One small step towards German-ness, one giant leap towards warmth

For times like this when I have little to report about the events that fill my days, I like to delve into the photo archives and into my memories as well. The topic of this entry is the hot water bottle. The purchase of said water bottle was a major event in 2006. And really, when I say 'small step towards German-ness', I really mean 'freakin' huge step'. In the same respect, when I say 'giant leap towards warmth', I mean 'is warmth in its essence and entire being.'


Now I know that hot water bottles aren't just German. I know that we have them in America too (by the way, I like to pronounce 'America' like this: a-merrr-ka) but who have you ever seen using a water bottle? I believe the last time I even heard about a hot water bottle was in a Judy Bloom book about the start of menstruation. If you're cold in A-merrr-ka, then to the best of my knowledge you warm yourself with electricity or fossil fuels. Although my family insisted upon keeping the house at frosty temps to save on heating bills and maybe to be environmentally friendly, we were no strangers to electric mattress pads or electric heating pads in general.

Thus, when I moved to Germany so many years ago, the hot water bottle was truly a phenomenon. A phenomenon which took me about seven years to approach and get to know. Seven years. Think about all the fear of the unknown that develops in seven years. Really, think about it.

Then, one day last spring I was in the grocery store of all places and they had hot water bottles with snuggly animal cases for just 3 Euros and I knew I had to act. However, after purchasing said snuggly hot water bottle, it sat on a high shelf in my closet through spring, summer, and fall. I thought about using it and then at the last moment I always turned away, for doing something for the first time can just be daunting at times.

In December I was visiting my darling host sister, Anna, when I was overcome with illness. Anna, being a good German, gave me a hot water bottle to sooth my aching body. And voila, I was in love!

Throughout the cold winter (ok, it actually wasn't that cold) I diligently filled my little ducky with hot water, crawled into bed, and had some of the most glorious nights of sleep of my entire life.

Thus, when Maria came to visit over Christmas, I knew that she must also have a hot water bottle. Because wouldn't it be cruel to fill up my snuggly hot water bottle each night, crawl into bed, and have the best night of sleep ever, while next to me, a cold little Maria lie awake) (OK, the awake part probably isn't that likely, but I digress.) And to be honest, the thought of just giving her my hot water bottle for the duration of her stay was far too much for my fiendishly warm egocentric self. And so, for her birthday, she got this little lamby.

And that is the story of the hot water bottle, one of the little things that makes me feel more German . . . and warm.

May I remind you that buttermilk is not a sports drink?

Dear Friends,

I'm here with a public service announcement: Buttermilk is not a sports drink. Water is a sports drink. Gatorade and its electrolyte-filled friends are sports drinks. I'll even give you protein shakes if you're a body builder (or maybe just a poor student rower). But I hate to break it to you that butter milk, pictured here in its German version: Buttermilch, is not a sports drink. It's not refreshing and for all I know all that lactic acid might make your muscles more sore . . . although actually, I don't know that to be a fact or even scientifically defensible.

At any rate, I saw someone at the gym today drinking buttermilk and I was shocked and appalled. Let me repeat, shocked and appalled. As a child, my friend Sara and I payed her little brother, Travis, to drink buttermilk because we found it so revolting. He went for it. Today, living in Germany, I find that many people actually enjoy drinking buttermilk. In fact, the geoscientists that I used to work with claimed to be addicted to drinking buttermilk. It's just not right! Buttermilk is for pancakes and . . . uhh . . . I don't know what else, but definately pancakes. If this upsets you too, give me a shout out because you guys have gotten a bit lax about commenting lately and it's gettin' me down.

Man from the internet enjoying buttermilk, thus giving consumers the false impression that it is delicious and refreshing.

Burg Hohen-what?

Burg Hohenzollern of course!

Maria's visit has motivated me, as well as my pal Stefan, to do touristy things in the area that we had never done before. This includes (maybe exclusively . . . we're kind of slow) visiting the Burg Hohenzollern, a fairy tale castle in the Schwabian Alb.

You may wonder what one does at a castle and you are right to do so. A lot more goes on there than you probably know about.





Drinking a beer at the castle's small pub is a suitable pastime for a cold, or warm for that matter, afternoon. Our tour didn't start for nearly three quarters of an hour, so really, what choice did we have?




















Another favorite hobby is gazing at the shapely bums of the guardsmen, which have been so thoughtfully immortalized in stone.










While learning about the long history of the several castles that stood on this same spot, Maria took some time out to do this brilliant impersonation of this tidy little jacket.







A romantic pose with a romantic view. Actually, Maria wasn't so hot on taking these cuddly pictures with me, but I had really hoped to visit this castle on a bit of a date awhile back and I wasn't about to let lack of male accompaniment ruin my romantic visit to the Burg Hohenzollern!










I think this one speaks for itself.






















I can say without reservation that our visit to the Burg Hohenzollern was a smashing success! We all had a lovely day and were mighty glad that we had braved the cold and climbed up that big-ass hill. I was so happy that half of my head disappeared into the sunlight.

Wild Boar Hunt in Germany!

I know you've all been asking yourselves, "When is Claire finally going to do some wild boar hunting?" and I finally have an answer for you: this past weekend. I visited Sarah in Marburg this weekend for her birthday, where the yearly wild boar hunt took place. This wild boar hunt wasn't exactly your traditional wild boar hunt, however. By that I mean, we weren't really hunting wild boars. Ok, I'm starting to sense your doubt, your confusion. Let me elaborate.

The Wild Boar Hunt is a game. Granted it's a game that not many people, not even Germans, know about, but it's great. A well kept secret really. Here's what happens: You get together with your friends on an evening in late fall or winter; put on your warmest, darkest clothes; fill your thermos with some hot, mulled wine; bring your garbage bags (preferably unused); and head for the woods. When it's totally dark, you head out to a predetermined section of the woods and form teams of two. All but one team heads out into the woods and finds a good hiding spot. This is the point where the garbage bags come in--they are good to lay down on. These teams are the wild boars. The last team of two is the hunter team. They wait about ten minutes and then head out into the woods, sans flashlight, and try to find the wild boars. Every five minutes, the hunters can yell "light!" and the wild boars have to shine their flashlight in the air for five seconds. When you've been caught, you head back up to the grill hut where you continue drinking warm, mulled wine and eating cookies. When everyone has been found, you start all over again.

Great fun in Germany! Great fun indeed!

Another item of great fun is one of my favorite holidays of the year, St. Nicholas! Do you guys celebrate St. Nick's? I sometimes have the feeling that this may have been some kind of German anomoly in Milwaukee, as I have met many an American and Canadian who have responded with a confused and quisicle tilt of the head when I mentioned St. Nicholas. St. Nicholas is celebrated on December 6 and it is traditional to put your shoes out at night. If you've been good, you'll awake to find treats and small presents in your shoes. If you've been, the obligatory coal is to be expected.

Germany: Enjoying the classics or painfully stuck in the past?

2 Notes before we start on today's post:

Thank you so much for the amazing response to the oh so hot topic of twin eggs! A reader participation record was certainly set there!

Secondly, a warning that this post may be rather generationally limited. If you weren't listeng to popular music at the end of the nineties, then you might be a bit lost. Sorry Grandma and Grandpa, I'll try to make the next one intergenerational again. With that said, here we go.

Today's Post:

Germans love Lauryn Hill. I know most of you over there in America are still stuck on the idea that Germans love David Hasselhoff, which they do, but that is neither here nor there. Germans love Lauryn Hill.

Let me specify what I mean by love. Germans actually love Lauryn Hill in the same way that they love David Hasselhoff. If you ask your average German if they love David Hasselhoff there is a 90% chance that they will say "no". If, however, you ask your average German to sing or hum part of a David Hasselhoff song (yes, he was a singer here), there is a 90% chance that they will be able to do it. So what I'm talking about is a more passive kind of love. A simple, long-lasting appreciation. A refusal to forget.

And so, in that sense, Germans love Lauryn Hill. When I get together with my old Gymnasium (German high school) friends, we still listen to Lauryn Hill. I was out at a pretty cool bar in Marburg over the weekend and Lauryn Hill was playing. It doesn't matter if we're talking about early Fugees or the Miseducation of Lauryn Hill--the Germans love it all. Germany refuses to let go of Lauryn Hill.

I suppose this interests me so much because it is in such stark contrast to the new-music-cult of America. The constant search for new music that no one else has heard and the pressure to know all the newest names. Maybe it's just the posse that that I run with, but knowing the lastest music trends is just part of the game. And yet, as I lightly poke fun at Germany, I cannot say which I prefer. While I miss the constant influx of new music very much, I also feel way more cool in Germany, where I rarely run the risk of outing myself as someone whose knowledge of music is a few weeks behind.