Find the chickpeas!

There are an endless number of variations to the “Find the chickpeas” game in Germany. You can replace “chickpeas” with basically anything you are looking to find in a supermarket, or any shop for that matter. The aim of the game is to find what you are looking for; in my case this morning: chickpeas! There is no limit on the number of players, but the game does require patience and time.

My husband and I love curries, so I decided to make a chickpea curry for dinner this evening. For the recipe, I needed two tins of chickpeas. Being pushed for time (I had 20 minutes to shop before my husband had to leave for the airport), I decided to brave the Kaufland supermarket, because in Kaufland I know exactly where to find the chickpeas. Today, however, there wasn’t a chickpea in sight; just an empty shelf where the chickpeas should have been. My curry dinner at stake; the challenge was on.  I had to find the chickpeas.

Let the game begin!

I was convinced there must be someone in the shop, who knew where the chickpeas were. So, the aim of the game was to find a shop assistant, who was 1, willing to help and 2, actually could help.

I knew this wasn’t going to be an easy task, but I was full of energy and up for the challenge. It took me a while to locate some uniformed workers. Finally, in the fruit and vegetables section, I saw two ladies deep in conversation. I approached at my own peril, knowing full well that normally I should allow the conversation to finish before daring to interrupt. But, under time pressure, I approached with caution and politely asked for help.  “That is not our section. Go to the lady around the corner.”

I giggled to myself; this is all part of the fun. Off I headed, in search of the lady around the corner; not sure around which corner, but again, deciphering cryptic clues is all part of the fun. I found her in the cereal section. She looked friendly and at least stopped what she was doing to hear my question. I realized by her hesitant, broken German that she was a foreigner, too, and didn’t have a clue what I was saying or what a “Kirchererbse” (chickpea) was. A dead end after all. But not to worry; it’s still all just part of the game.

My spirits still high, off I went in search of another employee. I found her in the toiletries section. She stopped what she was doing AND she understood the word chickpea. “I don’t know where to find them, but wait a minute.” Off she went and came back with a male co-worker, dressed in a shirt and tie. I had struck gold! He was clearly some kind of floor manager. He informed me that they weren’t stocking their usual brand of chickpeas at the moment. My heart sunk. “But, come with me,” he said, “there are other brands.” Sure enough, it turned out I only had to look behind some tins of green beans and hey presto, there they were – the chickpeas! Game completed in a record 10 minutes!  

And so that’s how you play “Find the chickpeas.” Like I said, it’s a very versatile game and can be applied to just about any shop in Germany. Give it a try for yourself; you’ll be amazed at how much fun you can have!

The stove bonus

It’s official! As of next year, the German government is introducing „Betreuungsgeld:“ a child-care subsidy, known to critics as the „Herdprämie“ (stove bonus). Parents, who choose to take care of their children at home will be entitled to 100 Euros per month in 2013 and as of 2014, 150 Euros per month from the child’s second birthday onwards. Its introduction is highly controversial and has been greatly disputed in Germany; opinion polls, in fact, show that most Germans are actually against it.

Where do I stand? Does it even make sense to go back to work or should I stay at home in front of the stove; which is, contentiously, what the German government seems to be encouraging? As a part-time working mother, with no grandparents nearby and whose distribution of working hours means forking out for a full-time nursery place for her child with a 2^nd on its way; it is certainly food for thought.

On the face of it, 150 Euros per month per child doesn’t seem like much and ultimately not enough to be worth sacrificing even your part-time salary over; 150 Euros certainly isn’t going to pay the rent. That’s what I thought until my husband did the maths. Say you work 75%, earning the “average” German salary: 1050 Euros a month. Once you have paid for two full-time nursery places at 500 Euros each, your salary is already gone. If you choose not to work and stay at home to look after your two children, you would be “earning” 1300 Euros by saving the nursery fees AND receiving the child-care subsidy on top.  Crazy but true. Obviously this doesn’t apply if you are a high-earner and also fails to take into account pension allowance and other benefits.

It remains to be seen what kind of effect this new subsidy will have in Germany, particularly at a time when there is a severe shortage of nursery places. In Scandinavia, where an even higher child-care subsidy is paid, statistics show that mothers have been discouraged from returning to work, especially those who worked or would work part-time.  The statistics there also show that a high percentage of people claiming the benefit are immigrants; arguably those who would benefit the most from integrating their children into schools to learn the language from a young age.

Personally, I still think that the two billion Euros, which is the estimated cost of the new subsidy, would be better spent investing in providing more nursery places for 1-3 year olds. My priority as a working mum will always be spending as much time as possible with my daughter, but I also value having the opportunity to be able to maintain my career; even if only part-time.

It’s official; I am un-officially German

Just for the record, no, I haven’t given up my British nationality. And no, I haven’t acquired a German passport. But at the weekend I did do something that makes me OUG (Officially Unofficially German).

In my books, there are a number of things that one has to have accomplished before one can, hand on heart, lay claim to the OUG status. Here is my top 10, in no particular order:

-          Go on holiday to the Ostsee

-          Eat ice-cream in mid-winter

-          Keep a supply of “Apfelsaftschorle” (apple juice spritzer) in your kitchen cupboard

-          Call your child  “kleine Maus”

-          Drive at speeds of 180km per hour on the Autobahn

-          Partake in a naked sauna

-          Say “Mahlzeit”

-          Only buy German cars and kitchen appliances

-          Throw a dinner party and ask each guest to bring a course

-          Shop for Aldi “Angebote” (special offers) for children

If, in addition to these 10, you also own a Jack Wolfskin jacket and regularly enjoy a “Kaffee und Kuchen” (coffee and cake), you should definitely consider changing your nationality. The only one remaining on my list until last weekend was shopping for Aldi offers for children. And I would quickly like to point out that I do not own a Jack Wolfskin jacket, so no imminent changes of nationality for me.

The Germans are a nation of bargain-hunters and you will often find them checking the weekly offers in Aldi and rushing down before opening to make sure they get what they want. Last week, for example, the offer was a range of ski equipment for children. I honestly didn’t expect anything to be left by the weekend, but I rummaged around, as you do, to find a pair of ski trousers and snow boots for 7.99 and 9.99 Euros respectively. I have my doubts about the quality, but at that price, and given how quickly children grow out of clothes and shoes anyway, I figured I would give it a go to see what all the fuss is about. Many ladies in my office swear by Aldi offers, so there must be something in it. Watch this space!

Everything is forbidden; apart from that, do what you like

“Hey, das ist hier keine Strasse!” („Hey, this isn’t a street!”)

These precise words were shouted at me last Friday by a worker at a local company as I cut a corner on my bike through the company’s property. For the record, the street is open, there are no “no entry” signs and everyone uses it. But, of course, in Germany, a rule is a rule, even if it’s unwritten, and ze rules must not be broken.

There are so many quirky rules here that I just don’t know where to start. I suppose the fact that I now think of so many of these rules as completely normal bears testimony to how Germanised (“eingedeutscht”) I have become.  For example, a “quiet” time (“Ruhezeit”) must be observed between noon and 3pm, after 9pm every evening and all day on a Sunday during which it is forbidden to mow the lawn, wash cars, play loud music, hammer nails, drill, etc. No playing at playgrounds is allowed during the Ruhezeit or after 8pm. I even read once that it’s forbidden to hang out your washing on a Sunday (although nothing has ever happened to me for doing that yet!) There are also lots of rules on rubbish and rubbish sorting – but more on that in another blog.

While out and about, be sure to observe pedestrian zones, cycle paths, cycle down the right side of the road and never on the pathway. Make sure you give way to the right when you are not on a main road. Accelerate off quickly at traffic lights – if you don’t move fast enough, you will be tooted at. If you are breaking a rule or doing something wrong, you will be told. I was once shouted at for parking on the street outside my flat even though I was only unloading my shopping; I was still blocking the pathway for pedestrians. One of the funniest occasions was when my husband was told off for parking up on the curb near the nursery while he waited for me to fetch our daughter, because there were no other places to park. He pulled away, only to see the driver who had complained in the first place move straight into his spot afterwards!

Also, beware that people are watching you; waiting for their chance to report you to the police if they see anything suspicious or think you are breaking the rules. You will sometimes see a face suddenly appear from behind a curtain, mostly elderly faces, watching the comings and goings. The window will then open and they will even just ask you what you are doing (this happened a few times when I was looking for flats and waiting outside for the estate agents to show me around). Somebody once reported a friend of mine to the police for practicing her driving illegally in an empty parking lot. She was fined. Another friend got a phone call from the police to say that someone had reported her scratching another car and driving off without reporting it. My husband’s friend got caught accidentally dropping a piece of paper while taking his rubbish out. Unfortunately, it was a receipt with his card details on it. Someone must have phoned the police, who promptly turned up at his house to give him his fine.

You have been warned!

A breath of fresh air

When I get into work in the morning, I often leave the windows wide open to let some clean air in, particularly if, like today, the sun is shining. There is nothing better than a bit of “Stoßlüften” (hardcore airing) to get rid of any lingering body odour from the day before and to enjoy the smell of fresh air before the influx of colleagues, who take their shoes off and put their Birkenstock sandals on (which they have permanently stored under their desks). Once this has occurred, you know you have had it; the smell of foosty feet once again gradually starts to penetrate the whole corridor. I then leave the windows on tilt, knowing that if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to fully open the windows again when they all disappear for lunch at 11.15am.

This morning, my colleague arrived and I could see the look of horror in her eyes as she caught sight of the dreaded tilted windows. She told me that she had to close them immediately; at the weekend she had slept with the window open and caught a draft: “ich habe mir einen Zug geholt.” (literally I got myself a train) She’s now apparently fighting off a cold and her son also can’t stop coughing. She has since then told this story to at least another two friends on the phone this morning. I’m just surprised that she is actually in the office. Normally these kind of deadly breezes knock the Germans into their sick bed for days. They can also cause all types of problems with your “Kreislauf” (circulation) and much, much more.

Yes, believe it or not, fresh air is dangerous.  All windows (whether in the office, in the car, on the train, etc.) must therefore be shut and the fresh air kept outside where it belongs. “Es zieht!” (it’s drafty!”) is a phrase that you will hear a lot in Germany. Germans paradoxically love the outdoors and fresh air while enjoying an outdoors activity is considered healthy; just don’t allow the fresh air to creep indoors.

Perhaps this is why the concept of (evil) air conditioning has never really taken off over here, despite hot summers. It can get up to 40 degrees Celsius and so on some days the atmosphere in my office is unbearable; imagine sweaty, sticky, smelly bodies and colleagues, who still insist on taking their shoes off. 

The childcare challenge

"So, have you signed your child up for nursery yet?"

At 7 months pregnant with my first child, I literally almost fell off my chair when a friend asked me this question. Say what? No, not yet, I am more concerned about buying cots, car seats, cute outfits, and first and foremost, getting this big baby out of my belly.  Plus I don’t plan on going back to work for a whole year, so surely that gives me enough time to think about childcare options.

“No, really, you have to sign up now and you have to sign up to all of them to secure even the remotest chance of a place. There are waiting lists of at least a year in all nurseries in the Heidelberg area.”

It turned out she had signed her daughter up when she was only 3 months pregnant. For goodness sake, your child has barely been conceived, you definitely aren’t showing yet and you have probably only just started to tell everyone you are pregnant. Are you insane?

Of course, when you are told something like this, you start to think, worry, and panic inevitably kicks in. I definitely want to go back to work, so I need one of those places. One of those places is MINE. I went on the Internet and wrote down a list of all nurseries and their phone numbers. I proceeded to phone them all and get my name on every waiting list there was – for the full day, morning, afternoon, extended morning spots, you name it, I signed up for it.

In doing so, I also tried to find out what my chances were like; still convinced that my friend must be overreacting and exaggerating the entire situation. After being told by several that I was number 150 + on the waiting list or that they couldn’t tell me, because of data protection, or that they generally only give six weeks’ notice if a place becomes available, I finally understood what she was talking about. How are you supposed to explain that to your boss? It seemed hopeless - what a nightmare.

Luckily my company offers a limited number of nursery places in the area and I was fortunate to be given one. This saved me from the fate of other friends, who out of sheer desperation, were forced to literally beg the nurseries for a place by phoning incessantly, praising the nursery staff and facilities; basically doing whatever it took to get one of the sought-after spots. I never took my name off any of the lists and believe it or not, at the time I went back to work, I hadn’t received a single phone call from a nursery to offer me a place. It was only 3 or 4 months later that I was finally offered a few places directly from the nurseries themselves. I know it’s much easier in Spain – imagine the luxury of actually being able to choose which nursery you think is most suitable for your child. I have no idea what the situation is like in the UK.

I fell off my chair again when I found out how much the nursery was going to cost me. There are, of course, state-funded nurseries (but only for single parents, people on income support, etc.), otherwise, you have to pay for a privately-run one. For a full-time spot from 7.30am – 6pm, you are looking at paying between 500 and 1000 Euros (nearer the 1000) per month.

Given that in 2011, the average gross salary in Germany was 28,300 Euros (according to the Bundesministerium der Finanzen), it is no wonder that many German mothers don’t go back to work, because they simply can’t afford the childcare. Take off roughly 40% tax from this amount, divide this by 12 months and you have a disposable income of say 1415 Euros per month. No wonder either then, that the birth rate in Germany is the lowest in Europe; the average person can simply not afford more than one child, if that. Merkel, however, is on the case, and plans to provide more nursery places, so that by 2013, every child between the ages of one and three will have the right to a place; let’s see if she also reduces how much they cost.

Brutal honesty

Germans will very often tell you exactly what they think – and be prepared, it isn’t always what you want to hear. I find it a tricky one to call; on the one hand, I find it almost refreshing that people don’t beat around the bush and there is no such thing as the overly polite superficiality that is socially expected in the UK. On the other hand, the extreme directness and “honesty” here often verges on the rude and there has been many a time in Germany where I’ve been left gobsmacked, wishing I had told the person to shut up and mind their own business.

I’ve noticed that the Germans are particularly frank when it comes to matters to do with children. The question is, is this kind of upfront approach for the greater good of being honest and to help you and your baby or is it just being rude, overly opinionated and downright nosey? One thing is for sure; if you are bringing up a child in Germany, you have to quickly develop some thick skin and learn to appreciate the no-nonsense approach. Either that or it will drive you mad!    

In Germany, it is common for a midwife to visit you every day for the first couple of weeks that you are home with your first child, which I have to say, is very reassuring and a great help. However, I vividly remember the first time our midwife, Ortrud, came to our house and whirl-winded around our home telling us how wrong the set-up was for our daughter; the changing table should have been in the bathroom, the cot along an internal wall for extra warmth, etc. We also urgently needed a “Heizlampe” (heat lamp) for her bedroom, because otherwise she would get too cold while having her nappy changed. By-the-way, it is usually 21 degrees in our house in mid-winter without the heating on.  She also told me I didn’t dress her warmly enough (quote “du bist soo Englisch!” You are soo English!”) or use enough blankets and how silly I was for taking her outside for a walk in the freezing cold mid-January.

One of the first times I did venture outside with my daughter, a bike pulled up alongside the pram. The lady proceeded to tell me that she was a nurse and that the toys hanging from the pram were too close to my daughter’s eyes and would damage them. I think I politely thanked her for sharing her wisdom and knowledge with me (blatantly lying through my teeth and not following her “admirable” honest approach!)

Good friends of ours, who have since left Germany, were also offered some friendly child “advice” from their neighbour downstairs.  According to the neighbour, their baby screamed too much. As an “Erzieherin” (child care worker), she knew when a child was screaming too much and they should really do something about it (as if they weren’t already trying.) 

So, my advice to you all is to grin and bear it. Tell your tale to your other expat friends, laugh and/or blog about it. Wouldn’t life be boring if everyone were polite and nice to you the whole time anyway?