A new year, and a whole new life here in Frankfurt:
House
First, and most significantly, of all, the WG is transformed. Since I last wrote, Romy has decided to take the plunge into living alone (at the tender age of 22 I consider this a brave, perhaps even foolish, move. I am assured, however, that her moving out has nothing to do with my moving in). Steffi has also flown the nest to do a semester in Portugal. When last seen, she was practising the Portuguese alphabet, and familiarising herself with the numbers sufficiently to count backwards from dez to um. Interesting to see how she'll cope with Research Methods in Developmental Psychology in Português. She's a fighter, however, not a quitter, so I expect to see her back here alive and well in six months with, if not fluent Portuguese, then at least a few funny stories to tell about trying to learn.
The best thing about a change of personnel in the flat is that I'm no longer the newest person here. Without wanting to sound like someone with a short-man-hungry-for-power-complex, it feels great to show someone the ropes of the flat, and to describe how "we" (meaning me and Marcus) like to do things.
It's also given me the chance to introduce a few new practices. One such new practice is that Marcus and I, in the absence of a Steffi-shaped mother figure (she's the only woman I've ever met not to be sexually frustrated, merely reproductively frustrated), hsve begun to take responsibility for our own existence. It's interesting to note that when a person who is trying to reform you into good citizens goes away, you tend to reform yourself. I think there's an instinct to resist being moulded into something even when, left to your own devices, you'd probably be like that anyway. Suffice it to say that we've sprung into dishwasher-emptying, rubbish down-the-stairs-bringing, table-wiping domestic machines. And I like it.
Time
The Winter Semester of 20009/10 (my first) is officially over. The exams, however, dribble on for another few weeks so utter relaxation and immersion in Piano, German and Lying in Bed practice will have to wait just a little longer. The various visitations (people to Frankfurt, Rob to people elsewhere) are very much looked-forward-to events. Those involved can rest easy in the knowledge that I'm counting the days!
Language
I've arrived at a point with my German where I'm able, when drunk, to speak like a native (as far as my naïve ears can distinguish) and wave my arms around at the same time. I've also bought my first German book. It's a little out of my league, but I'm basically ok as long as my massive English-German dictionary is snugly on my lap. All good fun, but also massively frustrating sometimes, when I forget the word for "swap" or swap it with "share" and simply can't go on with what I was saying. I'm also feeling the familiar doom that comes with being at a point with a language where what you really need to do is learn some words. You're then suddenly faced with, in place of the friendly slope of Grammar that comes in the first 6 months, a massive wall of vocabulary in areas as diverse as angling; shapes, skins and stones of fruit; and different parts of the neck one can enjoyably be kissed on. It's an intimidating prospect. And that's not to mention the reams and reams of small print that living in a country inevitably entails. The only difference between English small print and German small print is that the Germans simply don't apologise for it by making it small. It's just called "print" here and it usually starts at the start of the booklet/letter/printer instructions and continues until the signature at the end.
I was recently told by a well-wisher that I make a grammar mistake in, quote, "every sentence" (I realise that writing the word quote and putting quote marks is redundant. Don't blame me. Blame they who pioneered the modern write-like-you-speak blogging style). Despite my best efforts at angling for sympathy with this line, I'm yet to find a German person who seriously disagrees with this statement. But it's kicked me into action. My German, to the Germans sounds something like this:
I'm of a language course taking thinking. I feel I from improving my German really benefit could. The time has to take the plunge and a few quid to pay come.
That is to say that most of the words are more-or-less right but they're consistently in the wrong order. This makes me comprehensible, but open to not being taken seriously. Something I'm ok with generally, but which can get on one's nerves after six continuous months. For reasons which link me neatly to my next topic, I can get cheaper language courses than most.
Teaching
Sometimes just knowing a fear is irrational is not enough to stop it giving you a day-long feeling of sickness and needing a wee. In fact it never is enough in my case. The relaunch of my moribund teaching career (Alan Partridge, you've ruined the word 'moribund' for all of us) is a nice example of this. I knew I was a decent teacher. I knew I could think on my feet and turn a 10-minute activity into a 30-minute one without the class noticing that planned timing had gone awry. But these facts didn't stop me from feeling, the whole day preceding my first 3 lessons, like I'd eaten way too much live jellyfish. It's a feeling very comparable to having to be on stage. The nerves continue right up until the second you start performing and, as soon as you do, you either can't imagine what you were worried about or you're so into it that you don't have time to stop and think about how it's going until you collapse exhausted into your U-Bahn seat the moment it's over. I really really like teaching but, by god, it's bad for my digestive system.
Needless to say, the classes themselves were better than ok. They were fun. The students are lovely (why are English students always so lovely? A decent Sociology Master's Thesis for someone, surely?) and the class flies by in a whirl of games, drawing silly pictures of crocodiles on the board and ranting about never using the present perfect with a time specifier (for those non-English speakers amongst you, ask me when you see me. I'll fill you in...). For a twice-a-week two-hour session I'm very handsomely rewarded. It represents a beer for all those readers who come to Frankfurt to claim one.
The 'In Brief' section
1. I now have a picture of the Frankfurt U-Bahn map (and a sketch of the actual street map) in my head. A wonderful moment of living in a new city.
2. My piano teacher is costly but worth it. I'm now learning to play stuff only a moderately-educated 9-year-old could play. This is quite genuinely a major step forward. See the Wikipedia page on learning to run before you can walk for an in-depth description of my piano-playing career.
3. Today I spoke to a German girl who had never heard of Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (she said "Salt and pepper who??") and had never heard "Strawberry Fields Forever". Somehow my credulity was unable to deal with this. It's like somebody never having sat cross-legged before. Or never having noticed that you could flip that white thing on the wall and make the lights come on. It just seemed totally beyond the bounds of possibility. Does that make me a gross caricature of old colonial Britain (think "Do you mean to say, my dear Sanjeev, that you've never heard of The Charge of the Light Brigade?")? It's certainly too early to rule it out but in any case, I literally forced her to go out immediately and buy it. Ok, she's going tomorrow but that's good enough.
I love you and leave you, friends 'n' family, with the following thought, easily translatable through Google Translate (other automatic translation websites are available):
Vor sechs Monate könnte ich nichts sagen. Jetzt kann ich nur nichts sagen, dass grammatikalisch korrekt ist!
Till next time,
Rob
