On My Own

I often feel that most of my people who are in my age bracket are pretty far ahead of me on the grown-up scale. Like, kids and houses and making consequential-type decisions. I'm a late bloomer. But move over all of you, because Heidi's got her own place!

I can't officially move in yet due to red tape, blah, blah, blah, official move-in date, etc. which is too boring to write down. But I do have the keys and the former tentant has vacated.

So I visited yesterday and danced around and walked through all of the rooms (all two of them, plus a bathroom and foyer and closet of a kitchen). It's not big or luxurious, but it's just for me. And the thing is, as soon as I walked in, I wanted to protect it. I wanted to get out a bucket of soapy water and clean everything, washing away its past to make room for my future. Sappy, I know. But exciting.

Food for Thought: Comforts of Germany

We all have specific foods we eat when we want to be comforted, feel cozy and secure. Well, maybe you don't. I, however, do. If you know me, you already know what my one addiction is. It involves comfort liquid and tastes like Christmas.

At home, spaghetti is my best friend. It loves me, and I love it. We cultivate a harmonious relationship with each other. Now that I am in Germany, other foods have joined in the relationship and have become treasures to my palate.

Reibekuchen. Basically an insanely delicious potato pancake. Fat and greasy with crispy crunch on the outside and warm, grated potato on the inside. Most Germans eat them with apple sauce, but I'm a firm believer in the kraeutersosse (herb sauce). I get a fix sometimes at the Tuesday market in the town square. While I realized 2 is a limit you should stick to at one sitting, you cannot fail with hot, deep fried potatoes.

Feldsalat. I love vegetables. It worked nicely with a vegetarian diet. There are so many delicious lettuces to find at the market here, but my favorite is the feldsalat. Little, tender leaves that actually look like they were plucked from a field. I can combine anything with them (cranberries, nuts, tofu, tomatoes, mozzarella, beans, cauliflower, anything that is left in my fridge) and have a blissful time.

Maultaschen. I can't make these myself, but oh how I love Aldi for offering a cheap and delicious version. They are pockets of pasta with a mixture of pork and green-type veggies inside. Catholics used to eat them during lent because they felt the meat was concealed in the 'pocket'. I don't know if they managed to trick God, but I'm darn glad they tried.

Istanbul Cafe Day

Our last day in Istanbul was a cafe day, hopping from tea cup to coffee cup to tea cup, sitting under shady umbrellas and people watching. We mixed some Turkish bazaars in between.

We made our way by ferry to the Asian side of Istanbul to catch our night train to Ankara and on to Cappadocia. We had a few hours to use up and went in search of dinner. The last three days of Istanbul have finally driven home the lesson of looking both ways before crossing the street. Cars, buses, taxis, any moving vehicle has the right to mow down a pedestrian. We gear ourselves up to cross the street and ask each other "Okay, are you ready?!"

We made our way through Istanbul traffic to a fantastic street market with all kinds of fish and animal parts, vegetables and berries. It felt like we were finally in Turkey. No one could understand us, it was hand gestures only from there on out, and there were very few tourists around. I was heavily meat-ed out and more than happy to enjoy Turkish lentil soup that I only by sheer luck managed to get the waiter to understand what I wanted.

The best find of the evening was by far the corn snack cart we passed on the way back to the train station, though. Corn. Fresh, wholesome corn. Off the cob. The corn guy threw in a little butter, a little Parmesan cheese, did a little corn dance, piled it into a cup, handed me a little spoon. I paid him 2 Turkish Lira, and off we went. It was the best snack ever. Another snack cart we kept seeing was cucumbers. No joke. The man peels it right in front of you, hands it over, and you munch away. We also saw watermelon, bread, roasted chestnuts, and tea carts. Why haven't these snacks caught on in the States? We could do it at movie theaters. I, for one, would happily eat a cup of corn instead of deep fried processed chicken tenders. But maybe I'm in the minority on that one.

Turkey: The Night of 'I Never's

Istanbul, I am in love with you tonight. We flew from Duesseldorf to Istanbul today and had arranged for a hotel car to pick us up. This was a stroke of sheer intelligence on our part, as it was utterly and wonderfully practical to come out of the baggage claim and see a man holding a sign with my name on it.

As we wound our way along the coast of the Sea of Marmara and the driver maneuvered through traffic chaos, we silently absorbed the sights flying by. And my wonder got stronger with each mile. I have never, ever seen so many people outside, simply enjoying the weather and each other's company. Hundreds and hundreds of little clusters of people lounging, laughing, playing were everywhere to be seen along the boardwalk. And somewhere within each little group of people was a billow of smoke from their barbecue grill. And, oh heavenly day, it wafted into our car and smelled
amazing.

We found a restaurant where we could sit outside and relax away the rest of the evening watching people walk by. I was worried the food would be sub-par in such a touristed area, but oh I was wrong. Yummy lamb and Turkish spices and hummus and rice pudding. I shared with the cats. Because, not even Greece's stray cat population can match that of what we've seen in Istanbul tonight. I have to remind myself not to pet them. Ring worm and rabies could put a damper on the vacation. But I tossed them random bits of food to see what they would eat. Everything.

I can't wait to explore tomorrow and go in all of the outrageously colorful shops.

Breaking and Entering

Please. We've all been a suspect of breaking and entering at some point in our lives. I mean, really, who hasn't? The other night I was, too. And I can only blame myself and my inattentiveness to the house alarm. It turns out leaving the window open after you go out to take the dog for a walk and have locked the front door trips the alarm and alerts the authorities.

And thankfully, like good guests, they call before sending over a team to break down your door. The phone was ringing and ringing and I finally answered:

Me: Hellöööchen?

Alarm Guy: This is Herr Something German. Who is this am Apparat??

Me: Uhhh. (I realized later that my hesitation only served to support his suspicions of me. But, really, who calls and demands to know whom their speaking to? I clearly remember the record my parents used to play about strangers.)Iiiiich. Biiiin... Heidi. (As if dragging out my words was going to help something?)

Alarm Guy: The house alarm has been going off at our station for a quarter of an hour. No where do I have your name registered to that house. What are you doing there?

Me:(This is where I stop eating the chips I had just opened and start to take things seriously.) I'm...living here right now. With Mocha. The dog. I'm watching the dog.

Alarm Guy: I've had 40 years of experience in this business. I need more explanation than that. How do I know I'm not talking to the woman who just broke into this home?! I'm about to send the police by.

Me: (Well, now, that would be embarrassing for everyone involved. Mostly me. But, what could I do?) Listen, Alarm Guy, you can send the police by if you want to. I'm staying here for 3 weeks dog sitting. I don't know why the alarm is going off! The owner is in the United States.

Alarm Guy: She needs to call me immediately and prove you're telling the truth or not. What time is it in America? After midnight?

Me: What? No. (Breaking and entering is his thing, not time zones, after all.) It's only 5pm there.

Alarm Guy: What were you doing 15 minutes ago?!

Me: (That's not really his business, but okay.) I put my pajamas on, and went onto skype. I was, you know, chatting on the computer and eating some chips.

Alarm Guy: I mean, what did you do to set the alarm off?

Me: (Slightly embarrassed now as he didn't really want to know that other stuff. But this is where we started to clear things up, as I remembered the opened window. I explained the whole scenario to him and he started to calm down.)

Alarm Guy: All right, I've identified you as a positive. (Apparently the term for those who are not breaking and entering.)

Me: I'm really pleased about that. And sorry about this. I'm only here for another 3 days, I don't think we'll have to talk again.

The greatest part about my convo with Alarm Guy was that I convinced him I was a positive in German. I'd say my feeling of satisfaction in that was pretty much worth being suspected of home invasion.

Intrique at the Town Square

Germans pay some hefty taxes to make sure their countrymen are cared for with health insurance, unemployment money, and maternity leaves. Yet, some people don't bother taking advantage of these assistances. Of course, they most likely aren't contributing any taxes anyway. Their main enjoyment seems to come from drinking a lot of alcohol. Although I shan't generalize, as this is certainly not always true.

They snub most of society's rules and have, what may or may not be, an aversion to the typical comforts in life - a bed, proper cups and such. I am fascinated by these society shunners and I can't help but watch them when I'm in their vicinity.

The Marktplatz is the best spot to observe. And not just because there is a Starbucks there. But who are we kidding, it's because there's a Starbucks there.

And as I walk towards my house of addiction to feed my chai latte needs, one of my favorite homeless people is sitting in front of the grocery market, Kaiser's, next door. That happens to be the place to hang out if you're street livin'. He squats by the wall with his beer bottles and heavily tattooed hands and face and chats inebreiatedly with the shoppers. I find it interesting and sobering (ironically?) that he's three sheets to the wind at 3 in the afternoon. Maybe four or 5 sheets, though. I also appreciate that the Aacheners aren't apprehensive of these Penner. They stop and say hello, make conversation. When I had Mocha, (you remember my favorite geriatric puppy?) he was enamored of her and complimented her shiny coat. At least, I'm pretty sure that's what he was talking about. Drunk German is one I'm not all that good at.

My second favorite town-societal-rule-shunner to watch is the Talker. He's a 30- or 40-something who wears a ponytail and a leather jacket. He likes to ask for money, which isn't all that surprising. I am intriqued by him simply because he talks so much. Most often it's with people I can't seem to see. But he gets on really well with them and is always jovial.

Now that spring is abounding in Aachen, they all have new puppies. Beautiful furry little things that run around the square with their leashes dragging behind them. We rule followers stand on the sidelines looking at the puppies playing and their owners swinging their beer bottles happily in the air. But our lunch break is over and we don't join in.

Responsibility

New experiences are just amazing, aren't they? I really enjoy them. Just as I enjoy learning about dog care.

Mocha started eating grass during one of our walks on Saturday. Clearly, that was a foreboding sign. Our cats always ate grass before they threw-up unpleasantly on the living room carpet. By Monday her grass eating stopped and she was ready to start a wretchin' it on up.

As I was walking towards the Marktet Square to have a Starbucks (go figure) with einer Freundin, Mocha discreetly moved to the side of a building and let go of all the water and foamy saliva in her stomach. The grass pieces floated neatly between the cobblestones of the street and as I stared at it, let's face it, I felt mildly conspicuous.

Later that evening Mocha was not better and during the night we made several trips into the Hof, or the backyard. Now, I take my responsibility to keep this dog alive while her owner is gone quite seriously. That's why I found myself barefoot in the backyard at 2 in the morning following the poor girl around. I'm pretty sure she didn't appreciate my rapt attention to her activities.

The morning only got more chaotic after I woke to two grassy, urp-puddles on the carpet and Mocha panting around the house, desperatly wanting outside again. I left the door open and went to get dressed. When I came back outside to check on my girl, there was no dog in the backyard. I thought "Dear God, I've lost a 13 year old dog in an enclosed backyard." as I madly dashed back through the house, calling after her, dashed back outside, back inside, back outside, and finally crashed through a cluster of trees and bushes to the neighbor's yard where I discovered her digging in the dirt with her nose, seemingly trying to make her discomfort go away. I hugged the old girl and hoisted her back over to our side of the 2-foot wooden fence.

That was the end of it for me. We were off to the Tierartzt to get this dog right again. The dog doctor gave her some shots and said come back in the morning. She should be feeling better in no time.

And I've checked off 'Visit a German Vet' from my Life List.