Wherein I learn how to buy salt and butter.

So, 18 hours of relative pronouns, adjective endings, and subjunctive II later, the first week of language school is over. We've debated the pros and cons of movie theaters, spoken in passive voice about city planning, and -- for a hair-raising fifteen minutes -- argued (in English, oops) whether a dress shirt is called a "button-down" or a "button-up." (Poll: Which do you say?) Perhaps this Wikipedia article would interest my American colleagues.

The 75 CBYX American participants at three different locations of the Carl Duisberg Centren, a German language learning school.

As far as confidence in my spoken German goes, the general trend this past week has been upward. Some days are better than others. Yesterday, for example, I was complimented on my pronunciation. But also yesterday, I wasn't sure how to talk to the dog. (What does one say instead of "good girl"? Probably not an exact translation...)

Really, the first week has been full of "firsts." For example, the first thing I did yesterday was to clean a German toilet -- something I've never done before. Yesterday I also ate blackberries off a wild bush for the first time. And the day before, for the first time I tried Georgian wine. (As in Georgia the country, not the state.)

It was really good.

The aforementioned toilet and I live on the 4th floor (which is a German 3rd floor) in a lovely neighborhood in the part of Cologne known as Nippes, which is north of the city center and east of the Rhine River. My host family consists of my host mom (hereafter known as H.M.), her teenage daughter (my host sister, or, H.S.), and their cat (H.C.).

My H.C., welcoming me home.

A couple nights ago I asked my H.M. if she needed anything from the grocery store, as I was paying a visit to Aldi, mostly in order to buy distinctly non-German peanut butter.

God Bless America.

"Well," she said, "we're out of salt and butter."

"Great, I can get those."

Then, thinking I ought to be careful, I sagely inquired, "What does the salt come in? A bottle? A box?" After all, not only do the Germans speak a different language, (almost) never jaywalk, and not go shopping on Sundays (because all the stores are closed), their food also comes in different packaging, as I observed during a previous shopping trip. (For example, it is not unusual that mustard should come in a toothpaste-like tube.)

"Well, it comes in a paper box. And I like to use sea salt."

"Ah, ha!" I thought happily to myself. "Good thing I asked, as I might have gone and bought otherwise."

"As for the butter, it comes in a package about this big," my H.M. motioned with her hands.

"With or without salt?"

"Without."

"Great, I'll be back soon!"

And so I arrived at Aldi, with my handwritten shopping list of two items. You know, in case I forgot.

Now, the first thing one does when one finds oneself in an unfamiliar grocery store is to get ones bearings. After all, every grocery store stocks dairy, meats, spices, and so forth in different places. This is not so different from the American way.

That is to say, no need to panic just yet.

I see, here's the butter section. It's refrigerated, and that makes sense. But wait, that's not butter is it...? No, that's margarine. And what is this strange thing called "Rama"? Is that the German version of I-Can't-Believe-It's-Not-Butter? Oh, here! Here's the real butter. But does my H.M. want the "original Irish" butter? Or the butter made from "the best Dutch milk"? I somehow settle for the Irish, maybe because I'm grasping for something familiar, and Irish people speak English. (More or less.)

It takes me about another five minutes to find the salt.

Ok, I see sea salt in a paper box. That must be it. But there's also sea salt in a cylindrical container, and this type is crystallized, whereas the salt in the paper box is finely granulated. Also, it's sea salt "mit Jod." It's sea salt with "Jod." What is Jod? More importantly, does my H.M. even want Jod???

I despair and handle my Angst by considering my other options for salt, which after another five minutes I realize none of which are sea salt. I hold onto the information I do know like a lifeline, grab the paper box, and exhale while marching to the register.

(N.B. There are a whopping 8 types of Euro coins:  €0.01, €0.02, €0.05, €0.10, €0.20, €0.50, €1 and €2, wherein the €0.02 and €0.05 denominations are basically big and bigger pennies, the European nickels/dimes/dimes-x-2/half dollars are gold instead of silver, and they have a "Sacagawea-slash-Susan-B.-Anthony-slash-why-can't-the-U.S.-Treasury-standardize-the-face-of-the-dollar-coin" x 2 coin.

(P.S. to the N.B.: And yes, unfortunately, I'm still a complete novice at swiftly picking out the right coins when confronted at the register.)

So, moral of the story?

Not until my H.M. confirmed that I had bought the right things did I realize Jod must be -- iodide.