Passenger to Frankfurt

When I came to Germany a few months ago, a friend arranged for me to receive a gift subscription to the renowned (if rather highbrow) newspaper called the Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung. This was an ideally-timed gift, because I had just begun teaching political science at a high school in Dortmund and though I had studied poli sci back in the day, ‘ the day’ was rather longer ago than I could properly remember, and there were all sorts of major elections going on in Germany that I knew very little about.
So I gratefully delved into the paper every morning and one day hit upon an announcement for a program called Jugend schreibt proposed by the paper, which invited teachers to participate in a writing workshop with an entire class. In this generously devised program, all participants would get a free copy of the paper for a year, and articles written by talented students could even get published in a special weekly page appearing in the paper.
Hmm, I thought – this sounds like just the kind of opportunity I would have loved as a teen, except that the New York Times either a) never offered such an incredible program or b) my teachers were too burnt-out to participate, so  I went ahead and registered my class, asking them only afterwards what they thought of the idea. Luckily, they approved unanimously, and so I traveled to Frankfurt last weekend to participate in a workshop with teachers from all over the country. This was fascinating in many respects. Not only did I get to go on a tour of the facility where the paper is printed daily, and see the enormous rolls of paper used, and the maze of buzzing, thumping machines that print, copy and even fold the pages, but in the evenings I had the opportunity to chat with teachers from the former East Germany, who told me what life was like for them after the Wende, or the fall of the Berlin Wall, and about their adjustment to working in the West.

The only somewhat bitter pill I had to swallow as a political science teacher was when I discovered that my kids were NOT supposed to write about politics, economics, or current events, because it would be counterproductive for them to vie with the journalists paid to cover these events. Well, what ARE they supposed to write about, then, I asked myself indignantly. There are, in fact, plenty of topics they can cover – features and reports on people with interesting stories and professions, for example. The two prize-winning students from last year (who each won the tidy sum of 7200 Euros towards their college expenses), had written an ironic piece about a tour at a snooty French perfume company and an insightful story about a man who left his terminally ill wife, respectively, so that the stories really do run the gamut. The two students were delightful, funny and poised. The young lady who won, Theresa Lieb, explained that there had been no inconsiderable amount of rivalry with her brother, who had snagged the prize the year before. The young man, Maximilian Koenig, affectionately joked with his sister, confessing that his secret mission in writing was to distract the clever eleven-year-old from reading the trashy but insanely popular German teenie magazine called Bravo.
All in all, I can envision my students having the talent to win, but I am not sure about the drive – all the teachers who had any experience of the program voiced their frustration at the fact that the kids would go only so far in their work, yet then not supply some extra details or do some extra research shortly before their piece would have been published, simply abandoning their efforts midway. Even the prize winners confessed that the daily reminders of their teachers spurred them on, and I almost choked on my coffee -  I mean, is there no such thing as a self-motivated student anywhere anymore, if even the best ones, the crème de la crème, still need to be prodded out of their adolescent lethargy?
Once I had resigned myself to the idea that there were still plenty of worthwhile topics for the students to write about, and that perhaps I might be able, through sheer force of will, to persuade my students to make use of their talents, I was able to drown my sorrows in the three different kinds of mousse au chocolat (white, dark and milk) which were available daily for my delectation. Furthermore, I was able to squeeze in a visit afterwards to a friend in Freiburg who was celebrating her birthday, and we chopped and diced in her kitchen as in the old student days, except that the results were far more refined than the spaghetti-with-tuna-and-olives on which we used to subsist: this time around it was lamb’s lettuce and an exotic carrot soup with raisins as starters, followed by scrumptious salmon on a bed of leeks, accompanied by a mellow golden chardonnay.
Hopefully what I gained in weight I have also gained in knowledge, but whether or no, I have at least been able to render homage to fine writing, if only via the title of this piece…! Read the story »

Sledding on the Schauinsland

New Year’s was a simply wonderful time, steeped in memories, as there was a big reunion with my friend’s sister, her husband and children in Heidelberg. The children provided us with ample entertainment, including puppet shows and gymnastic feats, and when we had all slept as long as we possibly could the next day, we went downstairs following the aroma of divine coffee and Broetchen, crispy rolls. We then steeled ourselves against the cold to walk along Heidelberg’s famous Philosopher’s Walk with its lovely views of the city, the Neckar River, and even some extraordinarily dedicated New Year’s canoeing enthusiasts.

This simple path through the vineyards used to have a much more prosaic name (something involving lentils, if I am not mistaken), but during the late Romantic period the name was changed when Heidelberg University profs discovered just how inspiring it was to congregate there, drink in the view and debate).
We soon left one beautiful part of the country for another, as we had a mission to fulfill: we had promised a certain young man that we would go sledding, so we returned to the Black Forest region and decided to hit the Schauinsland, a majestic mountain with panoramic views at 1284 m plus a challenging sled run for the little ones. Snow hung heavily on the evergreens, the scenery was dramatic and beautiful, and everything was blindingly white except for the children’s colorful snowsuits and our own red cheeks.
I have never seen such a selection of sleds, from the stable big wooden one I used to tiny little plastic trays with just enough room for a child’s bottom, and I must confess that I’d forgotten just how much speed a sled can pick up even with a well-fed adult weighing it down. It was bumpy going there for a while, particularly as I had all but forgotten how to brake… It was exhilarating and cold and sunny all at the same time, my nose was running and my eyes were streaming, yet I savored the air as the most amazing thing I had inhaled for some time, coming as I do now from the industrial center that is Dortmund.

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Liquor and Chocolate

Before the New Year rolls around and I have to swear off all my favorite things (again), I thought I could write a quick piece on a recent trip I took to Duesseldorf. Now for those of you who thought (as I did) that the only reason to go to Duesseldorf is to hit the airport on your way to someplace else, there are, in fact, many other worthwhile reasons to go!
First of all, the city is located on the banks of the Rhine River, so you may walk along the river on a wide avenue lined by cafes and restaurants – in the summertime, virtually the entire city moves outdoors. (Though even in the wintertime, at least during the Christmas market season, you must use your elbows to be able to progress a mere few inches at a time).
There is the Rheinturm, offering an interesting concept of time – namely the world’s largest decimal clock - as well as a lovely view of the city. The port area, or MedienHafen, has been modernized and features stunning and innovatively designed buildings by the likes of Frank O. Gehry, Steven Holl, and David Chipperfield.
Duesseldorf, birthplace of Claudia Schiffer, is a major European fashion capital and has its own equivalent of Fifth Avenue, called the Königsallee, affectionately shortened to “Kö,” which boasts all of the same high-end boutiques I could window shop in at home. (I have to say that despite the economic downturn, these stores appeared to be doing a brisk business). Duesseldorf also boasts a huge annual international shoe fair (sigh!) as well as a yearly event called the Tour d’Atelier during which you can look in on designers at work.

But besides all these,  I would like to mention a chocolate lover’s paradise called Gut & Gerne near Duesseldorf’s city hall which looks like it might have been the setting for a film, with its mouth-watering glass display cases full of tempting pralines and its quaint wood furnishings adding to the ambience as well. Luckily my friend was actually doing some buying, while I merely gaped in astonishment at the 220 different kinds of flavored truffles available, including such things as candied rose leaves, ginger, or chili pepper. A visit there will make you gain twenty pounds in no time, if only because everything is presented so beautifully.
Once you have gorged on enough of these delightful sweets, you will be in the perfect state to roll down to „Et Kabüffke“ on Flinger Street. This lovingly decorated tiny bar packs a huge punch,  as it run by the founders of a heavy, fruity, herbal liqueur called Killepitsch, which, twice-distilled and aged in small casks, also happens to be 84 proof.

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Bread and Danish

An odd combination, but not to worry, I will tell you how I got there…

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The Meaning of a Minaret

I suppose this article is more an editorial than a travel piece, but one of the reasons travelers love to travel is that ‘travel is so broadening,’ as Sinclair Lewis was wont to say. In my view, the term ‘broadening’ entails a readiness to learn about and perhaps even embrace the unknown and the unfamiliar: in some countries, people relish dishes with squid ink or bird’s nests, in some countries, people have unfamiliar art or dance forms, or customs or holidays or forms of worship.

Last year at this time I was in Dakar and watched as Muslim men of the Bocoum family prepared the ritual sleep for slaughter for the feast of Tabaski. This practice hearkens back to the willingness of Abraham to sacrifice his son when asked to do so by a higher power, and what I loved in Senegal was the way in which Catholics and Muslims lived side by side, in peace, sharing one another’s customs and holidays, inviting their neighbors of another faith to come partake of the feasting and celebration. I was an outsider, unable to speak their language and unfamiliar with many of the major tenets of Islam.

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