Photo (cc) flickr user von_boot

Photo (cc) flickr user King of Jive

Photo (cc) flickr user cjdc

Photo (cc) flickr user hebedesign

Wandering through the medieval streets of Bremen, Germany.

Here comes another post from our newest YG blogger, Kristi Fuoco.

Great music, great beer, soccer mania and ridiculously old buildings. It doesn’t get much more European than that. My first venture outside of Hamburg made for a true German weekend away. The quaint city of Bremen is just one lovely hour train ride away via Hamburg’s Haupbahnhof (main train station.) Here’s my tip – travel in a group if you can and you will cut your train travel costs down significantly. Make friends with scary looking people in the train station if you must and your single fare will go from around €21 down to €10 if you can travel with a group of three or more. Or, you can opt in for a Probe BahnCard through the Deutsche Bahn (German train) system and buy a discount card for 25% or 50% off train travel around Germany.

Since it was a lovely, sunny Friday evening we decided to walk to our rented apartment on the other side of town. What a neat idea! Well….until about two kilometres in of hauling our bags…but, it was worth staying on the outskirts of town. When we finally arrived at our apartment at Werderhöhe 39 in a quiet little neighbourhood it was exactly what we would have hoped for. Bright, sunny, clean and inviting and overlooking a perfect little German garden. Our hostess, Frau Voss, welcomed us warmly and had even sent us a real, snail mail letter in advance to confirm our booking with every detail written precisely. You gotta love Germany. She didn’t speak any English, but what she lacked in my mother tongue she made up for in friendliness. Also, Frau Voss’s daughter works with her as well and can speak English for any of you who might want to book but don’t have nifty fluent German speakers with you like I did. It is well worth venturing out here for if you want a quiet little retreat. We found it hard to even want to leave our apartment. I could easily live there. Hey Frau Voss, need a new tenant?

First views of Bremen. I thought I was in Holland for a moment!

We had come to Bremen for the main purpose of meeting up with my cousin Greg’s uncle, Tom McClung, who is a fantastic jazz pianist living in Paris (and who was also staying with Frau Voss). Tom and his fellow bandmate, saxophonist, Jean-Jacques Elangué, came to Bremen for jazzahead! from April 19th-22nd, where jazz musicians of the world come to network, perform and drink a lot of Becks beer (since it is from Bremen after all). My first European jazz festival did not disappoint. On Friday night we managed to see three fantastic groups from “Overseas” night (strange for me that North Americans are overseas now and Europe is local) starting with the funky vocal sounds and badass rhythms of Vinx from the USA (who we also happened to bump into later in the train station), to Oran Etkin, a quartet of pure magical fusion with a mixture of jazz clarinet and sax, klezmer, amazing balafon from Mali and African drumming. As an ethnomusicologist I’m always particularly critical of fusion ensembles, but I’m telling you..this one works. I’ve never heard balafon playing like that in my life, and yes, I have heard balafon before. Last, but most definitely not least, was the more traditional (from a jazz perspective), and mind-blowingly talented Brazilian trio, Trio Corrente from São Paulo. They were beyond tight…they were like a perfectly sealed Tupperware container, if you can compare jazz to food preservation devices. I guess I just did. Their drummer, Edu Ribeiro, was unreal..I think he eats rhythm for breakfast, lunch and dinner. The whole audience was buzzing and gave them a thunderous and long applause at the end of their set.

The next day was yet another perfect German day. We wandered the idyllic medieval parts of Bremen, watched a German soccer game between Werder Bremen and Bayern München. We watched the game in a little Irish pub that steadily filled up with people and excitement as the underdog, Bremen, continued to dominate the game. Unfortunately in the end they lost the game after a very sad goal by one of their own players against themselves. Awkward! Ironically this was the same guy who had scored the first goal against Munich in the first place. And of course, this whole experience wasn’t complete without some Becks in hand and some street soccer games. I felt so German.

Later that night, we were lucky enough to hear that our very own Tom and Jean-Jacques were going to play up a storm in a jam session at Moments club in town. In their adventures that night Tom and Jean-Jacques had made friends with some fun Italiano jazz guitarists, Daniel and Stefano Mincone, who all ended up jamming together until past closing and wanted to party some more after that. Check out this little video of them jammin’ for some good times. Well, let’s be honest, in the end, we pretty much got kicked out of the club, but that’s how things roll when you’re “with the band”. And the important thing was that wicked jazz music was enjoyed by all involved, including the friendly owner of Moments who chatted with us once we were kicked out.

Bring on the next music fest and German town!

This post was originally published here.  Check it out to see more photos of Kristi’s Bremen adventure.

Getting a package stuck in customs can be a pain. But if you know what to do, your packages are less likely to land there! Photo (cc) flickr user miskan

Friday morning on my way to the Mainz customs office, I would have looked like a raving lunatic had anyone else been around to see me. I muttered loudly, cursing, as I hobbled down the empty street leading through an industrial park to their offices.  Why the customs office doesn’t just open the packages they confiscate, look at them, and send them on I will never understand. The stereotype that Germans are an efficient people may ring true in many cases, but it is rarely true when it comes to the country’s bureaucracy.

Thursday I had received a letter from the customs office. It said that they had a package of mine. It said I needed to bring along the receipt from my order to pick it up. It also said that I had 14 days to do so. Except the letter had arrived 13 days late. Which meant that if I didn’t get to the office the following day, my package would be sent back across the ocean. I didn’t know what to get angry about first: the lateness of the letter or the fact that they had once again confiscated and demanded to see proof of purchase for a package that was a gift. Sigh.

It is at moments like these that one particularly enjoys the convenience of the custom office’s pick-up hours. A whole four and a half hours a day, beginning at 7:30 am, weekdays only. How does anyone with a normal job ever liberate their packages?  At least there isn’t a line at 7:30 am.

I handed the woman behind the counter the letter I had been sent about the package. “And did you bring your receipt?” she asked.

“There is no receipt. It’s a present from my uncle,” I replied.

“Oh, ok.” She wandered off with my letter to find the package. After a few minutes she returned and placed a small padded envelope on the counter.

I looked at the label. My uncle had dutifully checked “present” on the customs form glued to the outside of the package. “So why is it that packages that have ‘present’ checked here get confiscated?”

“Oh well, anyone can check ‘present’ on the form, can’t they. And this obviously came from a company.” My uncle sends his packages from the used book store he runs. When the address is written by hand the customs office doesn’t intercept them. But this time he’d put one of the store’s stickers on the outside of the package. Though I do wonder why anyone would think a package addressed to “The Great Bearded One and Gypsy Momma Nikki” would be coming from a company I don’t know. And if the customs forms on packages have become so meaningless that the customs officers themselves no longer believe in them, then what do we have to fill them out for?

“Well, he owns a used book store,” I explained. “But this isn’t the first package you’ve intercepted recently. Why do my packages keep ending up here?”

She explained about companies again, that they intercept anything that looks like an order if there is no invoice affixed to the outside of the box. That they intercept anything listed as being worth more than 45 euros (I had previously thought that the present limit was 100 euro, but I stand corrected). And they don’t care if you check “present” on the form or not. And sometimes they intercept packagesin order to do random checks.

I left the building with my package, happy to have avoided paying any fees, but still too disgruntled to shake the bad mood. On the bus again, I opened the package to find my presents and my mood improved slightly.  At least now I knew what to tell my friends about sending me packages so that they would be delivered directly to my door.

There’s nothing like a new city to overwhelm your senses and excite you in unexpected ways, especially a European one. For my first blog post on Hamburg I decided to let the photos do most of the talking and feature some of my very first shots of the downtown area (and a few others thrown in for good measure) on this “Wordless Wednesday”.  Saves me writing a thousand words, right? Lots more photos to come soon!  All photos copyright Kristi Fuoco.

Waterfront view of the Alster (a lake in the centre of town dating back to the 13th century). A typical Hamburg day with a mix of huge clouds (which in a moment could turn into rain) and sunshine.

A brand new complex in the quickly developing area called "Hafen City" right on the harbour. Pick up one of these condos for a mere €5 million give or take a million or two.

The fanciest Starbucks I've yet to see anywhere. I'm pretty sure I spotted a fancy Macdonald's around somewhere too...

Germans may be known for working hard, but they also know how to relax. You'll see these covered patio chairs everywhere.

A German Easter tradition - decorating the bushes and trees outside with plastic, colourful Easter Eggs.

The creepy tunnel you can walk or bike through to get to the other side of the river.

Once you make it through the tunnel....here's your view!

Hamburg's Rathaus aka City Hall. Interesting language note - "Rat" = "Advice" in German so the word literally means "Advice-house". Cool, eh?

Spring has officially spring in Hamburg. Well, at least I think so...if the weather could decide on the season it might help. Hard to believe but the weather is even more unpredictable here than in Vancouver!

To see the rest of Kristi’s photo essay, visit the original post here, and watch out for more of Kristi’s words and photos on Young Germany in the future!

My first time driving in Germany...was in a sleek little Porsche! Photo (cc) oliverlindner

A lot of my blog readers and people I meet ask me how it happened that I decided to move to Germany. Well, the short answer is that I got a job au pairing in Frankfurt. But the long answer I’m addressing in a serial. This is part seven. You can read one segment each Friday on Click Clack Gorilla about how I decided to move to Germany and become an au pair, or catch up on the segments already published here.

“We’d like to see you in the office.”

Jens had called from the stairs and turned back as abruptly as he had come, startling me out of the book I had been reading in my room. Flashback to high school, middle school, elementary school: getting called to the office was never a good thing. I scanned my memories of the last two weeks. Had I done something wrong? Not that I could remember. The twins hadn’t even behaved particularly badly.

I put down my book and hurried down to the office where Janet was waiting behind her desk, her husband seated on the couch across from the door.

“You guys wanted to see me?”

“Yes we did. We thought it was time for you to start driving.” Up to that point Janet had always driven to the kindergarten. I came along and brought the twins inside while she idled on the curb outside. Once I took over the driving she could get back to doing more of whatever it was that she was always doing behind her computer, and I would have another few centimeters of independence.

Driving sounds good, I thought. Images of the family’s cars flashed through my head—Porsche, Fiat, Ferrari, Mercedes, Mini-Cooper, BMW—followed by images of myself, wrapped in a blanket and bleeding from a head wound as police and EMS workers bustled around me in slow motion and I contemplated the 100,000 car I’d just totaled. My forehead wrinkled. “Wait. What am I going to be driving?”

“The Porsche of course,” Jens cried, springing up and putting on his cap. “There isn’t anything else.” He tossed me a key ring with one black key attached. “Let’s go for a test drive.”

A typical stereotype of German people is that they are auto-philes, and Jens was the embodiment of the stereotype. He collected cars, had Mr. Walters meticulously wash and wax the collection regularly, dabbled in amateur car racing, and had adorned the walls of his sitting room—a niche of leather couches and untouched coffee table books outside of my bedroom—with framed photographs of famous race car drivers. All in all, I think it would be safe to say that he spent more time with his cars than he did with his children.

Now, sitting in the passenger seat of the Porsche and obviously excited, Jens was telling me to pull out of the garage and asking me about the cars I had driven in America. We drove around the block a few times, and I parallel parked in a narrow space near the twin’s school, thanking the gods of fortune that I had learned to drive on a stick shift. “So far so good,” Jens said as I slid into the spot. “Let’s go on the autobahn.”

The autobahn, contrary to popular belief, does occasionally have a speed limit, though these limits are much, much higher than those generally found beside American highways. We drove a few exits out of the city, and Jens urged me to go faster and faster.

“Come on! You’ve got to see what this baby can do!” This, the man who was supposed to be testing whether I could safely transport his children to kindergarten and back. When our exit came, I slowed. A little blue Peugot was coming up behind us, and I was going to let it pass before merging into the exit lane.

“What are you doing!??!” Jens shouted, slamming a hand down onto the black dashboard. “This is a Porsche. The Porsche always goes first. Hit the gas, cut them off!” This, the man who was supposed to be testing whether I could safely transport his children to kindergarten and back.

Was he serious? Was this a test? I glanced at his face, and his eyes said “serious,” “obsessed,” and “possibly insane.” I sped up and left the little blue car behind us.

Interested in teaching English in Germany? Read on...

A lot of readers want to know more about moving to Germany. About to take the same journey themselves (or trying to match dreams with realities) they (you!) write to me with questions about visas and salaries and job oppurtunites. I’ve done a FAQ about moving to Germany to answer all of the questions about how I got here and how I got a visa and a job and a place to live. And here comes the FAQ for the folks who want to come over to teach English.  Keep in mind that I taught English from 2006 to the beginning of 2008, so some of this information could be outdated.  Check with the consulate to be sure!

How did you find a teaching job?

I came back to Germany after a two-month visit to the States, and I started throwing resumes at everything that moved. Which is to say that I looked up English-language schools in the yellow pages and sent a resume and cover letter (in English) to every single one. In a big city like Frankfurt, which is where I lived, that turned out to be somewhere between 20 and 30. Two called back: a language school at which I got an interview but no job and inlingua, where I taught for some time.

Before returning to Germany I also had a lead on a job at a start-up language school that I also taught at briefly, but which turned out to be a waste of time with more classes canceled than taught (and paid for).

What kind of experience do you have? Do I need a TEFL to get hired?

Attention all native English speakers with a college degree: you will not need TEFL, or any other certificate, to get hired. You need to be personable and a meticulous speaker of English. Seriously. That’s all. (While this is probably not true for every language school, it seems to be true of the franchise schools.)

My personal English-classroom-door-opening qualifications include my BA in English Lit and a few years spent tutoring college kids in writing at my college’s writing center where I ended up the head tutor of the ESL division during my senior year. See? No teaching certificates, no relevant degree (though it may have English in the title, I promise, being able to analyze a novel will get you nowhere in front of a business English class), and no real teaching experience.

Do I need to be able to speak German?

Absolutely not. In fact, since most language schools encourage the trial-by-fire method (aka teaching students only in the target language for ultimate furstration, I mean absorption), you will be strictly forbidden to speak it. Although I occasionally bent the rules with true beginners and students who were utterly lost on subjects of grammar, which was admittedly helpful.

What was the job like, day-to-day?

Most English classes, particularly those of the business English variety, are held before or after office hours. Which means you’ll usually have to get up early for an 8 o’clock class, and then will have the day free before teaching a second class at 5 or 6. This irritated me—I prefer to get all of my working out of the way at once instead of having it drag me out of bed far too early only to spit me back out after an hour and a half with eight more hours to feel anxious about my next class—but has its benefits.

Once in a while I taught daytime numbers that involved four hours with the same group of adults. My favorites were one-on-one classes where I would either go to a student’s home or meet her in a cafe and spend the hour and a half chatting, correcting, and role playing. You’d be amazed how many people are interested in practicing small talk. Usually classes were in students’ homes or offices, but once in a while I would teach in the company’s classrooms.

At inlingua, teachers are supplied with all the course material, so all you have to do is figure out a vague lesson plan and follow the dotted lines. It’s a method that leaves a lot of room for both laziness and creativity. (And also means you can teach someone how to talk about accounting in English without having a clue about accounting yourself.)

Was it hard to make ends meet? How much do you get paid?

Not at all, though of course you should remember that I am a pretty lo-fi person. My main expenses were my apartment (300 euros/month including utilities), health insurance (126 euros/month), and beer (a beer in a bar in Frankfurt is expensive at between 2.50—if you’re lucky—and sky’s the limit, which is why I usually bought mine at the supermarket and drank with friends in the park). I worked about 20 hours a week and had money to spare at a rate of 18 euros/teaching hour (a teaching hour is actually just 45 minutes). But! Don’t forget that as a freelancer, which is how most English teachers are billed, have to foot their own insurance and taxes, so we are talking a pre-tax number here.

Pros?

A sweet hourly rate for talking to what usually turned out to be very interesting people (and seeing their homes and offices) and a lot of free coffee. Every day was totally different, which kept things from getting too ho-hum. Oh, and when a student cancels a class same-day, you don’t have to work, but you get paid anyway (where I worked at least).

Cons?

Weird hours, Saturday classes (four hour blocks blarg!), dress code, apathetic students.

Do you still teach English?

No. While I loved teaching one-on-one lessons, I don’t have the energy to stand in front of rooms full of apathetic adults who expect both entertainment and knowledge. I much prefer freelance writing, where I don’t need to be “on” ever and can work at home in messy hair and dirty pajamas.

If any of you have any more questions, include them in the comments and I’ll answer them there (and include them in future FAQs).  This post was originally published here.  To read more of the author’s adventures in German expat-dom, visit ClickClackGorilla.com.

Growing up, April was always accompanied by a chorus of “April showers bring May flowers,” a positive spin on the rain common this time of year.  But the German saying highlights the unpredictability of April weather.  Last year in Mainz we had summer-like tendencies, this year we have beautiful spring weather one day, rain the next, almost freezing tempuratures the next.  Both sayings are certainly fitting.

Though April may be rainy and unpleasant as much (if not more than) it is sunny and beautiful, it seems that the entire city of Mainz is basking in the appearance of spring’s little toe.  The weekly vegetable market is packed with folks out enjoying the weather and the fresh local produce.  Asparagus, a favorite seasonal item on German plates, has started to appear.  And by the time the price has fallen to a reasonable level, it will be May, and we’ll be (hopefully) up to our necks in flowers and sunshine.

Case and point: when I started writing this blog post, the sky was blue and the sun was shining.  But by the time I arrived at this paragraph, it was pouring down rain.  The weather is mild, even if rainy, but I find myself longing for the summer sun despite the flowers that I know this rain will bring.  April may do what he wants, but he certainly doesn’t do what I want.

What is April like where you live?