Heading south

Given that we’ve just arrived, it seemed only logical to leave Sydney as soon as possible for somewhere else. Simon’s Dad helped fullfil our escapist fantasies and took us down to his caravan on the south coast of NSW for a few days to reconnect with a few Australian essentials. Like the fact that it rained for two days and we spent most of them sitting in a caravan looking at sheets of water pour onto the bush. Or the fact that every meal was barbequed. Also going out on a tinnie (small boat) and running out of petrol (false alarm thank god) and drinking beer on a lake. Seeing roos on the way to the toilet block. Being woken up at all hours by screaming birds. Having insects fly into you as if you’re in their way. Seeing a wave of silvery fish flying through the air towards you. I suppose it’s not all bad, this place.


Kiel’s not the only town to have ludicrously large boats in the harbour.



They’re like cows only bouncier.



Birds on bikes…





Hanging with the locals

Home is where the shoes are

After eight weeks of holidaying we’re finally home – and so are all the boxes I sent from Kiel. The last one, which I sent first, arrived only yesterday, presumably after some similarly convoluted adventures through the globe, containing my fabulous red Camper pumps which will come in handy if I get around to applying for any jobs in the near future.
It’s very nice to be home. The day we arrived it was raining in sheets, but it quickly cleared up and then we had a week of heat, not unlike Thailand but with a little less crazy-making humidity. The skies were blue, the sun was beaming, there was a long weekend, and Mum threw us a party. The only things I could have wished for were fewer Australian flags about the place – since when did flag waving become cool?- and perhaps a front page without cricket on it. Fewer huntsmen in the bathroom staring at me with their multiple eyes while I'm taking a shower would also be nice.



Simon, meanwhile, was in seventh heaven watching cricket on a real television for five days in a row. Ah the Australian summer.
It’s also a joy to hear “Strayn” again wherever I go, and to speak it. To be able to say Chuck that over here will ya? and be met with comprehension rather than bewilderment. I really do think we’re only a generation away from becoming completely unintelligible to the Brits and the Amis. Some of the things I’ve overheard I’d almost forgotten existed. I’m thinking of carrying round a notebook and writing them all down for a new dictionary.
So far, however, the only work I’ve done is rewriting my resume, trying my hand at a cover letter and glancing at the jobs section very reluctantly. My bank balance says it’s time to go back to work but my heart says no. I think it’s time to remember what I like about living here and maybe then, but only maybe, find a job. All in good time. There are a couple of movies I want to see first…

Thailand

On top of the Golden Mount.


Who needs celebrity cooks?


The big buddha and us at Wat Pho.


Hanging in the hammock, Bush style (George, that is).


Our beach. Need I say more?

Sitting on a tropical island, listening to the waves softly breaking and voices coming from the neighbouring bungalows, both Australian and German, I can’t help but reflect that there’s nothing quite as weird travel wise, as leaving the minus five, sleeting, Ordnung-filled world of Germany and arriving in the 30 degree heat, plus god knows how much humidity, chaos-filled streets of Bangkok. The list of contrasts is mind-boggling; the smells of German Christmas, marzipan and cinnamon plus the crisp smell of cold air versus a cacophony of food smells, rubbish smells, exhaust fumes, fruit, sweat. Not smiling versus smiling at everyone. Eating inside insulated, heated rooms versus eating on the street. Christmas markets versus Bangkok street markets. Potatoes versus rice. A well-organised transport system versus a constant traffic jam. Overpriced versus underpriced.
Jet lag is about more than just the time difference, it’s about the mid trying to work out what is going on, where am I, and more importantly, why is everyone smiling? Luckily, the reflex came back quickly. After all, I still used to smile at Kielers even though the response was often either cold disinterest or the striking up of conversation, assuming we must know each other.
The first three days in Bangkok, it was pretty clear that I didn’t know the people whose smiles I returned. We stayed in the backpacker nest, right near Kaoh San Road, a wonderfully mad area filled with stalls, tourists, massage parlours, travel agents, tuk tuks, restaurants and hostels. We bought fresh fruit from a vendor for breakfast, ate the best pad thai I´ve ever had from a street stall and shopped till we dropped. By far the best thing we did was a half day vegetarian Thai cooking course, where we made ten dishes including the world’s best green curry. Every curry we’ve eaten since then has come up a loser against ours.
After our Bangkok experience the thought of an island getaway was enticing, and we’d had enough long train journeys in Italy to last a lifetime, so we went for the luxury option and caught a plane to Koh Samui and from there a ferry to the Browne and Holmes island of choice, Koh Pangan. It’s amazing, there’s nothing to do but eat, lie in a hammock, read, swim, play frisbee and basically reflect on how excellent your life must be to have ended up here.

Grand tour part 1

As I write this, I'm sitting in a gorgeous hostel in Rome, in an elegant white entrance hall and I have the computer all to myself. It's been a week and half since we left Kiel and I'm still processing it all, so much so that I haven't really noticed all the places we've been, apart from having to order coffee in Italian. I think perhaps a week doing nothing in Kiel would have been the cheaper option but at least I have enjoyed the Grand Tour element, if only in passing.
We started in Vienna, where we were both so buggered after our move that the first two days we mostly slept, with the occasional trip to the shops for food (that was Simon's doing, I was too busy catching up on what felt like a month of sleep). Then it was another few days of kitsch Christmas markets and apple strudel, before we embarked on an overnight train to Sienna. Terrible idea, don't recommend it in the least.
The only redeeming feature was watching our fellow travellers enact a very funny Italian/Turkish panotmine which began with the Italian man coming into our compartment and placing his jacket lovingly down on the empty seat beside him, stroking it now and then and straightening out the fur collar, or his pants, or polo neck every five seconds or so. Then, at the next stop the Turkish (I'm guessing his nationality I must admit, but it was definitely more emotive and less Teutonic than we've been used to for a while) man launches himself into the ever-smaller compartment, causing Mr Italy to hurridly sweep up his beloved jacket. Mr Turkish ignores them both and begins energetically attempting to pull down the bed, also ignoring his Italian fellow traveller's attempts to illustrate that this was impossible without the conductor's magic key. He then, seemingly spontaneously having come to the idea that the conductor was neccesary, proceeded to fetch him and demand his bed be made available although it was only seven thirty at night. Once the bed was down, being a rather short man, he threw his luggage onto the rack, which only took about five goes and narrow misses of Mr Italy's jacket. The latter meanwhile, was making amazed gestures at me and speaking energetically to the conductor who was making simliar, aren't all foreigners crazy gestures back. Then Mr Italy dissappears for the rest of the night. I imagine the conversation went something like this:
Mr Italy: This man almost messed up my jacket!
Conductor: What!? NO, no no! This must not be! Why don't you just pop into one of the completely empty compartments next door?
Mr Italy: Yes, I will do that. These foreigners are crazy!

Funnily enough, once he had settled down and the other bloke had gone away, Mr Turkey was quite friendly and let us watch movies one the laptop all night without bothering us. Maybe he did just object to the jacket.

Saying goodbye

A few shots from a small party we had to commemorate our leaving...

Action shot

Our farewell event with our five flatmates was an evening of skittles, which I've taken to like a duck to water, as you can see from this shot.

A goose a day

On Sunday it was Saint Martin's Day in Germany (possibly in other places as well) so we did the traditional thing and went to eat goose with my family. Or, to be more exact, watched them eat goose, with brussel sprouts, red cabbage and dumplings. Apparently the story comes from the fact that, when the people wanted to make Martin a bishop, he was so shy he hid himself in a goose stall. But the geese kicked up a fit and they found him and made him bishop. Which makes it, in my humble opinion, rather unchristian that you have to eat goose on Martins Day. But there you have it.

Random acts of meanness

In all the recent excitement of telling everyone we're leaving, receiving gifts and guilt galore from students and packing up my life of the last two years, I haven't really taken the time to reminisce about the things I won't miss about the lovely city of Kiel. So here I go:

On the weekend I was running late and jogged across the (deserted) road on the red and two young whippersnappers on bikes yelled at me to the tune of: Oi! Don't you know it's forbidden to cross on the red! Little tykes.

One morning last week riding to work in the early morning darkness with a broken headlight I rode past a lady on a bike who yelled after me once I was safely past her: Where's your light? Lovely way to start the day, I always think.

Mind you, there's a certain smugness one can assume when living in another culture which is much more socially acceptable than being smug about how crap your own culture is that I will also miss. Complaining about how the Germans complain all the time has become a favorite pastime, and it just won't have the same ring to it back home. I may well be faced with the question: well, why did you go there, if it was so bad? Which just misses the point completely.

Winter blues

It's that time again in Kiel, the dark creeps in at four thirty, the days aren't really light and it drizzles all day without stopping. It's enough to make me want to leave. Which is convenient, since I am.
It's quite amazing really, I've been here for two years, met different people, taught numerous students, travelled around (not enough of course), sprained my ankle twice, lived in three houses and now I'm heading off home. Incredible how much you can experience in a small town on the Baltic Sea.
The reaction among my students has been shock and disbelief, and I've been asked what it would take to make me stay. If I knew the answer to that question I'd be sitting on a mountain somewhere, dolling out wisdom. But I don't say that, I say that it's time to reconnect, it's time to be in Australia and see my people. Maybe that's the real answer after all.
I will miss lots of things, the transient lifestyle of living with other people's furniture and cookware, the excitement of fulfilling the most mundane task (I rang the real estate agent!), the fresh bread available everywhere, the changing of the seasons from winter iciness to spring flowers to lazy summer to the colours of autumn. I'll miss speaking another language, learning new words and expressions, discussing cultural differences endlessly. I`ll miss dressing up. I`ll miss riding my bike to work, and everywhere else. I`ll miss the cheese and the beer.
But this is life after all, changing, moving on. The Sydney I go back to is not the town I left, and neither will Kiel be the same if I ever come back for a visit. Nothing stays the same, everything changes. Not even the most powerful people on the planet can change that.

I heart Autumn

At Laboe...



...the only beach I know to have a submarine for tourists to go in on it.






This weekend has been glorious - sunny and still with the blue skies contrasting nicely with the red, orange and brown leaves which meander gently to the ground all over the city. We went to the beach yesterday and enjoyed what will certainly be the last rays of sun in Kiel this year (prove me wrong Kiel, prove me wrong)...

Techno haze

I used to be good at computers. I can still remember a certain boss I had when I was sixteen saying behind my back "Hanna'll probably have a few problems with the new computer system" and the feeling of satisfaction I got at proving him vey wrong - in fact I was much better at it than he was, having grown up with computers.

At uni I used Word to write and format essays, and Excel to calculate and present my biology stats. I made graphs, tables, added whole pages worth of footnotes without any problems. When I edited the uni magazine I learnt the basics of photoshop and front page. I arranged pages, edited photos, flipped between programs, dealt with a cranky old network and crappy printers. No worries.

Then, somewhere along the line, I got stuck. It has taken me this long to work out Windows XP, and they've just released Vista. The other day I couldn't get my internet to work and was ready to throw the laptop out the window when Simon and my flatmate both said: "Check the antenae." What bloody antenae? Simon clicked a button on the edge of my laptop I'd never noticed before and voila, the internet is working.

This is not an isolated incident. At work my computer wasn't playing sound flies and my boss asked me: "Are all the latest updates there?" Huh? He changed a few settings and again, problem solved.

I would like to know when are these people learning this stuff? Do they read the whole manual or what? Or am I just missing some underlying social knowledge that others pick up effortlessly? Since when are these things common knowledge and why wasn't I informed? And also... how do I upload pictures from my camera through bluetooth?

Thai tips

In January we're going to Thailand for two weeks - and as yet I have no idea where. Tips and recommendations urgently needed.

Mountains of strüdel

Well I'm 29 and after a very long day of going to two social events with my lovely swiss cousin, who knows how to enjoy an evening well beyond the point it actually is evening, as well as flying back to Kiel, I feel it. But it's a nice feeling.
We spent the last week in Vienna and Zürich, establishing beyond doubt that German sounds stranger the more southerly you go, and adding kilos to the waistline with strüdel, chocolate and ,mmmmm, swiss cheese.

Sweet peas

One of the great things about living in a pokey little city of about 200 thousand people is that everything is next door to everything else. Right around the corner from my flat is a square, which still has quite a few elegant apartment bocks surrounding it and was obviously a bit of a civic centre in centuries past. These days it houses a car park and a playground, as well as being flanked by the usual collection of German shops; a chemist, a doctor’s surgery, two bakeries, a bookstore, a luxury tea shop, an ice creamery, a newsagent and a supermarket. On Sunday the bakeries are only open until midday and the queues stretch out the door. I imagine the entire neighborhood sitting down to fresh bread rolls and pastries for a Sunday brunch, chuckling about scoring the last poppy seed roll.
The nicest thing about my square, however, is that twice a week there’s a grower’s market there. Literally fifty metres from my house I can buy fresh produce, cheeses, olives, flowers and bread, as well as the occasional handicrafts. It doesn’t matter how much money I take to the market, I inevitable spend it all.
Yesterday was typical, I intended to buy myself some flowers and maybe some stone fruit. Unfortunately, the moment I wandered in I was caught by the idea of buying some Gouda for Simon, since it’s usually him who buys the cheese. A the cheese stand I tasted some family cheese and two kinds of Gouda, one of which was described as caramel/walnut and which was exactly that, an odd combination of cheese and caramel tastes. Then I was entranced by the cream cheeses on offer, some with tomatoes and herbs, others with chives. I got about eight euros worth of 12 month old Gouda and a container of cream cheese with bear leek, a kind of garlicky chive which I love.
With my wallet feeling a little empty I went back to the flower stand I had spotted on my way in, where I thought I had seen something interesting. I was right, sweet peas and plenty of them, in all sorts of incredible colours. I had never seen sweet peas at the market before, and since they’re one of my favourite flowers I had to get them, hang the expense. At first the lady didn’t want to bargain with me, but after I hung around pathetically for a few minutes she gave me a euro off and I got three beautiful colours for a measly five euros. Then I asked her what they were called: Wicken. A rather harsh name for such a pretty flower. I told her in English they were called sweet peas and she couldn’t quite believe it, telling the boss: hey boss, these are called sweet peas in English! What! He grunted, Sweet peas! What do you know! He told me that these particular colours only grow in the “four lands”, that is the area just south of Hamburg. The reason I’d never seen them before is that there’s only one grower, who has four greenhouses just filled with sweet peas.
After that it was two pineapples from Ecuador and I had no money left, a full basket and the knowledge I had bought nothing very useful but had enjoyed it thoroughly anyway. Can’t wait for next week.

Deer and scuba diving

Last weekend was another a normal weekend in Kiel. I checked out some deer and wild pigs that live in a park up the road and went for my first open water dive. Just the usual.








The place where we went diving.

Stormy weather

The view from my window. Note the lack of blue sky. In fact, it's pissing down but, as I have just discovered, the rain doesn't photograph so well.

So much for four seasons, this year I think I've only had two so far: drizzly winter and slightly warmer autumn. This is now the fourth consecutive week where it has rained at least four times in one day almost every single day. I now have full sympathy for the insane drop-everything-and-have-a-barbeque behaviour of people in the north when the sun comes out - I didn't think it was possible to have an entire summer with no sun. It turns out it is.

Luckily I have a ready collection of melancholy music, most of my music being already quite melencholy. At the moment I'm listening to the dulcit tones of Holly Throsby, earlier I had some Staring Girl, a band from Kiel that my flatmate put me onto, and next shall be the Howling Bells and some Jolie Holland. If I'm still here and don't have to go to work Kasey Chambers'll be next. With a cup of tea in my hand I could be back in Sydney at the this time of year.

Hanging with the Czech ladies

Last week I had the glorious pleasure of accompanying my two cousins to their grandmother's holiday house near the German border, in the Czech Republic. We drove for seven hours across Germany with a four month-old baby in the back seat, his devoted mother breastfeeding him every two hours or so, and the three of us (or rather four) singing maniacally to a CD of English children's songs I brought back from London. If I ever have to hear "If you're happy and you know it" again my head is going to start spinning. We arrived at a little wooden hut facing a lake, surrounded by other wooden huts, to an enthusiastic welcome from the Czech-only speaking auntie, twelve year old baby crazy cousin and grandmother, as well as their mum who had arrived a week previously. And fruit-filled dumplings, hot, with powdered sugar. And a hammock, which became my second home for the week while the four adults (I don't count myself) discussed their lives in Czech, only to occasionally ask me a question through my cousins, about my plans, my family, my eating habits, my ankle.
Actually not speaking Czech was a really strange experience - having to nod and smile with half the inhabitants of a very small house was a little stressful at first. But by the last day Eva was talking at me in Czech in the kitchen and I was happily not comprehending anything she had to say. At first it was weird though, especially when the grandma asked me within the first five minutes why I wasn't married and why I was a vegetarian. But obviously there were also benefits - she couldn't ask me directly for example.
It was so lovely to spend time with all these energetic and positive women, as well as a cute baby. I came back to Kiel with so much good energy - it's lovely.




The spa town near to the hut we stayed in, Fransensbad in German. Gorgeous yellow and white buildings, in the style of the Austro-Hugarian empire, surrounded by parks, fountains and the springs themselves.


One of the springs, I'm not actually filling up the bottle because my cousin said she'd throw up if she had to smell it. It did smell a bit like a year eight science room.


My aunt goaded all young women of childbearing age without children into touching this statue, which is supposed to increase your fertility.


The view from the hut.

Susie and Junus looking lovely.


Little Junus looks like his granddad.