I am greatly relieved to know that German dog names are every bit as stupid as American ones. We go to the dog park daily, where Maggie romps with an enormous assortment of beasts, some on a consistent enough basis to be getting to know their names and personalities. There is a French bulldog named Anton with a large wen above his left eye, an 8-month-old Great Dane puppy named Ludwig (who stands as high as what remains of my chest), several chocolate Labs named Oskar, a few diminutive no-breed Betties, a Bernese Mountain dog named Donna (Donna!) who barks at me, a Jack Russell terrier named Cesar, and another silly big mutt named Travis (but pronounced Trevvis), who is easily subdued by the Jack Russell terrier named Leo. There's a Tyler, a Lola, a Leila, a Fraulein, a Helmut, a Spike, a Boomer and a Martini. A puggle puppy named Fattska. An ancient Rottweiler named Bruno. Another indeterminate brindle mix named Bones. There are no fewer than FIVE dogs named Keira, one of whom is a Weimaraner who prances obsessively in circles and figure-eights with a soccer ball clamped firmly in her mouth. That is, when she's not chewing on rocks or paving stones. Sputnik's owner has been told by Russians that Sputnik is NOT a good name for a female dog; Maximilian is a shepherd mix who has dug a hole so far under a tree all that shows is his rear end and wagging tail when he's in it, sniffing for treasure.
Maggie is particularly attentive to the two entry gates, continually watching for newcomers, as she gets bored quickly sniffing the same old posteriors. She runs with each new arrival - madly - for about 30 seconds and then putzes around on her own until the next novelty turns up. Sometimes it's not a newcomer at all but a scuffle between kids already on the playground and Maggie is quick to present herself for consultation on how best to resolve the difficulty. Of course, the others all speak German so her suggestions fall on deaf ears. Large, floppy ears, for the most part.
I have spoken to a few other dog owners during these daily excursions, but I don't have good chit-chat German and cannot maintain much of a conversation yet, beyond asking name, age and breed. One friend I have made, however, is a very nice hockey player-turned sports-psychologist, a native from Munich who lived in Spokane for a while, playing hockey for the Chiefs. He's the only person I've met here (not that there have been many) who's even heard of Spokane, let alone Walla Walla. And he speaks very good English. He belongs to old Klara, who became permanently bonded with me one day when I gave her a dog treat for sitting so nicely when I told her to.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Wall Fall Down
Monday, November 9, was Fall of the Wall day, the 20th anniversary of the breaching of the divisive behemoth that kept half Berlin prisoner for 30 years; not news to anyone, but an interesting day to be here.
It was an odd choice of date, to my thinking, being the same as the ghastly Kristallnacht in 1938.
It was also a kind of odd event, seemingly geared mostly to media and tourists, with the average Berliners somewhat unconcerned and going about their daily business as usual. Their big holiday was on Saturday, October 3, when businesses were closed for the celebration of German Reunification (with the French puppets...), so maybe they were sated with festivities. It's surprising to me that polls, as reported in the New York Times, show that there are still Germans, both east and westerners, who preferred the old, divided system, by some accounts as many as 1 in 8. There were certainly plenty of people who turned out for the day's "Festival of Freedom" but I didn't sense a particularly excited buzz anywhere. It was also an unfortunately cold and rainy day.
I spent the first part of that morning getting my one-year visa at the Ausländerbehörde, a somewhat humiliating adventure in German bureaucratese (as if German isn't hard enough to begin with!), and then wandered to the Brandenburg Gate and Pariser Platz to scrutinize the 1.5 kilometers of huge painted "dominoes" that were poised and waiting for Lech Walesa to push them into a second "Mauerfall" late in the afternoon. They were reminiscent of school and community projects everywhere, created mainly by kids but with a few by "real artists" thrown in for good measure and credibility, I suppose. It was outstanding mainly for the scope and range of the exhibit - laid out with German precision - which began at the far end of the Holocaust Memorial, ran straight past the U.S. Embassy, the Brandenburg Gate and Reichstag, and curved sharply several times to travel along the river, across a bridge, and into the final stretch along the opposite riverbank. There were few notable pieces of art involved, although there was an exceedingly funny one, obviously done by kids. One one side it depicted a happy couple at the beach, standing on the sand in their swimsuits, waving to the viewer. There were written instructions to look at the other side, where the same couple appeared in the same pose, this time in full frontal nudity.
There were some school groups out while I was there but they appeared to be kids whose school or class had painted one of these thousand dominoes. Many of them were dressed in official participant T-shirts or silver jackets, the jacketed ones being allowed inside the protective barricades to stand with their own projects. One security guard became enraged at a few of them, however, for playing hide and seek around the artworks, no doubt paranoid that the entire event would be ruined on his watch by the accidental triggering of the cascade of monoliths. The kids appeared to have the fear of God put into them and Lech got to do his thing, so the guy was at least successful in preserving the day's climax until the appointed time.
For some inexplicable reason, Jon Bon Jovi was the headline entertainment. Daniel Barenboim at least had the good sense to conduct a program of the Staatskapelle and Staatsopernchor by German composers in the tent specially constructed for this outdoor event; what Bon Jovi has to do with ANYTHING is beyond me. At the very least I would have thought they'd choose Peter Fox if they needed a pop star to get people's attention. A German; a Berliner perhaps? Maybe Peter was on tour. But wasn't Barenboim enough???
I didn't hang around for the speechifying, music and evening fireworks. I had enough of a crowd encounter on Reunification Day. Hillary, Angela, Mikhail, Lech and the gang seemed to pull it all off without a hitch, and without any help from me.
It was an odd choice of date, to my thinking, being the same as the ghastly Kristallnacht in 1938.
It was also a kind of odd event, seemingly geared mostly to media and tourists, with the average Berliners somewhat unconcerned and going about their daily business as usual. Their big holiday was on Saturday, October 3, when businesses were closed for the celebration of German Reunification (with the French puppets...), so maybe they were sated with festivities. It's surprising to me that polls, as reported in the New York Times, show that there are still Germans, both east and westerners, who preferred the old, divided system, by some accounts as many as 1 in 8. There were certainly plenty of people who turned out for the day's "Festival of Freedom" but I didn't sense a particularly excited buzz anywhere. It was also an unfortunately cold and rainy day.
I spent the first part of that morning getting my one-year visa at the Ausländerbehörde, a somewhat humiliating adventure in German bureaucratese (as if German isn't hard enough to begin with!), and then wandered to the Brandenburg Gate and Pariser Platz to scrutinize the 1.5 kilometers of huge painted "dominoes" that were poised and waiting for Lech Walesa to push them into a second "Mauerfall" late in the afternoon. They were reminiscent of school and community projects everywhere, created mainly by kids but with a few by "real artists" thrown in for good measure and credibility, I suppose. It was outstanding mainly for the scope and range of the exhibit - laid out with German precision - which began at the far end of the Holocaust Memorial, ran straight past the U.S. Embassy, the Brandenburg Gate and Reichstag, and curved sharply several times to travel along the river, across a bridge, and into the final stretch along the opposite riverbank. There were few notable pieces of art involved, although there was an exceedingly funny one, obviously done by kids. One one side it depicted a happy couple at the beach, standing on the sand in their swimsuits, waving to the viewer. There were written instructions to look at the other side, where the same couple appeared in the same pose, this time in full frontal nudity.
There were some school groups out while I was there but they appeared to be kids whose school or class had painted one of these thousand dominoes. Many of them were dressed in official participant T-shirts or silver jackets, the jacketed ones being allowed inside the protective barricades to stand with their own projects. One security guard became enraged at a few of them, however, for playing hide and seek around the artworks, no doubt paranoid that the entire event would be ruined on his watch by the accidental triggering of the cascade of monoliths. The kids appeared to have the fear of God put into them and Lech got to do his thing, so the guy was at least successful in preserving the day's climax until the appointed time.
For some inexplicable reason, Jon Bon Jovi was the headline entertainment. Daniel Barenboim at least had the good sense to conduct a program of the Staatskapelle and Staatsopernchor by German composers in the tent specially constructed for this outdoor event; what Bon Jovi has to do with ANYTHING is beyond me. At the very least I would have thought they'd choose Peter Fox if they needed a pop star to get people's attention. A German; a Berliner perhaps? Maybe Peter was on tour. But wasn't Barenboim enough???
I didn't hang around for the speechifying, music and evening fireworks. I had enough of a crowd encounter on Reunification Day. Hillary, Angela, Mikhail, Lech and the gang seemed to pull it all off without a hitch, and without any help from me.
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