Rosetta Stone Rescue

Location: MUNICH, GERMANY


I am currently in the process of reading the entire Bible in a year. Two weeks behind, I decided to do some speed reading last night. I was in the first six chapters of John where he details Jesus’ miracles. It was almost midnight and I was bored with the miracles. I had heard them all before, watched them recreated at every Easter play and wanted to skip ahead to Psalms. So, I read Psalms instead and went to bed.

The following morning, right after I arrived at work, the economics specialist at work called me. He told my colleague and me to decide between ourselves who would go with our boss to meet with the CEO and CFO of a major German corporation. Since I was dressed up, I went. On the ride there, I was informed that the entire meeting would be conducted auf Deutsch. Well, I can write and read German at about a high school level and can speak German at about a 6 year-old's level. However, when it comes to hearing German, I might as well be a newborn whose mother has decided to start speaking gibberish to them. I hear “blah blah insert a word I know blah blah two more words understood blah blah blah blah. Danke”. Oh and to make the challenge more difficult, it was my job to write a review of the meeting following the meeting. I squeezed my eyes closed tightly and pleaded with God “to grant me the Rosetta Stone, even if it is only for 20 minutes. That is all I need to make sure I still have my job tomorrow morning”. We arrived at the meeting and were quickly escorted into the room. Let the German begin. And let the Miracle Meeting commence.

We all sat at a large oak table overlooking a beautiful skyline. I whispered another short prayer as the CEO and CFO started to speak. And I understood. I took notes as quickly as my brain could process and soon filled up an entire notepad page. This continued on for another ten minutes as they kept talking and I kept writing. Now, I didn’t fully understand every word; that would be a lie. However, I suddenly remembered all the vocabulary words from my three years of high school German. Feeling pretty impressed with myself, I started to laugh at their jokes and even attempted to comment on one such point. I assume God felt that it was his time to shine and not mine because the next time the CFO said something funny, I was the only one to laugh out loud. Now, this was no LOL. This was a roaring laugh. I’m sure I turned the color of crimson and slumped back into my chair. The meeting ended a few minutes later and we said goodbye. Once we were in the car, the driver started speaking in German. I turned to answer him and realized I didn’t understand what he had said. And just as quickly as I had understood, it was gone and I was once again hearing “blah”.

But what I did understand: God’s miracles are never boring. The Bible should be read earnestly. I need to pray more often. And prayers are answered. Just sometimes they are in a foreign language.

"Crystal-Clear Ball" - Day Four

Location: MUNICH, GERMANY

This morning was like Christmas in my own Winter Wonderland. I woke up at 5 a.m. and laid patiently under my covers until I heard my roommate showering in the bathroom. That was my cue. I jumped out of bed, bounding for my hallway closet. I searched through the piles of neatly folded and newly laundered clothing trying to find that special combination. I had to look the part because today was the first day of my internship.

I had slept a little more than 5 hours and the sun was hiding somewhere, anywhere, besides the Munich skies. I walked bundled up in my winter coat through the gray and black, or sometimes yellow, but never white, snow. Yet, I had a cheery disposition and about eight hours of work ahead of me.

At the risk of violating my previous statement that I would avoid the J-O-B topic, I will say that today is the day I realized that I am right where I am meant to be. Three years ago, I was sitting with my father in a small cafe in Daytona Beach commiserating about my upcoming graduation. At this point, I still had a year left in college, but it was nearing the end of my studies and I had still not answered the age-old "what to do when I grow up" question. Dad had me write out what I thought were some characteristics or topics that interested me:

I want to travel.

I want to speak languages (German primarily).

I want to write

I want to study foreign relations.

Dad said, "Why don't you consider ______? I think it would be a company that would offer great opportunities and one where you could grow upon your current skill sets." People, parents and teachers alike had been asking me for years about my future plans. And here it was. Written on a napkin! Now, a lot has happened since that day, including the addition of two specialized minors onto my major, another internship, some chance meetings, a supportive family and friend base and of course, graduation from college.

But, today, as I was sitting in my first conference, doodling on a notepad, I looked up at the snow falling outside in the courtyard. A few flakes landed on the window and began to melt. As, I watched the drops slide down the window, I knew soon they would be grey, black or even yellow snow again. But for now, it was all clear.

Oasis in a Frozen Tundra - Day Three

Location: MUNICH, GERMANY


Jet lag is like a long night out partying: The following day is bad and sometimes it can last for days. The morning following my arrival I found myself wide awake at 4 a.m., but passed out asleep again at noon. The sky was so overcast and the weather was so biting cold that I woke up and thought it was still pre-dawn. Today was no better and I slept until 2 p.m. Munich Time. However, I woke up just in time for a shower and a mad dash towards the U-Bahn for church.

Before I left for Munich, Dad had suggested an English-speaking church for me to attend. Thankfully, I took his advice and attended Munich International Community Church. Church has always been a part of my weekend routine, but today it was like an oasis of English and recognition. It also helped that the congregation is mostly comprised of ex-pats, travelers and transplants.

The pastor talked about Joseph in Genesis and how Joseph left his home (though against his will) and went to Egypt, where he had to learn the language and the customs. According to the pastor, this passage suits the congregation because, like Joseph, we are new in this linguistic and customary environment. Though none of us were sold into slavery by our siblings (although I am sure Jordan feels delighted that I am thousands of miles away), we can learn from Joseph's devotion to God and use it to guide our own paths in Munich. I know I don't do the service justice, but I look forward to next weekend.

As for the new week, tomorrow is my first real day of work....Guten Nacht, alles!

Munich Mayhem - Days One and Two

Location: MUNICH, GERMANY

We interrupt the traditional writing topics to bring you a hybrid blog of my life in Germany. For my family and friends, I have created this so you can keep up with my happenings without the expense of a telephone call, but with the ease of a text message.

I am currently residing in Munich, Germany and working as an intern with a "company". I choose not to disclose much regarding my posting because, while my job is the reason I am transplanted, it should not be the star of my blog nor should I discuss it. After all, there is only so much 9-5 chatter that my family and friends want to hear. Instead, I’ll focus on my assimilation into a culture that I am rather comfortable with, but that is not “home”.

My adventure started really when I got the internship. As the months started to count down and I learned the German rental system, I found a roommate (also my colleague) and an apartment. Now, I have moved a lot thanks to my military upbringing, but this is the first time I am moving a fair distance away as well as the first time living abroad. I don’t know my roommate. I have only seen pictures of my apartment. I speak and read the language, but I have a difficult time understanding when someone speaks to me. And the weather is eiskalt.

Basically, everything is out of my comfort zone, but just at the edge. And to the edge of a nervous breakdown and into an episode of “Planes, Trains and Automobiles” it did take me on my travels to Munich.

Originally, I was supposed to leave on the 6th, but snowy weather kept me from leaving. Then, in an effort to still get me to Munich on time, my travel agent booked me a flight leaving the next morning. Problem being, she booked me into Frankfurt instead of Munich. Frankfurt is about a 4 hour train ride (which I learned quickly) and Munich has multiple train stations, which I also learned traumatically.

Although it was stressful, I was reminded how friendly and generous Germans really are as numerous German strangers helped ferry my three rolling bags (extremely heavy, I might add though it is probably obvious since I was packing for three months and I am a girl) between different stations and on and off of busy trains. One rather charming German asked me “Darf ich helfen?” and proceeded to help me find the Frankfurt Airport train station, after I nodded my head and fought back some tears. Another woman, following my unintentional debarkation onto the München-Passing station terminal instead of the München-Hauptbahnhof station, helped wheel one of my bags from the train into the station. Many others, including a few gentlemen, helped lug my bags up and down staircases after I realized I was in the wrong areas. After today, I learned that vielen dank and danke schön really are universally appreciatated. And how appreciative I am that my parents answered the phone at 4 a.m. their time.

Sure, I have cried some tears, thrown some things and yelled swear words in both English and German (thanks Gwen for the “Dirty German” handbook), but I am here now and transitioning quite comfortably. I have met my German roommate and first impressions are positive. I moved into my apartment and it is wonderfully large, even by American standards (although my sheet rock-hard bed is not up to my normal bedding standards). The wintry and icy weather will be a challenge and I think I will need to find a gym in order to work out and not get frostbite. Then again, I hear it is snowing for the first time in like five years in my hometown. I hope everyone enjoys my little “snowy present”. It is sent with nothing but love! Guten Nacht!

“Lessons Learned from Lion King” (My First Day in Namibia)

Location: WINDHOEK, NAMIBIA


Since childhood, my bedtime stories revolved much around my father’s hunting expeditions at the Makadi Ranch in the early 1980s. He would point to the trophy heads hanging high on our walls and astound me with tales of the stalk and the eventual kill. Yes, it was morbid, but I had even named each trophy. My personal favorite is Walter the Kudu. After Dad would shut off the lights, I would lay awake imagining what Walter was like in the wild and wondering if we would ever meet. Now, I am here.


Before we left on the trip, all I truly knew about Africa came from these stories and The Lion King. I knew hakuna matata means “no worries”, lions with scars (or for that matter, any lions) are not to be trusted, a warthog and a meercat can be best friends and that everything goes through the “circle of life”. Unfortunately, South Africa the Metropolis didn’t quite live up to my expectations of seeing wildebeests and warthogs in the backyard, springboks bouncing over game fences or the vast emptiness of a desert. But, as we were landing at Windhoek, I saw my expectations unfurling.


Out my window, I saw nothing. Just vast nothingness with a spot or two of mountain ranges. But, as we got lower, I could see the dusty sand billowing underneath caramel-colored dried grass, and hints of hunter green on trees clinging to the last remnants of water. This is the same water that also left behind rocky stream beds that turn into roads. The same roads we drove at 90 km along its wash-boarded clay surface in a green VW van. Yet, even at 90 km, I could still spot warthogs, anteaters, steenbok, jackals and hartebeest. And then, I saw Walter. He was standing amongst Kudu cows, directly behind an acacia tree. He was bigger than I remembered, and for that matter had a body. But, he still had the same dark mooned eyes and spiral antlers.

Then, with a loud thud, we hit a black bird with the car. It made a cracking sound and fell some distance behind the still speeding car. Such is the circle of life. Welcome to Namibia, Africa.

Cold (but not cold-hearted), in South Africa

Location: PRETORIA, SOUTH AFRICA


Ok, so I wasn’t the most thoughtful critic while in South Africa. Alright, I was downright frigid, but with temperatures below 30 and no proper winter attire, it wasn’t just my heart that was frigid. Now that I am out of the country and can feel my toes again, I am able to look back on the fuller portion of the (frozen) glass.


Although it was easy to assimilate, like I said in my last entry, it was not as easy to acclimate. Fifteen hours before touching down in Johannesburg, I was wearing a short sleeved t-shirt and fanning myself with my boarding pass. When we landed, I was climbing into my thin shirt and trying to find some way to convert the boarding pass into heating fuel. However, the cold followed me from the tarmac to the house. Most South African homes do not have centralized heating, unless you count the small space heater centrally located in the living room. I spent much of my four evenings vying for a position in front of that space heater. Yet, the worst cold moments were at bedtime, second only to showering in the mornings. At night, I felt like I was sleeping in ALL of the clothes I had packed, while shivering under five layers of blankets, including two comforters, and three layers of pajamas. But, there was some reprieve. Although space heaters have to be turned off at night because they can start fires, the solution is hot water bottles. After growing up predominately in the South, where winter temperatures are around 50 degrees, I can’t say I can remember seeing a hot water bottle, much less using one. The two bottles and I became great mates during my four day stay and I think they are the greatest invention since sweet tea. I cuddled one close to my chest on top of all the layers of clothing, with another one placed at my feet underneath the five layers of blankets.
That hot water bottle came in handy when I came back from my two nights on the town with my friend, Danelle, and my brother, Jordan. Danelle took us to a local bar called the News Café as treat for Jordan, who is only 18 and can drink in South Africa, but not for another three years in the United States. I ordered a double gin and tonic because it is my favorite drink. Although the bar was outdoors, heated only by a plastic overhang and a couple gas-powered heat lamps, and I was wearing nine layers, including socks, boots and a winter coat, the bar was fun. Lit by the lamps and a few neon signs, a red glow lit up the seating area. Although red is typically coupled with heat, this one taunted us.


Despite my disposition to the cold weather, I noticed South Africa has some of the finest service industry protocols and demeanors. From small diners to lunch at fine restaurants, waiters seem genuinely pleased to meet you. Having a best friend/waitress in the American food industry, I understand that a lot of times the smiles and greetings are faked for a better tip. However, our waiter at the News Café, having noticed my American accent, asked me “Miami or New York?” I had to laugh, as if all of the Americans live in Miami or New York. Thank goodness I live in neither. I said, “Daytona Beach, about four hours from Miami” and he then asked me how I liked South Africa. Before I could respond, he said, “Oh, I love America. And don’t be shy. South Africans love Americans”. A bit flabbergasted, we ordered and our drinks arrived promptly. Our drinks came in a glass, not plastic cups, and our waiter opened my can and poured in my mixer for me. At this point, Danelle had handed Jordan a cigarette and had put an unlit one to her mouth. Without hesitation, our waiter leaned in and lit Danelle’s cigarettes for her. And without hesitation, I grabbed the cancer stick from my brother’s mouth and used the ash tray our waiter brought along.

The following night we went to Hatfield Square, a square in the middle of the University of Pretoria lined by numerous pubs and bars and frequented by the students. The previous night when we arrived, the square was jammed packed with students and only the waifs of their smoke could permeate the thick crowd. On a raised platform above the crowd, an Afrikaans band was leading the drunken crowd in a melody about “f-ing police cars”. We opted to go home and snuggle with our hot water bottles instead. At least they brought the rubbers.

This night the band was gone and the bars were a bit more manageable. If you drink nothing else while in Pretoria, I strongly recommend this blend of crème soda and cane liquor called the “Green Monster” at Herr Gunters. It is a toxic green concoction that tastes more like a vanilla-flavored cold beverage than a drink that, after two drinks in, you begin to forget what your name is and that you don’t speak any Afrikaans. At a little over a $1 a drink, I bought three rounds for three people at R81 (<$9), and three each is really all one needs. Once again, had I not been hearing Afrikaans, I would’ve thought I was on campus at any big university. This evening, recordings from Panic at the Disco (just couldn’t escape it), Pink, All-American Rejects and Akon accompanied songs like “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” and “Save Tonight” as the musical entertainment. Much like any Irish pub in Daytona, the local rugby team, fresh from the field, was seated in Herr Gunter’s guzzling down Windhoek beer and carousing with the local female population.

I am sorry to report that my best times in South Africa were spent in a bar. However, next time, I will come during their summer. Maybe then the drink will be frozen on purpose.

“You can only run so far away from Home before You come full Circle”

Location: PRETORIA, SOUTH AFRICA


I’ve just spent the last three days in Johannesburg and Pretoria, South Africa. Although I am in a completely different country, and for that matter on a different continent, I was surprised by the commonalities between our two countries. In fact, it took very little time to assimilate, which is why it has been so difficult to become inspired by the unusual, like I did with my China entry. For instance, I spent an afternoon shopping at the Menlyn Mall in Pretoria. Besides the occasional Afrikaans-translation difficulty and converting Rand to Dollars, we shopped at GAP, Diesel Jeans, Crocs, Crabtree & Evelyn and the Body Shop.

I just didn’t feel like I was in Africa. While I didn’t expect a bloody war zone or jungle people with no clothes on, I didn’t expect a metropolitan city. I guess I expected vast desert wastelands, plains game and the Big Five walking on the side of the roads and gravel roads as main infrastructures. Instead, I got a city with modern buildings and highways, malls and movie theaters, and American comfort food. Aside from reuniting with friends we hadn’t seen in 13 years, I really didn’t enjoy it.

Although South Africa didn’t meet my expectations for a “typical Africa”, it did have many negative “typical Africa” aspects: squatter villages, begging children, immense poverty, intensely violent crimes, “war zones” and the wealthy people’s “immunity” from its existence. For most Americans, advertisements of starving children in Africa are a regular sight. I can even remember when my mother used the “there are starving children in Africa” excuse to sell me on her chicken cacciatore. But until you are eye to eye with it, it still feels a world away. But now I am on the continent, in their world, and looking out my car window into the blood-shot eyes of a local street beggar.

At every intersection and red light there is a different person with a different story. On evening, I saw a white man standing in the middle of the street lane, with no shoes on, while it is around 40 degrees outside. Then there were young, black males with their faces painted white, dancing in between the cars, hoping for some change. I made the mistake of coming to a red light with my window down, wherein a homeless druggie, who was pawning wooden cross necklaces in the center of the street, took the opportunity to curse the latest South African president, Jacob Zumba, for the beggar’s inability to find work in this city.

Yet despite the daily contact with the poor, the wealthy board themselves into their houses to avoid further contact. The result is a country that resembles a war zone not unlike the rest of the continent. To keep out the spiking crime, houses are surrounded by concrete walls, sharp fence toppers, barbed wire, and motion detectors. Multi-million dollar homes have coquina wire and concrete bricks surrounding their exquisitely decorated façade. Armed-guards stand at attention in front of convenience stories, eyeing down every customer who seems unfazed by their presence. I can’t say I saw anyone give anyone else money or food in my four days. That is not to say that it doesn’t happen, but I just didn’t see it. I can understand though because it is a hard dilemma; either become hardened by the sights or become overwhelmed. I guess I succumbed to being overwhelmed in this country, which is rapidly becoming Africa’s only first world country. As the host of the 2010 World Cup, it will be interesting to see how the rest of the world judges it. As for me: I came. I saw. I left.