Wherein I peel my finger instead of the potato...

Sorry to be so blunt, but, my mother is the best cook in the world. And she's had this crazy notion recently that we should start a YouTube channel, where we'd host a mother-daughter cooking show. It'd probably go something like:

Step 1:  Adrianna learns how not to burn the onions.
Step 2:  Adrianna learns how not to slice off her fingers.
Step 3:  Adrianna blunders and Super Mom saves the day.

Because let's face it, when our generation leaves home for the "real world," we are faced with the dilemma of stretching our budgets on frozen, prepared lasagna and ramen. Or, we learn how to cook.

It's been more than 6 years since I left the nest, and this fledgling can successfully cook "x" number of dishes, which Mom has coached from home via telephone. ("Mom, I'm at the supermarket. Now... what should I buy?") Being in Germany means Mom is no longer on speed dial, but no sweat -- I'm a born and raised Texan and cooking chili is in my blood.

I cry uncontrollably when I cut onions. Hence the swimming goggles.

Here in Weimar I'm living in apartment-style housing for students. In my humble little kitchen, I have the basics -- a sink, a stove, and a water kettle -- and, as of late, a microwave and a toaster, the latter of which I picked up on the curbside and will soon be receiving an intense antimicrobial makeover. The first time I tried to use the fancy two-burner stove, which is a completely flat surface, burners and on/off buttons and all, I accidentally put it on child lock. And guess what? The company website doesn't have an instruction manual, which rendered me stove-less for a good half hour. An unforgivable oversight on their part. (And if any of you are laughing at me for not being "adult" enough to undo child lock...)

In any case, one night I'm making a big pot of chili and stoked to be using one of my newest Ikea purchases -- a peeler. Prior to owning this wonderful tool, I was peeling carrots and potatoes with a small knife, the good-ol'-fashioned Bronze Age way.

Yes, it was a beautiful experience, that thrill of modern technology, the blade of the peeler slicing through potato skin like the wing of a hang glider slicing through air. Soaring. And cutting right through my index finger. Suddenly, blood. Lots of blood.

Ow, ow, ow, ow.

I hadn't yet thought to buy band-aids so I had to improvise, folding up a tissue and securing it with packing tape, which was the stickiest thing I had (next best option: post-its).

Ok, minor set back. No problem. Ignore throbbing pain and proceed with adding spices. (Companion music: The Real Group's "Chili con carne.")

I open my precious supply of chili spices, mailed with TLC from Texas, and take an anticipatory whiff of the chili powder. Ah, good ol' Texas -- whoa! Whoa. Whoa, whoa, wooow, my nasal passages are burning. Maybe that was a bad idea. Next I'm grabbing more tissues to try to blow out the chili powder, but God knows the little particles have already made it to my lungs, which are also feeling the heat. "Gargling" my nostrils in water also doesn't help and only reminds me of learning how to dive (unsuccessfully).

(Yes, Mom, I know you wrote "use with care" on that particular ziploc bag. I've failed you as a daughter!)

Complete disaster averted, in the end I've got my chili. I've got my jalapenos. I am happy.

This tiny little experience is just one more reminder that I still have so much left in the world to learn. And that's just in the kitchen! As soon as I step out my door, there's a whole big world out there.

What motivates the students who live in this building with me? What life paths brought them to study at the renowned Bauhaus University or at the Weimar Musikhochschule? How is it that in Germany, after the age of 10, schoolchildren can be appropriately "sorted" into the next level of education -- that at such an early age, it is already determined that all who attend either Realschule or Hauptschule instead of Gymnasium will never go to university?

Is it wrong that I call myself an "American," even though the Americas consist of the greater part of the Western Hemisphere? Only in Germany have I first heard that it's more politically correct to identify as a "U.S.-American." But then, what about the European Union? Not all European countries are a part of the EU.

With all this recent activity about Obamacare and passing a congressional budget on one side of the Atlantic, and anger at the NSA's data plundering (of even the German Chancellor's cell phone) on the other, I asked myself, what if CBYX got nixed? What arguments could persuade Congress to continue this exchange of 75 American and 75 German young professionals? And I got to thinking, I hope that by my being here in Germany -- as a "cultural ambassador" of sorts -- that the Germans I meet can speak with a real, everyday American. That together we can find the most basic, fundamental common ground: I like eating French fries, too. I like reading novels, too. I like to take walks and ride my bike in nature, too. That together we can look beyond our political, economic, and social differences to see that we are all human beings.

Who are susceptible to peeling their fingers.

Happy 23rd Birthday, Germany!

Ok, so that's maybe a bit misleading. Navigating the winding streets of Germany, peppered with Medieval churches, is a daily visual reminder that many of the structures surrounding me are centuries (if not millennia) older than the United States, which officially gained its independence with the signing of the 1783 Treaty of Paris. (Happy 1-Month-Belated 230th Birthday, US of A.)

In fact, October 3 is a national holiday because it commemorates the reunification of East and West Germanies. So if we're talking about reunification, maybe we Americans should be celebrating May 9, the officially declared end of the Civil War. Hmm. (Happy 148-Day-Belated 148th Birthday, US of A.)

Today also marks Day 3 of my second phase in Germany. (Oh yeah, it's also Day 3 of the government shutdown. Good thing Congressional funding for this program was passed on last year's budget....) I've said a teary goodbye to Cologne, my host family, and all of my wonderful companions at language school. Thanks to Cologne, I am now here in Weimar with German recipes, (theoretically) better German, and ready to rock this town with my mountain bike. (Thanks to my buddy Jerilyn, said bike has a killer Disney/Pixar Cars bell.)

Weimar, the "cultural capital" of Europe, is in the Bundesland, or province, of Thuringia, 15 minutes away by train from the provincial capital, Erfurt. Weimar was also a part of the former East Germany, which from 1949 to 1990 was the post-WWII half dominated by Soviet influence. Living conditions were radically different in the two Germanies. Berlin was divided down the middle, eventually so by a hideous concrete wall (1961). Between East and West Berlin lay a no-man's land decorated with barbed wire and studded with land mines, the wall covered in graffiti of discontent.

So when people asked me, where are you moving at the end of September?

I answered, oh, Weimar.

Oh, that used to be in East Germany.

And I didn't know what I was supposed to expect upon getting here. My train dropped me off at the central station, and as I walked around the city, my first impression was that -

Erfurt is beautiful!

By law property owners cannot alter the facades (and possibly the rest of the architecture) of buildings. The result is a picturesque snapshot of what Walt Disney might have copied to make Epcot Germany.

Greetings from Erfurt! Everyone here is totally normal!

And did you know that Martin Luther (of Reformation fame) studied and became a monk here in Erfurt? Here, in this church:

I would guess this church is Lutheran.

And he laid on top of this stone (before the altar) to take his religious vows:

"Over, sideways and under / on a magic carpet ride"

But, more on Erfurt later. Back to Weimar.

Ok. So Day 1 in Thuringia, I'm enjoying a lovely candlelit dinner of onion goulash and Thuringia-style dumplings with the 2 other "Amis" (pronounced AH-meez) stationed here and our wonderful, wonderful helper from the CBYX program.

Sorry about the iPad-shadow. That's embarrassing.

After I'm stuffed, my bike and I take the train back to Weimar. Don't worry, y'all. While I still had Wi-Fi I took some screenshots of Google Maps on the tablet so I'd know how to get home.

Ha. I thought I was so prepared.

FALSE.

Remember when, back in sentence #2, I described those lovely, wandering roads?

Well, they wander.

Reason #1 I got lost on the way home:

If you ignore the part of the United States that used to be the original colonies, but don't ignore Manhattan, you'll notice that a lot of the roads make sense. That is, they form a grid of nice parallel and perpendicular lines. A lot of that is due to the Land Ordinance of 1785, when the Founding Fathers wisely systematically squared up the land west of the Original 13.

In Weimar (and in many European towns), this is not so. Take for example a screenshot for the directions back home:

Um, left toward Ackerwand, then left toward Ackerwand. Right toward Ackerwand, then right toward Ackerwand??

Reason #2 I got lost on the way home:

It was dark. Couldn't see the street signs well.

Reason #3 I got lost on the way home:

There weren't many street signs to read.

I mean, really?? I looked everywhere, desperately, for a sign at intersections, on the sides of buildings on street corners. And even when I was able to find a sign, it was small and hard to read. And I mean, even if I was able to find Ackerwand, how would I know when to turn left (and turn left the second time)?

How I got home:

I asked every pedestrian I came across (few and far between, as it was around 10:00pm) for directions. Thank you, kind citizens of Weimar!

Day 2, getting home, but worse:

Given that today is a national holiday, everything is closed. Meaning, I had to buy everything I'd need from the supermarket on Day 2.

So I take my screenshots of how to get to Rewe from the train station. And I get there without too much distress. Upon arriving, the windows of the building look only half-illuminated, if at all. I poke my head around, and there's a dark, horror-movie like entrance with discarded shopping carts.

Uhhh. Did this place shut down without Google Maps updating itself? If Rewe is closed, I won't have any luck anywhere else - Aldi, Netto, Lidl, they're already closed. No food for October 3.

Oh! There's a woman on the street!

Excuse me, is this Rewe closed down?

Oh, no! The entrance is around the back, past the parking lot. That back there is the old entrance.

Ooooooh.

Whew.

I have less than an hour before closing to get milk, juice, butter, flour, bread, vegetable oil, produce, a sponge, dishwashing soap, handsoap... all the staples that I didn't have in my empty apartment.

Success! Found everything! (Except coconut milk, for the curry I was planning to make.)

My wares cover the entire length of the checkout conveyor belt, and it begins to dawn on me how ambitious this shopping trip is turning out to be. I start mentally practicing how to explain in German that I'm new in town.

50-pounds or so of everything imaginable stuffed in my backpack and slung over my shoulders in three tote bags later, I teeter precariously down the street on my poor bike, squeaking from the sheer weight of it all.

Fortunately, I didn't exactly get lost getting back home. But it was still dark. And I couldn't see any street signs. And I had a refrigerator on my back.

"Keep going, Adrianna. Keep going," chanted my inner voice, willing my legs to pedal forward to a better-lit street.

"No more! Please, no more!" screamed my lower back muscles.

I mean, I didn't even know my lower back muscles could get that involved during a bike ride.

I made it to my street and finally allowed myself to walk the rest of the way, half falling off my bike while I steadied myself.

There. There's the building. There are the front steps. Down go my groceries before the front door while I park my bike out back, laser-eye-ing through the corner of the building to ward off potential hobos who would dare to steal my €40 worth of groceries that I sweat and toiled to lug home.

The groceries are still there, then carried upstairs, stuffed in the fridge and cupboard, and all I want to do is take off layers, despite it being 48° outside.

Well.

I'm in Weimar.