biggest problem is that because I'm meeting so many people in such a short span of time, I often mix up their stories and forget who's had to hear my riveting stories at least a dozen times already.

10:00 -- I look at the lunch and dinner menus and select my meals for the day. As lunch is the main event in Germany (something that took me by surprise), the course includes wine, soup, salad, a main, dessert and coffee. Dinner is all of this, but somewhat smaller portions and sans dessert. After marking the boxes next to my name, I check what's next on the activity list. Conference Call Observer. Awesome. This is an activity wherein I get to sit quietly and take notes as the Germans chat with another Anglo over speakerphone. At the end of the conversation, I give them feedback on their English and tips for how to say things more appropriately in the future. Watching the confusion and listening to the improvised scenarios is hilarious.

11:00 -- Back to the schedule! Presentation Observer! Win! I get to sit for an hour and listen to Germans make presentations on their work, their hometowns, their hobbies or other life experiences. I try to ask questions when their ten minutes are up, but because their work is completely foreign to me, my head is reeling so hard just trying to understand what they do that I haven't the faintest idea of what to ask. I don't know the first thing about German cars being manufactured more cheaply in China or how bio-fuel can turn into pure hydrogen. By the end of the presentations, my mouth is usually hanging open in amazement that these people can discuss such topics in a language that isn't their own.

12:00 -- Two to twos! Everyone swarms into the meeting room, half asleep and already thinking about the break after lunch. The director divides us into groups of four comprised of two Anglos, two Germans, and a piece of paper designed to instigate controversial conversation and sends us off on our merry ways. As we can't go outside thanks to the pissing rain, we try to find a relatively quiet place inside the hotel.

"Do you believe in choice or destiny?"

"What means destiny?"

"Uh... I guess it's similar to "fate".

"What means fate?"

"What does fate mean."

"Yes."

"No, that's how you ask the question. "what does fate mean?"".

"What does fate mean?"

"Yeah, it uh... the idea that your life has been designed by an external entity and you that will reach a certain end regardless of the choices you make."

"Ah. Zen I sink zat it is choice."

13:00 -- LUNCH! I rush to the dining room and search for a table needing another Anglo. Isabell, American Michael and Holger have an extra chair, so I snag it quickly, order my usual glass of red wine, and then scamper off to the salad bar. I just... love pickled things, my plate looks like it was attacked by pickled beetroot and kraut and then slathered with spiced yogurt by the time I trot back to my table. A soup flits in to take the place of my empty salad plate, but as the kitchen is well aware that there are three celiacs on the program, the soup they bring me is usually thin broth with a few small vegetables floating around. I'm going to stop ordering soup, I forlornly contemplate a lone carrot. This just makes me sad. My main is placed before me, and I bite my lip in disappointment. The celiac version of roast wild boar with morel sauce and mushrooms is simply two small pieces of dry meat and a mountain of white rice. Ach. At least it's meat, I gingerly chew and the moisture is sucked out of my mouth. They could have at least given me some mustard or something. Bavaria is famous for its mustard, right? I take a small sip of red wine to restore wetness to my mouth and try to distract myself from the meal by talking to Holger, Isabell and Michael. One of the absolute best things about immersion programs such as these are the people you get to meet. Holger is one of the funniest, most warmhearted fellows I've ever come across. Isabell has the most contagious laugh. Michael has the best stories and amazing tips on how to fly for free. Before long, I look down at my plate and notice that I've managed to eat most of the dry meat. The dessert course (black forest cake for the others and sorbet for me) is followed by coffee is followed by --

2:30 -- BREAK. These breaks always start off with the best intentions. I'm going to write a blog and study French and read a little about yoga and research Rome and... *sigh* pillow, you look so great. Has anyone told you today how great you look? 'Cos you're pretty fan... *snore*

4:00 -- I plop myself down onto a stiff seat in the meeting room. It's easy to see that most of the Englischhausen participants spent their break in a similar manner, as many cheeks are decorated with telltale pillow lines quite like my own. The PD divides us into groups and we disperse into the hotel to invent an animal on the verge of extinction.

"It should be really boring. Boring and useless."

"It lifes in za water when it is young and zen mofes into a cavfe."

"Oh, yes -- like an amphibian! And what does it eat in the water?"

"It eats fishes and zen when it is in za cavfe, it eats nosingk."

"Because since it doesn't move, it doesn't use any energy. It hibernates."

"Yes, and it lifes 9999 days. We can make zem sink about zis one. And how does it look like?"

"Eh, I think it should look boring. Like Totoro from the Miyazaki film."

"And za males have two arms and one leg and za females are za opposite."

"And why is it going extinct?"

"Because it never mofes and is blind from za cavfe, so cannot find a mate."

"And how would we fix that?"

"We would make for zem a facebook page and put zem on blind dates."

"Perfect."

5:00 -- another One to One. I'm so tired that I forget to correct the Germans on their English.

6:00 -- another One to One. I'm so tired that the Germans start correcting me on my English.

7:00 -- Performance/Presentation time! I sit back and laugh as the Germans and Anglos perform short skits. I've decided that Germans are absolutely hilarious and have no idea as to why they're oft regarded as humorless. I believe I've laughed nearly nonstop since arriving in Germany on October 3rd.

Skits finished, presentations commence. One Anglo shows pictures of national parks in Montana, and I'm struck by the beauty of my country and ashamed of the fact that I have yet to visit Yellowstone. I never appreciate beauty if it's close. My personality has to actively search for it... beauty has to be unfamiliar to be noticed and appreciated. Beauty has to jolt me like a defibrillator. Another Anglo gives a short history of the English language. Then it's my turn. I rise from my seat with jittery nerves and wobbly legs. I'm used to working in front of people -- teaching yoga, doing theatre, etc. -- but this feels different, somehow. I've never really given a yoga presentation before. When I teach yoga, people are moving with me -- so I feel safe in the knowledge that they're concentrating on their bodies and not on mine (and even if they are ogling me, I feel safe in the knowledge that they look every bit as silly as I do). So I stand in front of about thirty people and lead them through a basic breathing exercise and then guide two unfortunate Germans into Vrksasana, tree pose.

"Thank-you very much," I told the brave students before they fell over, "that's just great. I'm now going to flow through a short yoga routine that demonstrates the style of yoga I practice and teach."

A few arm balances and energetic sun salutations later, I assist a much more fortunate German in Savasana and end the series with a Namaste to the audience.

It feels so good to be practicing yoga with people again. I could share this for the rest of my life and be happy.

8:00 -- Dinner! Exhausted, I pounce on a table where a particularly loquacious Anglo already sits. He'll talk the whole time. So I can just nod my head and be polite. Yes. This is a good plan. The best plan. Yes. *nod*

9:45 -- Optional group activity. Many just drag themselves off to bed at this point, but as I've vowed to be more social this time around (I was a hermit at the program in Spain two years ago), I do my utmost to participate. This more oft than not serves to soundly handicap my teammates and embarrass myself -- but even if my team plays a pathetic game of taboo, I've managed to keep my vow. Tonight is a dance party, though. I strip out of my yoga pants and slip into my soft green dress from Nice. Part of me feels really uncomfortable going to the party because I know I can't afford to purchase myself drinks. Of course, dancing is always fun -- but dancing with people who have been drinking is exponentially more fun when you've been drinking yourself. I force myself onto the floor and move my feet and shift my weight in the typical, awkward "white person" style. Where are some Kenyans when you need them? I thought back to my experience in Wales and how the Kenyan and Ugandan girls had poked fun at me until I'd been able to properly shake my ass. Or at least shake it like less of an awkward white person. Holger bought me a fine glass of wine and that helped loosen me up a bit. Then one of the volunteers (who'd also had a glass or two of wine) mentioned how fantastic my body looked (one region in particular) during my yoga presentation. Encouragement + wine = happier Aimee on the dance floor. Not any better, mind you. Just happier.

12:00 -- I stumble, blunder, bumble to bed. Up the stairs, turn left, room 105. Yes... 105. My room. 105 is my room. Unlock the door with the slick key attached to my wooden key chain. Flossing is for wimps. I can wash off my makeup in the morning. Blurgh. Words are hard. Walking is hard. Who says you can't sleep in jeans?

 Memorable Moments at Englischhausen

(from the unique perspective of Aimee Bourget)

• When I first saw the enormous selection of gluten-free pastries.
• When one of my German friends began his presentation with the opening line of "A gentleman is defined as someone who knows how to play the ukelele -- but doesn't."
• When the kitchen staff flubbed the gluten-free business, gave me my dessert quite late, and everyone burst into song. Of the "happy birthday" variety. 
• How absurdly smelly my sweater became by the fourth day.
• A conversation I had with a German about German culture, identity and working habits.  

A Few Photos from Englischhausen

(we're not allowed to post many)

One of the few moments it wasn't raining

The Black Forest is not named such because of black soil or black trees growing in black soil or black animals living in black trees growing in black soil -- no, it's named The Black Forest because the sun can't get through the trees.

But it's amazing when it does get through.

A new friend from Malaysia

My final food challenge for Germany! It's a red berry jelly with ice cream on top. Must tastier than it sounds.

The dining room

Our glorious hotel

Black Forest yoga!