The city

I know my city. Not every nook and cranny, but enough to be confident without a map. I knew my city, because it is no longer mine. Now I live in a city where you don't need a car to get around because it is so small that the longest I could walk to any point is 45 minutes. Or I could just take the bus. On the one hand I hated driving, hated being confined in a box, hated being a sitting duck at a robot, waiting to be smash-and-grabbed. But it also means no more singing loudly to *NSYNC while cruising around my hood for the neighbourhood patrol, no more leaving when I want to out of fear for missing the bus. This car thing, it is a two-way street. 

Luckily, my friend could borrow her mom's car for a road trip to Denmark a few weeks ago. There was no real border. One moment we were still in Germany, and the next we were in Denmark, on our way to Aarhus. 

We had no real plan for what we wanted to do there, with the only thing on our list being the Aros art museum. We arrived in Aarhus and parked the car near the harbour. Because we had no Danish money we drew some at an ATM, bought coffee and a three-chocolate-hot-chocolate to get small change and then discovered that the parking machine also accepted cards. However, when we had inserted the card into the machine it very cleverly tried to tell us something, in Danish. My friend and I both just looked at the screen, rummaging through every language we knew to somehow deduce what it wanted. Luckily a friendly Danish lady helped us out: "You need to take your card now". Ah, ok.

We ate our packed lunches in the car, looking at the bleak weather, and explored the city in the rain. Basically we just went to a church, the art museum and our hostel.  

This would be the church.

Aros from a distance.

Everyone said we would need a lot of time at Aros, but after doing the very cool colour wheel first the rest was a bit of a disappointment. There was an exhibition by the king and queen of Denmark, with his poems and her collages and other art works. The Danish people seemed to really enjoy this, but I found it very strange. If they had not been royalty I doubt their work would have been exhibited.

The 180° thing didn't work out too well. 

Ron Mueck, Boy. 

In the basement of the museum they also have an area entitled 9 spaces, with nine different rooms containing various installations that are more tactile than work that is normally exhibited at a distance. The one room contained what looked like an elevator shaft of mirrors and then the viewer would also be infinitely reflected. Another room emphasized all five senses and you could touch everything, even a furry wall like the one in Get Him to the Greek. 

After our visit to the museum we wandered back to our hostel through the rain. Somehow we were both exhausted. It was also quite funny finding out that when the hostel said online to 'bring own bedding' it only meant duvet covers and a towel, not blankets and cushions and the kitchen sink (as we had brought). Later we strolled to the beach and then walked back to the city centre through a large park, again in the rain.

Oooh, the Baltic Sea. 

Aros by night. You might notice I quite dig the colour wheel. 

The next day we just ate breakfast and started driving again. Our plan was to head to the western shore, look at some of the little villages and then head back east to Flensburg. Somehow the GPS system assumed we were heading to one place and we assumed it was taking us to another, so we ended up next to a field in the middle of nowhere with the GPS telling us: "You have arrived at your destination". As my friend said at the beginning of the trip, it isn't a road trip without a u-turn. So we trusted the GPS again and were on our way. I really enjoyed driving through the countryside, singing along to The Beatles and not really knowing where we were.

Hahaha. 'Farten'. Fart. Laughing like a child.

This was in one of the sea side towns we drove through on our way back to Flensburg. 

Ah, the North Sea. 

We ambled around two towns whose names I can't recall, were drenched slightly by the rain at the North Sea, had more sandwiches which we took along from the hostel's breakfast buffet in the car and after stopping for a warm coffee in Köping we returned to Flensburg. 

A watch shop. 

The only moment we saw the sun the entire weekend was an hour before we crossed back into Germany. 

Flensburg harbour at night. 

I know it was only a very short road trip, but besides spending time with my friend I thoroughly enjoyed Denmark. Everyone looked so stylish and I appreciated the packaging in the supermarkets. In Germany it seems like no thought is given to the design of the packaging and of the stores in general. It is just piling as much produce as possible into the space, which after years of being spoilt by Woolworths is quite a change.

Come springtime I'll buy myself a bike and explore Denkmark some more :)

Slow it down

I feel like I am constantly in some existential crisis here. It hits me at random moments: I'll see myself in the mirror and suddenly the mind/body split seems almost tangible. It is as though I am standing outside of myself and seeing flesh that is not mine. Physically I might be here, now, but there seems to be no intrinsic connection to my brain that makes me feel at ease here.

I get over this level of asking existential-Angst-fueled questions pretty quickly, but then I'll get lost in language. Language has always belonged to me, somehow. I am used to hearing entire conversations I cannot understand happening all around me. The ladies at the tills, the people queuing with me, the actors in shows like Muvhango or Stokvel, they are all conversing outside of my language skill set. But it has never felt strange, it is usual to have to switch often, riding various intercepting language tracks in a short space of time. Here, it is German. Just German.

I was under the impression that the university would be offering at least half of the core subjects in English, but now only one subject (Literature) is actually not in German. Add to that the fact that any other communication here (be it with friends, roommates or some governmental organisation that wants my money) happens in German as well and you'll understand that I get slightly overwhelmed at times. Salvation then comes in tiny little increments made possible by modern technology - whatsapping with friends or Skyping with my mom. I don't want to make the mistake of living in another country and permanently wanting to Skype with those back home, because then having left would be rather pointless. But it is immeasurably reassuring to be drinking tea in my room and listening to my mom talk about unimportant everyday occurrences. Hearing about what goes on in the lives of others helps with forgetting that I haven't found my sea legs here, yet.

The third wave of existential crisis is much less in my mind. Instead, it is solidly tied to my bank balance. I was not excessively naive when I applied for Bafög (a type of governmental student loan system where you have minimal interest and only have to partially pay back the money you received), but apparently here every time you fart there is a stack of paperwork to fill out so everything takes forever. Not knowing if I'll receive any money or if I do how high the amount will be is also quite frustrating.

Time to see if I'll sink or swim in these strange waters.

Jammin

Two weeks ago my friend finished her Master's degree and celebrated her birthday, so because she has always been the one to visit me it was my turn to get on a bus and meet the faces to the names she is always talking about. It was a bit nerve-wracking getting there, because a) I am overanxious when travelling and plan for 5000 things to go wrong and b) I don't sleep well before heading somewhere because I think I'll oversleep and tragically miss everything. Hah. I had arranged two lifts to get there, but the one cancelled and back-up plan 47 (taking the bus) kicked in.

In SA the bus was late, took forever and somehow reeked of mankind at its worst : the smells of the old, the very young and the sleep-deprived fuse into a potent smell that makes you want to get off the bus as soon as possible. Here, the bus was super on time and had Wi-Fi but still smelled like to many people were cooped up in the same small space. 

On my way there it had been raining raining raining (as I have learned it does, all the freaking time) when for a short while the sun burst through these magnificent clouds and everything was bathed in light that reminded me of a Free State afternoon. Tremendous. 

Göttingen itself is very precious, with every building seeming wreaked with history. My friend tried to explain some of the history to me, but besides standing at the point where you could see all four churches I don't remember too much of it. The excursions into the woods and to a castle nearby were very cool because they felt authentic. In the city there are always shops and people and things you could spend money on, but in the woods the most fun is trying to be photobombed by a white deer. Totally more fun than throwing money at things.

A church for every foot.

 

Needs must. Simple as that.

View from a nearby castle

At the birthday party I was shocked at how much beer Germans consume. Even now, it still astounds me how much they can drink. Beer to me feels like drinking a loaf of bread and my friendship with bread in any case is like one of those Facebook friend requests you send after having met someone once and then you realise you don't really like each other and it was all a friendship made for the FB servers in California and not the annals of history. Luckily on occasion there is still cider to be loyal to and there are always still real friends to visit. 

Home is wherever I'm with you

I know I've been scarce in posting, but I'll make up for it in the near future.

Ouma

Waarheen jy ook al jou trëe rig,

Sorg that you hart in elke trëe is.

- My grandmother

My grandmother wrote that in a birthday card for me. Roughly translated it means "Wherever you may go, take care that your heart is in each step". I thought it was good advice. 

I am now in Flensburg, have my own room overlooking the harbour, my roommate is supernice and everything is working out well. Now the university just has to start and I'll be a-for-away. Seems like I went in the right direction.

The view from my room this morning

Where Are You Now

In limbo. That's where I am. That's where I have been for all 269 days of this year. And it feels like that is where I'll remain until I move into my own place, the university starts and my life heads somewhere again.

In the meantime I am sorting through old postcards and photographs. A pipe burst in the basement where everyone in the building stores their stuff. Nothing is inundated, the water just slowly drip-drip-dripped out onto the boxes containing old books and photo albums.

Now it is my task to sort through my great-grandmother's obsessive collection and see what can be thrown away and what should be kept. Fun fun fun.

As a distraction from sitting and sifting though damp papers I baked cookies. They should've been salted caramel Nutella stuffed double chocolate chip cookies, but I didn't have all the ingredients. It is strange how you know your own kitchen (or rather, my mother's kitchen) and by comparison cooking somewhere else does not cut it, entirely. Our kitchen at home is spacious and well-equipped. Here it is more cramped and only the most basic of utensils are available. Anything for cookies though.

Adapted from Top With Cinnamon, here is the recipe:

1/2 cup (110g) butter

1 1/2 cups (350g) light brown sugar

1/2 cup (55g) cocoa powder

2 eggs

1/4 tsp salt

3/4 tsp baking powder

2 cups (260g) all-purpose flour

1 slab of the cheapest milk chocolate, chopped into pieces

1 handful of hazelnuts, also chopped

flaky salt/ fleur de sel/ maldon salt, for sprinkling

approx. 1/2 cup (8 tbsp) nutella

Line a baking tray with parchment paper. Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F (180 degrees C)

In a medium saucepan, melt the butter. Take off the heat and stir in the brown sugar and eggs. Then add the cocoa, salt and baking powder and stir until well combined. Add the flour and stir until no floury patches are left. Lastly stir in the chopped chocolate and hazelnuts.

Take 1 heaped tbsp of dough, use your finger make a large indentation the centre of the dough and fill the indentation with a small blob of Nutella (like 1/2 tsp ish). Top with a flattened tablespoon of dough, and seal the edges.

Sprinkle with fleur de sel and bake for 8-10 minutes.

And then you get this: 

Top with Cinnamon adds salted caramel or a piece of chocolate containing caramel and omits the hazelnuts in the original recipe. I couldn't find chocolate with caramel in, so that is why I replaced them with hazelnuts. It worked out quite tastily, like a harder brownie with a Nutella centre. Om nom  nom. 

Tea & Sympathy

After last week's sad sad Friday the 13th (maybe I should've taken the ominous date as a hint that no good could come), this week's Friday is a lot better. In the meantime I have managed to find a place to live, ordered a futon mattress, bought a knife and two mattress covers at Ikea and made bobotie and malva pudding. Both dishes were a bit disappointing in that I couldn't find all the ingredients and that thus they only tasted like 3/4 of home. 

However, I did visit an interesting tea shop last week. It isn't really a tea shop, more of a tea-experience. The Tadshikische Teestube  is almost 40 years old and the interiors were originally a gift by the Soviets to the Society for German-Soviet friendship after they were exhibited at a fair in Leipzig in 1974. If I understand correctly, the tearoom used to be located elsewhere and recently moved to its current location in the Oranienburger Straße.

I am used to rooibos tea in a pot. Here, it was a different experience all together: you sit on the floor and then order which kind of tea you'd like. We went for the Russian tea ceremony, where you get what I would call a tea-espresso (as in a lot of tea in a little water) on top of a silver urn that contains hot water, which I think is called a samovar. You then dilute the tea with a chosen amount of hot water (we went for 1:3) and sweeten you tea. The options were: sugar cubes, orange/lemon fondant, candied lemon and orange peel, strawberry/rhubarb jam, rum raisins and various types of sugar candy. There was also a bowl with different cookies, although they all looked as though they came out of a packet and weren't baked by the Teestube.  

It was a lot of fun trying out the different types of sweetening methods. Oh, and I forgot: there was a shot of vodka as well. Hot damn, my alcohol tolerance had really become weak. One shot of vodka and I was a bit too glad that we were lounging on the ground: there was no way to fall. All the sweeteners were interesting, although the only one I'd use at home again was the addition of jam to tea. That was quite cool. 

We also had borscht and solyanka because at the moment Germany is a cloudy cold mess and soup alleviates the lack of sunshine a little bit. I really miss the sun. Yesterday I laughed out in the S-Bahn because my mom had said that when Europeans are in SA and have time to sit in the sun, they look like a rabbit does when headlights flash onto it: paralyzed but looking straight at the light. Now I understand why. 

I'm not here/ This isn't happening/ I'm not here/ I'm not here

I cry very rarely. But now, somehow my tear ducts are in overproduction. I was surprised to find myself crying when I said goodbye to friends at a Jeremy Loops concert. I cried on the way home from the concert. I cried at the airport. I cried whilst standing in line, waiting to get my passport checked. I cried whilst waiting to board the plane. I cried in Doha whilst waiting for the next plane. I thought I had cried enough. 

Then the past two weeks have been so busy that there has been no time for crying, no time to think about missing home. Then I went to Flensburg for two days to find a commune, extremely hopeful and optimistic and going into charm-everyone mode. How hard could it be, right?

Hah. I'm crying right now. Maybe it's being overwhelmed, just for a moment, by everything. Maybe it's not really sleeping for two days because a very cute kitten kept bouncing around on me at night. Maybe it's discovering that the university consists of two buildings. Small buildings. I think I handled everything pretty well, until I got back to Berlin with two rejections. 

The rejections were still ok, as well. But then not getting any support from my father, having to live out of my suitcase, not having a moment to myself, not having any space to call mine, well, that made the flippen tear ducts start up again. Fuck. 

I know all of this is not as hard as I make it out to be, I know somehow it'll work out, I know I still have time to find a room, somehow, somewhere. Just in this very moment it would be nice not to feel so very much alone. 

No Man's Land

Like I said, the other day I went to a photographic exhibit. I expected white walls, red wine and people standing around in muted silence, careful to look contemplative but not to utter any real opinion of the work.

This place, exhibited at somewhat of an in-between space called Mein Haus am See (My beach house?) , was full of hip-looking people wearing Ray Bans, skinny jeans and untamed hair. Many girls opted for jeans shorts over dark tights and with little booties. I probably shouldn't be too judgmental of people who are all trying to look like an individual and yet somehow all end up looking alike. It is just interesting to note how cool kids everywhere stick to the same trends, whilst believing that there is an individual culture, an spin that each one puts on their outfit that will set them apart from all the rest.

Seeing the actual photographs was a bit of a mission since the photos were hung on the wall and there was a labyrinth of Sperrmüll couches in between me and said wall. I'm guessing the point of an exhibition is to actually see the work, but here one needed a telescope to really view the photographs. 

Luckily, Photocircle, who hosted the entire thing, is more an online platform where one can look through the work of numerous photographers and then, for a reasonable price, order the works in various formats and sizes. A percentage of the proceeds goes to a charity of your choosing and then you get sent you new artwork. Especially in an age where tourists go around snapping pictures of everything that moves (or doesn't), this project aims to give something back not only to the community whose image has been appropriated but also to the photographer. Wonderful. 

Here is an explanatory video:

On Photocircle I could also have a closer look at Kevin Russ's work, and it makes me want to jump into my own camper van and drive across the USA. Have a look:

Street Bison

Cloudy Horse Head

Umpqua Rays

Winter Horseland

Anderson Lake

Rocky Mountain Moose

Sunrise Forest

Life's for the Living

I haven't posted in a while because before a move there is always so much that still needs to be done, and the same thing goes for when you have arrived where you moved to. At the moment I am in Berlin, whilst trying to find accommodation in Flensburg. At least the university only starts at the end of October, so I'm hoping that that will be sufficient time not only to find a place, but an awesome commune with great roommates. Aiming high :)

In comparison to Pretoria it is amazing how much is happening here at all times. Through my FB stalking I saw that Bastille was coming to SA for Ramfest next year, and I was superjealous. That is, I was superjealour until I found out they played here, yesterday. Ok, I missed them, but the likelihood of them playing somewhere accessible here is greater than in SA.

On Wednesday we spent the day on the Museumsinsel (museum island) where the amount of statues, paintings and information was overwhelming. Afterwards, we went to a photographic exhibit in Mitte at Mein Haus am See. Walking in felt a bit like being home, because it was full of hipsters. Then I remembered I have no friends here and after a long day of walking around I looked decidedly uncool, so my whole 'I have found my people!' sentiment went out the window pretty quickly. Maybe the Apfelschorle instead of beer didn't help my coolness factor either. Anyways, becoming slightly more German in order not to be astounded/confused/enraged by everything is a long process, apparently.

There was a guy playing on his guitar as well, Graham Candy from New Zealand, who was quite cool. He started of with a cover of Bon Iver's Flume, and mixed covers of the Black Keys, Alt-J (I think) etc., in with his own stuff. Very nice, Mr. Candy.

The photographs were by Kevin Russ, and upon further investigation (meaning I went to the website) it turns out he works with Photocircle, where you order the photos you want, printed the way and in the size you want, and a part of the price goes to different charities. More on that at a later stage.

Here are some first-experiences photos :)

Somewhere over Germany

Alphonse Mucha-inspired enormous mural in Pankow

On the Museumsinsel

Pergamonmuseum

Caesar

Yo. Cup. 

Kevin Russ's work

Graham Candy