Monday, December 13
Santa Is Not Real
Apologies to any 5-year-olds who read my blog, but he's not. His name is Daniel, and he lives in the room opposite me.On Monday night the corridor I live in had organised a Nikolaustag party in our kitchen. Nikolaustag is on the 6th December every year, and is the main present-giving day for many Central Europeans. I believe it's based on the story of Saint Nikolaus, a rich man back in years gone by who used to give presents to poor children on this day. You might want to check that one.
It'd been organised a week or so earlier, as had a Secret Santa. Everyone's name was put into a hat, and we each drew one out. You buy a present for the name you pick, but don't put who it was from on the card. You know how secret santas work. I had one of the girls from my corridor, and picked up a great little set of Christmas candles from a shop in town, each shaped like a snowman or Santa Claus.
We also each brought some food to the party. Some cooked and made little speciality dishes from their home countries, others bought things from the supermarket. I didn't know how to make anything Christmassy, so I filled in the gaps that were needed by buying ice cream and wine. A big effort, I know.
The wine was actually enjoyed by everyone, so I must be picking up some sort of taste when it comes to picking a half-decent bottle. I know what I like, so I buy that. Rose is my particular favourite at the moment, and I've found a nice Spanish one in the supermarket I use.
You still can't beat a bottle of Gorbatschov vodka though. And yes, I also thought that Yeltsin would be a more suitable name for the brand. Go figure.
A big sack was left in the corridor for all of the presents to be deposited in, in order to preserve the anonymity of the givers as much as possible. I managed to wrap my present up with at least 5 minutes still remaining before the deadline, which for me is a very good effort. Usually I'm right on the deadline, if not after it.
The sack was collected by Daniel and taken to his room, where it remained whilst we all descended on the kitchen and got everything ready. There was a fantastic spread on the table, with bowls of food from across the globe. We have a relatively varied selection of nationalities on our corridor, or at least of ancestral nationalities. By that I mean that even many of the Germans are first generation Germans with emigrant (immigrant? I always confuse those two) parents.
I snapped a few photos (now over at the PhotoBlog), and set about chatting with everyone. In German, of course! I've been conspicuous by my absence from the kitchen over recent weeks, and there were even a few people there that I'd never met before.
Even out of the people I knew there, I could barely put names to faces. I'm absolutely fucking terrible with names, I really am, and it's especially difficult when the names are unusual (i.e. foreign). I'd learnt a few over the 2-3 months I'd lived in the halls, but mostly I didn't know. What made things worse is that most of them knew my name.
Thankfully, the giving out of presents remedied the situation.
Daniel disappeared into his room, and came back into the kitchen to a Christmassy tune (whose name escapes me right now), dressed as Nikolaus (i.e. Santa Claus / Father Christmas) and dancing around. He leaped about for a bit, and then dragged us all down the corridor in a big conga line. Bearing in mind there were about 20 of us, this was quite a sight!
We then came back into the kitchen, and the giving out of presents commenced. As did my learning of names, as each one was called out individually and very clearly. There is a use for Christmas after all!
All of the presents were silly little things, which was great, as buying presents for people you don't really know can be difficult. I got an English guide book to Heidelberg, which made me chuckle. At least I can now learn something about the town in which I live!
After all of the presents had been distributed, and Nikolaus / Daniel had changed into normal clothes once more, we cracked on with the food. There was some fantastic little bits and bobs amongst the selection, including these little pastry pockets filled with sauerkraut, my current favourite German food. It's a cabbage / veg mixture, and is very tasty.
The wine was flowing, and so was the conversation. I chatted to a few of the people I hadn't really met before, always in German, and basically just had a good time. My German got complimented a few times, which is always a confidence boost. I know that I make mistakes, but my overall flow and meaning is usually clear. It's only rarely that I have to completely alter and restate a sentence because it wasn't understood.
A few of us then went down to the cafe / bar in our halls to play a bit of table football. They're so very into that over here, and are very good at it too. I know how to play, and about tactics (etc), but I haven't had enough practice to become a master at the powerful wrist spins. They have, which meant that any team with me on it was at a disadvantage. All good fun though.
When I went back to my room, sometime around midnight, I was full of good intentions for the next day. I made a list of things to do on Tuesday, and also one for Wednesday. I was going to turn over a new leaf ("einen neuen Anfang machen" - I looked it up), start going to my lectures again, and spend more time in the kitchen, since I would then speak a hell of a lot more German.
I'd made friends, learnt names, and felt integrated into the corridor community once more. I was on a real high, full of positive thoughts about the next day, the rest of the week and the rest of my time in Germany.
In hindsight, going to sleep was the worst idea ever, because then you have to wake up. Do you think that my Tuesday went according to plan? I'll leave you with that one for now.
1 Comments:
You're wrong. Santa's real name is Bossman, and I work for him.
By 
MrTeacher, at 10:43 AM
