As we climbed into the car this morning, in a half-joking, half-serious sort of way, Embla asked:
"So, are you sure you know how to drive?"
"Do you think you'll be okay having to reverse the directions when you are coming back home?
Yup.
This ain't my first rodeo.
I should say that I had this quote go through my head from Lord of the Rings that was surprisingly applicable:
"A chance for Faramir, captain of Gondor, to show his quality."
Plug in my situation and you have:
"A chance for Margaret, the American in Shönaich, to show her reliability.)
If you are familiar with that quote and laughed at my attempt at humor, congratulations! You can have a square of Ritter chocolate when I get back home. (Oh, and bonus points given if you read that quote in Denethor's voice.) ;p
Our drive to school went just fine. I managed to get her to school on time and was back home a little after eight.
This is the drink of School Chauffer Champions: Green Tea+German Black tea, served together in a giant IKEA mug.
Being homeschooled, I never had to drive or worry about arrive on time to school, as school was in-session virtually all the time. The kids do very well with the early mornings and Embla woke up and got ready without a problem.
It is definitely a unique driving experience here in Germany. There are many variables and obstacles that come into play, which makes it a very exciting and dynamic driving experience to me, since I am used to straight-up country road driving.
This is our street, which is a good example of a typical village street, though there are usually more cars parked on the side.
As a general rule, you park on the right hand side of the and drive down the middle. If someone is approaching you from the opposite direction, it's your responsibility to do what I call "duck" behind the nearest line of cars to let them pass.
I should also disclose that Germans excel at visible expressions of road rage. This includes:
1. The Angry Hand
2. The Angry Hand Running Through the Hair
3. The Open Palm to Forehead (the "duh" expression, directed at another.)
4. The Verbal Beratement
5. Angry Eyes (note that the effect is further enhanced if the infuriated individual has a unibrow.)
I am fairly certain that I made a guy driving his black BMW behind me rather mad when I didn't do a risky left turn into some slow moving traffic. The tail end of the minivan would be in the street! But let me tell you, I really could care less if I made that guy mad.
Because I'd rather be safe than get t-boned in the driver side like Arnheidur did a few months ago.
The dent is still there, on the driver's side. It grants one, shall we say, certain privileges, such as being let in or out of a line. Perhaps this is out of compassion, and the misguided impression that the dent must certainly betray the "poor driving skills" that gained it. Or perhaps it is from fear of the dent spreading like gangrene and somehow ending up on their faultlessly waxed car.
(that's the good old Honda. We have a history together, as I drove it when they lived in Hawaii as well.)
In general, Germans are very prompt to fix things, and as such, proper citizen wouldn't be caught dead driving a car with a dent on the side. Geoge and Arnheidur are waiting on the insurance and as such, the car still must be driven for the time being.
We've settled into a nice routine the past couple of days. Usually I have some quiet time when I get home from Embla to school. After that, Aunt Rachel is usually and ready to go explore with me.
We passed alongside a fence that said "beware of dog" (Vorsicht von Hunde)
Aunt Rachel: Hi doggie!
*no reaction from the dog*
Margaret: Hallo Hunde!
*swings head around and looks at me with eyes wide, snarls, and starts barking furiously*
His reaction was such a marked difference that I suppose that the dog, who obviously understands German, was offended that I was addressed him directly.
There was a market on near our street and naturally, Aunt Rachel and I went on over and perused the wares. There were clothes, lace tablecloths, housewares, watches, knitted items, and lots of street food and sweets.
Schoolgirls walked by with towering puffs of cotton candy and little kids toddled alongside their parents, eating big soft pretzels studded with chunks of sea salt.
I saw an older gentleman selling honey and of course, I had to stop and look. I even bought some German apple blossom honey for my Dad to try back home. He was very nice and I was able to talk a little with him in German, and thankfully he was happy to let me take pictures of his cute little stand.
There were also plenty of clothes being sold at the market, which prompted my favorite Aunt Rachel quote of the day:
"I have this creepy feeling that all these clothes were bought off the black market."
My sentiments as well.
Later, I tried my hand at picking Erla up from school. I wasn't sure how it would go, or if she would even come with me. I walked past the playground at her school and when I saw her, I called out "Erla! Hallo!"
She whipped her head around, smiled really big, and ran over to a random guy who was either a Dad waiting for his child or a school employee, not sure which. She looked up at him, tugged on his sleeve, pointed excitedly at me and cried:
"DAS IST MEINE SCHWESTER! DAS IST MEINE SCHWESTER."
(that is my sister)
Aaaaand right then, you forget when they run off from you in a crowd, or scream in a restaurant, or spill their orange Fanta on your shirt. Your heart just kinda melts.
I was hanging out the laundry on the drying rack when I head Arnheidur say:
"Don't forget, today at 2, Guthrun is taking us to the mill."
"Wait, is this the German lady that lives behind us? Guthrun is an Icelandic name too, right? Isn't that spelled "Guðrun?" Wasn't one of y'all's nannies named that?"
^^ (that just about takes the cake for the most Multicultural sentence I've ever spoken. I mean, look at it: German, English, Iclandic, and Southern.)
Guthrun, the aforementioned neighbor lady, took us all to Altdorfer Mühl, which has been in operation since 1487. She is the landlady of the house that George and Arnheidur currently rent. She is such a sweet and caring Grandmother-type and even babysits Erla sometimes. She doesn't speak any English, but we communicate fairly well nonetheless.
Three languages at once can be fun, let me tell you. When we were riding to the mill, the CD with Icelandic songs was on, German was spoken between Erla, Guthrun and Arnheidur, English was spoken between Rachel and I. I talked a little to Guthrun when I could remember what to say.
The mill was so much fun to visit!
They had all kinds of fresh milled flours, bread mixes, muffin mixes, nuts and seeds, you name it.)
We stopped by some other farms and got some Kartoffels (potatoes) and strawberries, and got to see what Arnheidur calls the "Smallest honey store in the world"- a little cabinet on the side of a German farmer's barn!
All purchases are made on the honor system, and you just set the money you owe on the shelf.
We stopped by a cafe for tea and coffee on the way home. I got the tea that was recommended by the barista, and it was quite good!
It has been said: "since you make and sell cakes back home, why don't you order cake at every single store/cafe, to try it out?
Well,
Reason 1: Pancreas
Reason 2: Waistline
Reason 3: Etc.
But to save money (and conserve insulin) I eat bites of other people's cake. In general, a cake slice is entirely too much for one person, and as such, when people from our crew order cake at a restaurant, I am offered plenty of cake.
A bite is enough to get a feel for the flavor, and so far, I have tried raspberry torte, sachertorte, hazelnut torte, and, this afternoon, a bite of Rhubarb cake, which Guthrun offered to me. German cakes are definitely not as terribly sweet as they can be in the states, and the taste is fantastic and complex, without all that sugar to overpower it.
We arrived home and Aunt Rachel and I made a giant salad from some lettuce the neighbor across the street kindly gave us. Then we both started to buckle down and get ready for our three day babysitting gig whilst their parents are on vacation. The thing about Europe is that if you want to pop over to, say, Venice, you can just hop on a plane for an hour and a half and you are there.
Though I will say that it is not exactly comforting that Arnheidur just reported that tonight, it took her an hour and a half of driving in the car to get Erla to fall asleep.
Gulp.
Oh well. Bring it. :)
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