Medical insurance problem. Help!

Today’s blog is a plea to any Germans/expats living in Germany who might be able to help with a medical insurance issue we are having.

Our daughter was born on January 20^th and a few days after she was born, she had to spend a few days in the Uni Klinik. We received and paid the bill totaling almost 3000 Euros. Obviously both my husband and I are medically insured and therefore by default our daughter is/should be for this time. Yet currently all our insurance companies are refusing to pay. Who is responsible and who should foot the bill?

I am insured with a “gesetzliche Krankenversicherung” (law-enforced national  health insurance),  and my husband is privately insured. In Germany, if one of the parents is privately insured, any children also have to be. We therefore took out a private insurance for our daughter with a private insurance company where I have a so-called “Zusatzversicherung” (private supplementary insurance).I understood as long as you did this within two months of the child being born, your child is covered at all times from birth. The insurance company, however, would only insure her from February 1^st, thus conventiently missing those crucial days in between and a bill of thousands of Euros! We could, of course, have insured her automatically with my husband, but he has had a lot of problems with his insurance company, so we chose not to.

We sent the bill to all three insurance companies, but so far all three are refusing to pay.

If anyone has any experience with this or any idea what to do next, please get in touch!

Monday morning blues

My Monday morning actually started well; we all slept until 8am and my toddler willingly let me dress her and she ate her muesli and drank her milk with no fuss.

Then it all went horribly wrong. I made the mistake of letting my toddler watch some cartoons as bribery for getting her to the bathroom to brush her teeth and to keep the peace while dealing with a sick, snotty, crying baby. Toddler then of course refused to turn off said cartoons and howled as I put her shoes and jacket on to go downstairs to the car.

It was bucketing down with rain outside. Yes, it’s May and it’s still raining. My rain jacket was in the car. I struggled down three flights of stairs; crying baby in one arm and stroppy toddler in the other, refusing to walk, because her sister was being carried. We made a mad dash for the car, but we all still got soaking wet.

Screaming baby and sulky toddler in the back, I then hit the motorway just in time for rush hour; traffic was heavy and people drive oh so very badly in the pouring rain. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Radio Regenbogen announced that the RNV (transport network) here in Heidelberg was striking today, so there was a huge traffic jam to enter Heidelberg.

At this point, running late for both nursery drop off and the doctor’s appointment for sick baby afterwards, I finally arrived outside the nursery to find no parking. Thank you very much striking bus drivers and rain. I parked what seemed like miles away and yet again, my toddler refused to walk. Toddler in one arm, heavy car seat and baby in other, we walked to nursery in the pouring rain.  Toddler then conveniently decided she didn’t want to go to nursery today and refused to enter. After some more kicking and screaming, I eventually coaxed her in and sick, screaming baby and I braved the rain again and drove to the doctor’s.

My Monday morning blues continued. There was no parking outside the doctor’s surgery. We entered the underground parking and had to drive right down to the bottom floor to find a place. We headed for the lift. The lift was broken. I climbed another three flights of stairs and finally made it to the doctor’s surgery where I had to immediately perform an emergency feed and nappy change. The diagnosis: poor sick baby has a double ear infection and two perforated ear drums.

Here’s hoping for a better afternoon! 

Nationality nightmares

Never in a million years did I ever think I would hear myself saying that I wish our daughters had rights to German citizenship. I was always more than adamant that they should be British and Spanish; just like us.

As a family, we are very much citizens of Europe. I am a British citizen (to one Scottish and one English parent), born in Belgium. My husband is a Spanish citizen, born in Spain. Our daughters were both born in Germany. I assumed that, by default, our children would both be entitled to all three nationalities and be able to choose their preferred European nationality at the age of 18. How wrong was I!

Our daughters, despite being born in Germany, are not entitled to the German nationality. German nationality law is based on jus sanguinis. Citizenship is not determined by place of birth in this case, but by having one or both parents who are citizens of the German nation. You can naturalise as a German citizen if you have been resident in Germany for at least eight years and possess adequate knowledge of German, etc. Only then, after renouncing to your existing nationality (Germany does not allow dual nationality, can both you, your spouse and your children apply for citizenship. This contrasts with jus solis: right of soil, which is applicable in the UK, meaning you are automatically entitled to British citizenship if you were born there.  

Neither my husband nor I have been living for eight consecutive years in Germany, so getting our hands on German passports for ourselves or our children is a no go. No problem, we thought. When our first daughter was born, we got her a Spanish passport. My husband would say this was by choice; I say it was because it was cheap! Registration and a new Spanish passport at the time cost a mere 16 Euros. British registration and passport on the other hand was going to cost a massive 300 Euros. The process was quick and efficient and we had the passport within a month of our first daughter’s birth.

Two years on with the birth of our second daughter, we wrongly assumed the process would be similar. We not only need a new passport for our newborn, but a passport renewal for our older daughter, whose passport has run out after two years. My husband phoned the Spanish consulate to get an appointment to apply for the passports. The earliest date he was offered was the end of May and the passports would then arrive in July sometime. Due to the crisis and cuts, the process now takes 4 months! This obviously isn’t really an issue if you don’t want to travel, but we want to go to the UK before July and we planned to fly to Spain.

No problem, we thought, third time lucky, we’ll just apply for the British one instead. I phoned the consulate in Düsseldorf and was referred to the UK Border Agency. I then found out just how complicated British nationality law is. Because I was born abroad, I got my British citizenship by descent. This type of citizenship cannot be passed down to your children when they are also born abroad. My daughters therefore have to apply for British citizenship and be accepted before any passport can be issued; a process which takes around 4 months.

So, ironically, despite theoretically being entitled to three different European nationalities, two of the countries have rejected us and the third won’t give us a passport until the middle of the year. Luckily there is a (painful) solution and that is to drive 16 hours to where my husband was last resident in Spain and apply for the DNI (Spanish ID cards) which allow travel within Europe.

I am left with a couple of open questions. What would have happened if my husband had also been born abroad; would my children be stateless within a “united” Europe? Are all three nationalities really equal at the end of the day or does one give you more rights than the other? Perhaps the answers lie in an independent Scotland. Forget about Germany, Spain, and Great Britain. Forget about Europe.  Vote Yes Scotland, and become Scottish instead! 

Thank you, Frau Merkel

I am due to give birth to my second child at any moment now, so it seems like an appropriate time to 1. Blog while I still have the time and 2. Thank Frau Merkel for giving me some (paid) time off work in order to look after my newborn.

Since coming to power, Merkel has been focused on Germany’s low birth rate, which stands at 1.3 children per woman (the replacement rate should ideally be 2.1). Figures show that a third of German women are not having children and among graduates the figure is as high as 40% (Merkel herself included!) Perhaps this is due to the fact that University in Germany takes so long to complete – the average German student is in their late twenties by the time they finish, so finding a job and establishing a career take priority. Also, German society still very much expects women to stay at home to look after their family. Housewives get medical insurance through their working husbands and husbands, in turn, enjoy tax advantages for having wives without jobs. Childcare is inadequate and expensive. There is even a term in German for those bad, uncaring mums who selfishly return to work – “Rabenmutter” (raven mother).

In Germany, the allowances for maternity and parental leave are fantastic. The monetary benefits are good, but not really much different to other countries if you consider that we pay around 48% tax and expect some return on our money. The best thing is the time and the protection you are given. Where else can you take up to 3 years off to look after your child (as a mother OR a father) and still be guaranteed a job to come back to?

Every woman is basically entitled to 6 weeks before the birth and 8 weeks after the birth on full pay (the so-called “Mutterschutz” maternity leave). After that, mothers and fathers can take 14 months PAID “Elternzeit” (parental leave) and choose how to split the months between them. During this time, you receive 65% of your basic net salary, but no more than 1800 Euros in total (the so-called "Elterngeld"). Even if you haven’t been working, you are still entitled to at least 300 Euros pay during the first 14 months. In total, mothers and fathers can take up to 3 years UNPAID parental leave and can even split the parental leave period into two – deferring one year of time up until the child’s sixth birthday. The flexibility is amazing, particularly for fathers.  

And I’m still not finished…

If you have two children under the age of three, you are paid a “Geschwisterbonus” (sibling bonus) of 150 Euros net a month. Every child is also paid 180 Euros “Kindergeld” (child benefit) until the age of 18, regardless of income.

Are there any catches? Not really. Just be sure to get all the relevant paperwork filled out on time – there are separate forms for everything and they take time and patience to fill out. Also, beware that the Elterngeld (14 months pay) counts as household income and the tax man will catch up with you at the end of the year!

Despite all this time and money being thrown at young families, Merkel's measures paradoxically haven't had much effect on the birth rate and have simply cost the government millions. There is now talk of scrapping the parental leave. But, luckily this won’t affect me and so, vielen Dank, Frau Merkel, for what is my second round of German maternity/parental leave!

Hausschuhe!

Walk into the front door of any German house and you will be confronted with shoes. Shoes, shoes, and more shoes. Shelves with shoes of all kinds; Birkenstocks, Jack Wolfskin hiking boots, trainers, and of course, the essential Hausschuhe – or house shoes. More often than not, there is no space inside a German flat for all the shoes required, so they tend to overspill into the communal corridor outside the flat. Yes, you will often see shelves all the way up to the ceiling in corridors stacked with shoes.

In Germany, it is of utmost importance to have the right kind of shoes for the right kind of weather. Be prepared, be sensible, be practical. A requirement at my daughter’s nursery, for example, is that she has her “Gummistiefel” (welly boots), her winter boots, and her Hausschuhe with her on a daily basis and I see the advantages – for one, the weather here is extremely unpredictable, so it is always best to have the different options at hand.

Hausschuhe are indeed perhaps the most practical of shoes I have ever come across. The concept makes complete sense; you get home, take off your outdoor shoes and put on your indoor ones. I like the concept of going round to other people’s houses and respecting their home by taking your shoes off (although it does require a certain amount of forward planning with regard to wearing clean, matching, non-holey socks). Hausschuhe keep your feet warm in the winter and the floors clean. Many Germans opt for the Birkenstock variety, but you can basically choose what you want as long as you have a designated pair of house shoes that you, under no circumstances, wear outside.

My daughter’s first pair of Hausschuhe were bright pink and had little glittery butterflies on them – they were so cute that all the other children in the nursery wanted to touch them and take them off, making her very possessive of and, dare I say, obsessed with her house shoes.  

I will never forget the time I came home from my pilates class and walked into her bedroom with my trainers on. She was sitting on her changing table reading a bedtime story with her Daddy. She immediately stopped what she was doing, looked down at my feet, pointed, and said “Hausschuhe!” I didn’t know until then that the word existed in her vocabulary. The mere fact that the word Hausschuhe was the second word I had ever heard her utter in German, second only to “nein”, highlights the importance of house shoes in German society.

Walk into our house these days and don’t expect to be greeted with a hello, cuddle or a kiss. If you dare walk past the shelf of shoes in the house (yes, we have one, too) with your outdoor shoes on, be prepared for a little voice to pipe up: “Hausschuhe!” 

A brief hiatus

Some of you may have noticed I have been MIA over the past few weeks. Highland Nomad has been very busy moving house and is now installed in the suburbs of Heidelberg (something I swore I would never, ever do) – in an exciting place called Walldorf. You have all heard of Walldorf, right?! Just in case you haven’t, Walldorf is famous for headquartering the world’s fourth largest software company, and is also the birthplace of John Jacob Astor, creator of the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel and the Waldorf salad. It seems a very quiet and civilized little community, although it is hard to tell as it’s been snowing and very cold since moving here and most Germans tend to hibernate during the winter months anyway.

Speaking of hibernation, I went round to say goodbye to our next door neighbours in Heidelberg  the other day and they said how they had been meaning to invite us over and return our invitation (they came over for drinks two years ago), had “somehow” not got round to doing so (yes, yes, whatever), but that we should organise something for the summer. What is wrong with winter? Kaffee and Kuchen anyone? My guess is we’ll never see them again. It reminded me of other German “friends” of ours, who came over for our daughter’s birthday in January. Upon leaving, they said “see you next year then!” It’s a concept of friendship that I will never understand.  

Back to moving house. Moving house is stressful at the best of times, wherever you live and whatever your circumstances. It becomes even more stressful at 8 months pregnant with a tantrum-throwing-two-year-old-Tochter.  Anyway, the week of our move kicked off with the arrival of two bills. The first one: a yearly tax bill for 700 Euros. It turns out that no matter at which point during the year you sell your flat in Germany, be it January or December, you are still liable for paying the property tax and then claiming this back from the new owners (if you can be bothered with the hassle and probably ensuing court-case battle, that is). Luckily, in our case, this only meant paying one extra month, so Highland Nomad remained calm. The second: a bill for 100 Euros from the Hausverwaltung (house management company) for the role they played in in selling our property. Come again? I did phone up to query what they actually did, but apparently, as always, this is documented somewhere in some contract in the tiniest, tiniest of prints. Highland Nomad huffed a bit and reluctantly paid.  

Next, a phone call from our removal company to say that they could not move us in as planned on Friday, because of the Christmas markets and Walldorf town council would not permit trucks to park in the main street. Our stuff was then loaded on Friday, kept in storage for the weekend, and unloaded on Monday. Picture the coldest weekend of the year so far, with snow, and us “camping” in our new flat over the weekend. It turned out we could have stayed in the old flat over the weekend, because our buyers “forgot” to transfer a third of the money. Not to worry, we thought, this is why we paid an estate agent and a notary thousands of Euros to step in and help us out. No, silly me, once the sale has gone through, the estate agent has no further interest in you or your property. The notary was also unwilling to act on our behalf, so it was up to us to summon our most polite, but to-the-point German and phone the buyers and deal with the bank and interest payments resulting in the late payment. In the meantime, we were dealing with a handover for our new rental accommodation in Walldorf. The family left rubbish in the cellar and even lost one of the front door keys.

Things could definitely only get better. So, once our belongings arrived on Monday and we handed over our old flat on Tuesday, Highland Nomad could finally put her feet up with a cup of tea (wishing it was something a LOT stronger) to celebrate her relief that it was all over (apart from the unpacking), at no longer being a homeowner in Germany and revel in the prospect of never having to attend another Eigentümerversammlung (homeowner’s annual meeting) again in her life. 

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? 

Mahlzeit!

In Germany there is no such thing as sandwich and crisps for lunch. It is the norm for people to have a “warme Mahlzeit” (hot meal) slap-bang in the middle of the day. For supper, they will have “Abendbrot” (literally evening bread), usually eaten around 6pm and consisting of a few slices of bread, cheese, cold meat, and the ubiquitous gherkin. It struck me as a bit upside-down to start with and it took me a while to get used to a heavy meal during my working day and having to fight off the lethargy that ensued in the afternoon. The idea does grow on you, though, and it is even apparently healthier than having a big meal in the evening, because you have all day to work off what you ate.

A lot of my colleagues go for lunch at 11.15am on the dot. Just for the record, we are not talking brunch or mid-morning snack – no - they actually have their hot, three course, main meal of the day at his time. Preparation starts at 11.10am when you start to hear people shuffling, putting their jackets on, and then walking up and down the corridors saying “Mahlzeit,” This is a common expression – a greeting used around lunch time – to which you answer “Mahlzeit” back. I suppose it can also loosely be translated as “enjoy your meal.” Other common expressions used here to indicate the intention of going for lunch and indirectly asking whether you would like to join are “happie happie,” or “mangiare.”

Why go so early? I’ve managed to come up with a few logical explanations. Firstly, my company is full of computer geeks, some of whom start programming at 7am, so, by 11am half their working day is over and they are understandably hungry. Secondly, my company also has around 12,000 employees here at its headquarters – that’s one hell of a lot of lunches – and therefore also very long queues if you choose your time badly. And thirdly, if there is something popular like “Fleischsalat” (meat salad) or “Kaiserschmarrn” (pancakes) on the menu for that day, then if you leave lunch until the more “normal” time of 1pm, there will be nothing left but reheated noodles from the day before.

Lunches in the company are generally good, despite what my husband will tell you (he is Spanish after all and therefore has higher standards than a Scottish highland nomad.) There is a big salad bar, a choice of three main courses, including a vegetarian option, various “Beilagen” (side dishes), and always two puddings to choose from.  Lunch is also a “geldwerter Vorteil” – a so-called non-cash benefit that you don’t pay for, but that is taxable. I think it works out as roughly 2 Euros a day, so it’s basically free, and boy do computer geeks love free things. Trays are always full to the brim and you will even see people taking extra rolls wrapped in napkins for their “Abendbrot.” You will also see people stuffing their pockets with bananas and apples from the fruit bar, and if there is cake or a yummy pudding, you will see people with stacks of two, three or even four bowls leaving the canteen. No wonder then that there are never any strawberries left for me when I go at 1pm! It is also a well-known fact that people have been fired, because they were caught taking their weekend supplies of salt, pepper, coffee, even toilet rolls, home with them.

Lunch in the company is rarely leisurely. In fact, the main aim is getting the food down as quickly as possible while exchanging as few words as possible.  If there must be conversation, make it about a current work topic and certainly nothing too personal. I would say it takes the average person 20 minutes to complete their lunch and so if you go for lunch at 11.15am, followed by a short walk or coffee, you can be back at your desk with a full belly by midday at the very latest.  At this time, I am still just about starting to contemplate going. Mahlzeit!

Scottish smiles

It has only taken me 10 years, but on Sunday I finally discovered the secret to somewhat breaking the ice in Germany. Yes, I inadvertently worked out a way to get people on the streets to look at me in the eye, smile, laugh, and even stop dead in their tracks to admire. This really is quite an achievement, believe me.

Just to clarify, I wasn’t doing anything to unnecessarily draw attention to myself and no, I most certainly wasn’t walking along the street in fancy dress, drunk, or anything like that. So, how did I manage?

Well, the truth be told, it wasn’t actually anything to do with me. On Sunday afternoon we were invited to our first “proper” children’s birthday party. Dressed for the occasion, our daughter donned her little Scottish outfit (thanks to Grandma) – a red tartan dress, white shirt with matching tartan trim on the collar and the sleeves, matching red hairclip, pretty red cardigan (knitted by her Abu), and very cute little court shoes.  She looked adorable (ok, I am completely and utterly biased) and understandably stood out on a Sunday when most children are dressed in their tracksuits and on their way to the nearest play park. 

I’ve never seen so many faces light up in such a short period of time. There were smiles and admiring glances galore on our brief walk through Heidelberg. Clearly I’d better invest in, or commission some more, dresses and cardigans to cheer up the citizens of Heidelberg on the dark and gloomy winter days to come!

Expat revival

After 10 years in Germany, I like to think that my husband and I are fairly well integrated into German society. We both started off in Germany with a large circle of expat friends from our respective countries. Slowly but surely, however, as is the temporary world of expats, they moved on and left us behind. Nowadays, we both still have our token British or Spanish expat friend, but also a lot of German friends and acquaintances.  

Over the last few weeks though, we have experienced an expat revival.  This all started when my husband met another woman (from Spain) in his pilates class and invited her over – along with her French husband and two kids. We got along well, so have since been invited over to their place for two parties, full of expats our age.

According to statistics, in December 2011, there were a total of 6.9 million expats living in Germany – and the figure is rising. Not surprisingly the biggest group is from Turkey (1.6m) closely followed by Italians and Polish. In Baden Württemberg, foreign expats make up 1.21m of the 10.74m population.  Germany at the moment is particularly attractive (if you are willing to put up with the somewhat formal and rigid lifestyle that is). The economy is powerful, unemployment rate is low, the country is interesting and affordable, the standard of schooling is high, public infrastructure is excellent; all of which allows us expats to enjoy a high quality of life.

The expats we met at the parties were all well- qualified, highly-educated middle to upper middle class people who left their countries not out of economic necessity, but rather because of fantastic job offers with high incomes and attractive relocation packages (school tuition fees paid, etc.) They were all typical expats in the sense that several personal traits united them; they were all very open-minded, welcoming, and genuinely interested in meeting new people and making new friends.

We thought we were international. Suddenly, we were plunged into an environment where mixed marriages were the norm, speaking two languages a necessity, speaking three or more languages, well, pretty ordinary really. We thought our trilingual daughter was unique - until we met a 13 year old Mexican girl, who speaks Spanish, English, German, Chinese and French fluently, because her father’s company relocates them every four years.  I lost count of the number of countries she has already lived in. Next time I meet her, I must ask her where she calls home – everywhere?  

It was fun to be back in a truly international environment.  I don’t think it matters how long you have lived in a foreign country and how integrated you feel; it’s always refreshing to meet people in similar situations and share your similar experiences. 

Trilingual Tochter

The decision to bring our daughter up trilingually was an easy one for us. Having grown up as a highland nomad, I have always been exposed to different cultures and languages and believe very strongly that the gift of language is priceless. It can only make you more open-minded and accepting in the long-term as well as open doors for your future. We haven’t done any research on the different approaches and as yet I don’t have any concerns (these, no doubt, will come later once her language use is more advanced, if we notice weaknesses, if she refuses to speak one or the other, etc.) Basically, she gets Spanish and English at home (one parent, one language) and German at nursery. I am hoping that consistency is the key and, as for the rest, only time will tell!

My daughter is 20 months old and has been attending a German nursery for a year now. She goes there most days from 9 until around 3.30, sometimes even longer, and seems to enjoy it (although she can’t speak yet, so still can’t tell me otherwise!) The only way I have of telling that she is happy is the way she picks up her shoes in the morning after breakfast, marches to the door and bangs on it until we are ready to leave. She then runs to the car and once out the other end, pushes the nursery door open, presses the button on the lift impatiently and then attempts to sprint all the way down the corridor until she reaches her home for the day – the Bienchennest (the Little Bee’s House). Once she’s in the room, she happily turns around to me, gives me her regal wave, says “bye bye” and off she goes. Not every day is like this, but thank goodness, and touch wood, most are and will continue to be.

As I said, at home I speak to her in English and my husband always speaks to her in Spanish; but English is the main family language. We have a competition running on how many words she can say in each and which she will pick up the fastest. I succumbed to a Spanish passport (it was cheaper than the British one – much cheaper – we are talking almost 300 Euros cheaper! I’ll resist the jokes about no-one wanting to be Spanish…), so I am obviously even more determined that she learns English first. Spanish was definitely in the lead – I think it’s a much easier language to learn, in terms of the vowel sounds anyway – and she picked up words like “Hola”, “Gato”, Vaca” and “esto” really quickly. Luckily for me, however, her British grandparents have just spent the week here, so for the time being, English is back in pole position. She now happily says words like bye-bye, hello, car, house, apple, fafafly (butterfly) and papapat (Postman Pat; her favourite cartoon).

The only German words we knew she said were “Nein”, “Meins” (mine) and “Auto”. The word “nein” was one of the first words she said in any language – I’m guessing she needed this to defend herself against the other children in nursery. The funniest thing was that she also perfected the wagging finger to go along with it (definitely from nursery as 1. We don’t say “nein” and 2. We don’t finger wag).

We knew therefore that she spoke the odd word in all three languages and that she understands mostly everything you say to her or ask her to do in Spanish and English. But until yesterday we had no clue and to be honest, hadn’t even thought about, how much German she really understood. We went to pick her up as usual and were standing at the door waiting for her to finish her drink. One of the group leaders turned and said to her “Hol bitte dein Oberteil von der Heizung ab!” (pick up your top from the radiator – so not even the most basic of sentences) and so off she ran to the radiator, picked up her top, and brought it over to me. It suddenly dawned on us that our daughter is trilingual…and that it won’t be long until she understands more German than us!

Turn up naked and shop for free!

How about I give you 270 Euros worth of food shopping to celebrate and promote the opening of my new supermarket?

Sounds great, you say, but what’s the catch?

It’s really simple - the first 100 people to show up naked and shop naked can take advantage of the special offer!

This is exactly what happened in Süderlügum, a town in the North of Germany in June this year. Apparently it was such a hit that the police had to get involved to control the amount of people entering at any one time. 

You don’t believe me?

Read about it in German in the Bild (and see the pictures!): 

http://www.bild.de/news/inland/nackt/gratis-einkauf-wenn-kunden-nackt-kommen-24695332.bild.html

Or in  English on ABC news:

http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/business/2012/06/nude-grocery-shopping-spree-turns-heads/

Food frenzies 2 - queuing

The true horror and culture shock kicks in at the checkouts. Queues in supermarkets here are nearly always long and there are never enough checkouts open. You try to choose your queue wisely, but you invariably always end up in the slowest lane. Last week  you thought you had made a good choice of queues, but the two guys in front of you actually divided their shopping pile into four and paid four times, prolonging your agony.

After 10 years sufferance, you have learned that there is no time to be British, i.e. polite and patient at the checkout, or indeed, in any queue, in Germany. You either push in or get pushed out. Don’t hesitate and whatever you do, don’t leave a gap between you and the person in front; there will always be someone who tries to sneak in.  

And that’s when it happens. The loudspeaker rings and informs you that a new check out is opening.  Again, there is no time to ask the person in front of you kindly if they would like to go first. No, this is your one chance to jump the queue and beat everyone else. You ram your shopping trolley into the new lane as quickly as possible with complete disregard to any previously existing lines. 

As you load all your items onto the conveyor belt, you get more and more nervous as you near your turn at the till. You know you will need to execute every move perfectly over the next few minutes in order to avoid a long line of angry Germans (and even grumpier cashier). Bagging areas in Germany are tiny and the speed at which the ladies at the till work is astonishing. Your items are whisked through the scanner and you desperately try to pack all your items in keeping with the cashier’s pace, before you are basically pushed out of the supermarket by the next customer in line.

After years of training, you and your husband have perfected the technique. You no longer fumble for your EC Karte (bank card) in a sweaty panic while trying to finish the packing and balancing the remaining items in your hands. You always pay by bank card these days, as you also know that if you pay by cash you will inevitably be given change – change that is usually slammed down onto a plastic area near the till, complicating the process further, as you then have to pick up all the coins individually and put them back in your purse.

The cashier, who hasn’t once looked up, asks you “War alles in Ordnung mit dem Einkauf?” (was everything ok with your shopping experience), but you can tell she has no interest in hearing your answer and you often wonder whether she would even notice if you said no. 

And so it is all over for another week. The weekend can finally begin. 

Food frenzies 1 - shopping

Finally it’s the weekend! You wake up on a Saturday morning and don’t have to get up, jump in the shower, get your daughter ready for nursery, have breakfast and run out the door to work.

No, far, far worse than that.

It is Saturday and Saturday means weekly food shopping day. You and your husband love food and enjoy cooking, but you both hate your weekly food shop with a passion (unless you go to France, which you try to do as often as possible).   You won’t find any supermarkets in Germany open on a Sunday, so you have no choice but to face up to the fact that it’s either shop or starve. You know you have to be there early or all the fresh produce will be gone (what’s the point in restocking shelves anyway?) and if you leave it any later than say 10am, you will be fighting half the population of Heidelberg for the remainder of said fresh produce. There is also no such thing as online food shopping in Germany yet (at least not for fresh produce.) But in their favour, nowadays at least supermarkets here will accept credit cards, in Rewe they have even started offering cash-back, and the opening times are far better than when I first moved here (back in 1998, they shut at 2pm on Saturday and didn’t reopen until Monday morning).

You and your husband always go food shopping together to provide each other with moral support. There are certain supermarkets that you hate more than others. Your local Kaufland, for example, is also where the local drunks go to buy their beer for breakfast and the first shelf you encounter on entering the shop is stacked with “Hundefütter”. Yes, dog food, really enticing. Nevertheless, you often go there, simply because it’s the closest and most convenient supermarket.

Before leaving, you double-check that you have enough bags to pack your shopping into (it’s either bring your own or pay for them), and that you have a 1 Euro coin for the trolley. You then bite the bullet and off you go.

The selection of brands in Kaufland is limited and if you are looking for more “exciting” products, like curry spices, or even international products like your baked beans or digestives, go straight to a Rewe or an Edeka (more upmarket supermarkets). Alnatura is also a really nice place to shop. Also, don’t expect much selection of meat (apart from everything pork) or a fresh fish counter. The only advantage of a warehouse-like shop, such as Kaufland, is that because there is no choice, you can whizz up and down the aisles, getting your weekly shop done in no time at all.

You are extra careful in the fruit and vegetable section of the supermarket. Under no circumstances must you forget to weigh all your fruit and veg. The last thing you want is to face a long line of outraged shoppers in the queue behind you as you are forced to weigh the celeriac you were convinced was charged by the piece.

After a quick stop to drop off some empty beer bottles to collect your so-called “Pfand” (bottle deposit), which can be as much as 25 cents per bottle (so don't throw any away by mistake!), it’s time to pay.