The Last Goodbye

Here is the new (and potentially improved) blog:

It is called Ivory Teeth and you can get there by going to

ivoryteeth.tumblr.com

Check It Out!

New City, New Blog

To whoever still checks this:

It is now becoming obsolete. As of,

right now.

(In an effort to really blog I am creating a new blog on Tumblr for a Blogging NYC creative writing class/workshop. I will post the new URL very soon. So check it out! And stop checking this one. Germany is so over.)

In Conclusion

I made it back to the States, as I'm sure you, whoever you are, have gathered.

I couldn't help but feel like the strings of this blog were just left loose, however. I thought I should do some tying up before the next chapter of life begins. Though I have been asked multiple times if this blog will continue. This is a valid question. We both know I won't be teaching English in Germany anymore. It may be safe to say even, "never again." Nevertheless, Germans or no Germans- I will write. So it is safe to say that this blog will remain. Changed, yes, very much so in fact. I have serious doubts that I will ever be writing about grumbling teenagers who smell like horse poop and can't be bothered to learn English.

I have hopes that the next entries of this blog will be positive, persuasive, perspicuous, prodigious and propitious, particularly because I have just moved to the city of New York.

But before I begin about Nueva York I want to bury some old bones.

After planning my escape from Yo Yo Camps I set off to Paris where I stayed with my lovely Aunt Sophie. Aunt Sophie has come to be my savior when Germany brings unpleasantries. I had a wonderful week in Paris and was able to see my cousins Simon and Basil. I also indulged in some incredible macaroons, French pastries and deliciously smelly cheese.

I did have to fly back to Berlin from Paris to catch my flight home from Berlin to D.C. This was unfortunate, as I had to sleep in the airport. But, I was with friends and we set up camp and spent the night making friendship bracelets and playing banana grams (camp counselors for life!). I don't have any concluding remarks about this Yo Yo summer. I should come up with something though, right?

I learned some things. I have a new appreciation and love for the city of Berlin. I met some great people. I lost a lot of money. I also lost a couple pairs of socks/underwear which are now in some massive trash heap outside of Prague.

And now I am in New York City, at Barnard College. Please, don't ask me what I'm majoring in.

So, you, whoever you are you, keep checking in. I'll write. I may even meet some Germans here in the Big Apple, if I'm lucky!

On An Island

Last week of camp! I'm in Potsdam on what I was told was an island. It's more of a piece of land that juts out into water, but beautiful nonetheless. And frankly, I'm happy to call it an island.

Camp on an island in Potsdam? Yes. What could be better, you ask. Well, we share the house with mentally handicapped people who are bussed in on a little white bus every morning. We have quite the mixture of people here on this island, really. It could be the setting for a horror movie, actually. Stuck on an island with German children and mentally retarded adults. Who will be the first to go? If I have any say in this it would be THE CHILDREN.

On another note entirely: Daniel, my fellow counselor, and I have become quite industrious. Here we are, on this island, not earning much money (at all) and not anywhere near a grocery store. Hungry and moneyless as we are, we have 3 options:

Option A: Starve/Only eat the hot lunch delivered everyday. Starchy bow tie pasta has its bounds...and they are not wide

Option B: Spend money on food. Also, not the best option.

Option C: The Children. (Yes, I mean eat the children). Let's go with C

Option C goes something like this:

"Hey, kids. Tomorrow we are going to have a Pajama Pancake Party! That means everyone needs to bring in ingredients for pancakes tomorrow. What do we need to make pancakes? Well, about a 100 eggs and lots of blueberries and bananas and then some other stuff."

Too many eggs, you say? You have never been stuck on an island as a Yo Yo Camp counselor.

Result: A delicious breakfast of American pancakes and Wednesday, Thursday and Friday's fair share of eggs and blueberries.

Friday is my birthday, so that requires a party. No party is complete without food.

Depending on the food supply, Thursday is also a good party day.

Friday, in addition to being my "birthday" is also my last day of work. Rest assured, Friday there will be a party.

Burrrrlin.

Photographs from two weeks of camp in Berlin:

luis, shaving cream fight

cappuccino outside my window

storefront, prenzlauer berg

Dresden, in One Photo

Here's a shot from my weekend in Dresden:

Frauenkirche

The Night/Day to Remember. Or Not.

I don't exactly know how to write what it is I'm about to write.

It's crazy. And I'm also functioning on 2 1/2 hours of sleep. Here is why:

Wednesday, 4 August 2010:

20:30 Lost in Prague. Again. Looking for the enorous clocktower where the epic Bar Crawl is supposed to begin.

20:45 Find the clocktower. Also find a sturdy Romanian man with a green umbrella that says "Bar Crawl: The Best Night You'll Never Remember" Yes, we've got to follow the sturdy Romanian with the bandaged nose.

20:45 Romanian man takes my 3 American girl friends and I in addition to a few British chaps to a nice looking restaurant near the clocktower. He opens a door next to the restaurant and proceeds to lead us up 6 narrow staircases. Yes, at one point I did think he was going to kill us.

20:45-4:00 am, 5 August 2010 Sangria. Beer. Absinth. Rum. Vodka. Rum. Dancing. German boys. This is all to say, the Bar Crawl began. In reality I only crawled to 2 bars, and staying at the 2nd one for maybe 3 minutes. Also, I did not crawl anywhere. We began in a huge, open room with a view of the city. We drank Sangria out of a giant trash can and watched Americans play Beer Pong (this may be the only reason they came in the first place). There were maybe a hundred people and an endless supply of the aforementioned alcohol. After 2 hours of mingling and drinking we were lead a few flights down to drink some more. Finally, don't ask me when, we were walking to ur first bar. More of the same. One free shot of terrible vodka. I also made it to the second bar with Christina, one of the 3 girls in our little group.

4:00-5:30 Detour. Also, Baguettes and Barcelona Boys.

5:30 Trying to navigate my way, along with Christina, back to the hostel. Also, starving. Meet sexist Dutch people who tell us girls can't navigate, and rude English men who ask if we want to go to a club. "Ummm, it's 5:30 in the morning. You're a little late buddy." The food situation is unfortunate, particularly for 2 vegetarians: Anywhere that sells food and is open at 5:30 in the morning does NOT sell vegetarian food. Not even McDonalds. Luckily we sight a Subway and bolt.

6:00-8:30 Sleep- at my friend's hostel as it is much nicer. (Read: "St. Christopher's Inn at the Mosaic House vs. Chili Hostel")

10:00 Go back to Chili for some clothes. Backpack is GONE. sleeping bag, towel, cheap sunglasses, letter- all there. Backpack with my entire wardrobe- not there.

10:15 FREAK OUT. Discover that lots of people have had stuff stolen that night. Front desk man tells me to look in the toilet. This isn't even the same front desk man that rolls joints and wears Ghostbusters T shirts (He also wears a green computer chip as a necklace).

11:00 Report to the Czech Police. Get yelled at in Czech. Actually, "yell" is not the right word. I am grunted at. As if I don't speak a language at all, I can only understand animal noises and gestures. I'm sorry, but if you recognize that I am a foreigner and at the police station I am probably not having a great time. So, be nice! After I am squawked at, I am told that there is only ONE translator and in order to file a report I need to wait for her to show up. "Come back at 13:00. If you are late, she goes."

13:00 Get lost finding police station

13:15-15:15 Wait. Wait. Wait. Meet nice Dutch boys staying at Chili Hostel whose passports were stolen. After telling them about my no clothes situation one of them looks at me very seriously and says, "At least you were wearing clothes." Touche. Get yelled at in Czech again. Wait. Wait. File the report. Give exact descriptions of clothing articles and bag. Over TWO HOURS to file this report. I get up to leave and ask, "Okay, so what do I do now? You will call me if you find something?" Terrible Translator's response: "How would they know what it looks like? You should call your insurance company. Also, lock your door."

15:15 EXPLODE. I have just wasted my LAST day in Prague filing a USELESS report.

15:30 Check in at Chili Hostel to see if there is any news. Man at the front desk says, "No, sorry. You come back again. 2 Hours." Explosion is turning into despression...and then..."Wait, you lost a whole bag, no?" "Yes..." "What color?" "Red..." "Okay." He walks to the back room and holds up my bag. It's empty. The bottom is sopping wet. He tells me the housekeeper found it today in the toilet. Every zipper has been unzipped, every pocket opened. Everything is gone. "WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES?!"

15:45 The housekeeper brings down a grocery bag containing a few articles of my clothing. She talks to me in Czech. Man at the front desk explains she found these clothes in the trash can on a different floor. "Well, are there more?!!" There are more. All the trash cans have been collected and emptied into the dumpster outside. So, the search begins as I rip open trash bags and sort through all kinds of garbage looking for my clothes and journals. Awesome. I am in the middle of Prague going through the Chili Hostel dumpster looking for my own clothes and old journals.

16:00 After recovering almost everything, I am feeling relieved. And smelly. I now have my bag, stinking of toilet and my foul-smelling clothes. But what was lost is now found. And also in the washing machine the Hostel offered me.

16:53 Time to go get my laundry and get the hell outta Prague.

BACKPACK STOLEN

In Prague. Running low on money. Very low.

Went on a pub crawl last night until 6 am. Came back to my room at 10 am, backpack was GONE.

It was stolen. The man at the front desk told me to check the toilet because sometimes people throw clothes in the toilet. Thanks, front desk man, thanks.

The Czech Police are crazy. They have ONE translator for the entire city. I have to wait 3 hours to talk to him.

I JUST WANT TO GO HOME. OR TO SWITZERLAND.

I also want my backpack back! And all of my clothes and journals that were in it.

"Stuck Inside a Malfunctioning Robot" or, "At a Club in Berlin"

Dear Germany,

When dancing, it is best if one moves and preferably with the music.

Sincerely,

Phoebe

Dear Anyone reading this,

Last night was one of my last Saturday nights in Berlin, so after some coercion I found myself paying 10 Euros to get into a place called "Marias". Loud, techno music blasting and lights flashing so quickly they make you queezy. The DJ was stationed up on stage with his own special light, as if he was the main actor in this terrible play. I suppose we're all actors, though. But this DJ thought his techno music was sacred. Without him the show couldn't go on. The important thing to note here is that maybe the show shouldn't have gone on.

I understand why people go to clubs with a little drinky drink or two already in them. The answer is because no sane, sober person would go to this black box of club and stand inches away from unattractive, swaying bald men Saturday night after Saturday night. Once is enough. The whole night I felt like I was stuck inside a malfunctioning robot: we were all dysfunctional parts of a strange robot making sounds as if it were about to explode or crash or just stop roboting.

I can affirm what I've known for awhile: clubs aren't my scene. Clubs in Germany, though good for a social experiment and a good laugh, are also not my scene. And never will be.

I'm looking forward to a week in Prague, wandering in and out of cathedrals, sipping coffee and eating Czech honey cake. Here's to a week off!

Camp Thursday Number 5

Thursday is the day that the word discipline just doesn't matter. I've yelled at the childrean already. If they don't listen, at this point, who cares.

Thursday you already have your favorite kids and then the kid you can't even stand for more than 10 seconds at a time. All week you've tried to hide the fact that this kid is ANNOYING, but Thursday...oh, Thursday.

Free time, kids? You want free time? Surrrrre.

You're not going to listen to me, kiddos? Well, I'm just going to sit here until you do. No yelling. No clapping. No "Eyes on me. One, two three". Just sitting. Waiting.

Because I've lost it. I've reached the stage where 5 weeks of children 5 days a week for 8 hours a day is enough to make me crrraaazy. That point where you can't stop laughing once you start, that's Thursday. The whole day. Just silly. How else can you make it through?

With the exception of my one little red-headed annoyance my kids are wonderful this week. Really can't complain. I feel like I could do this in my sleep. Oh wait, probably will tomorrow.

From Hipsterville

I'm tempted to start this entry by describing where I'm sitting right now. But I realize I've started many an entry this way. So instead of trying to depict the ripening tomato plants outside my window and the best coffee place in Berlin outside my front door, I'll find another way to begin:

As I was making myself gnocchi with homemade tomato pesto sauce, simultaneously staring out into Berlin's posh neighborhood of Prenzlauer Berg, I couldn't help but think life really couldn't get much better.

Funny, there I was only a few days ago: livid, sweaty and confused. And here I am, after-explosion: peachy. I'm living in, what I have deemed, the coolest neighborhood in Berlin, Prenzlauer Berg. I am being graciously hosted by the couple who runs the Yo Yo Dance Camp, Jean Marc and Katelyn. Their apartment is incredible: Two stories with a balcony upstairs and garden downstairs. I have my own bedroom with these enormous German windows where hipster Germans and non-Germans alike sip cappuccinos directly outside. If I really wanted to (which I probably will) I could open my window and knock one of those fedora-wearing-cigarette-smoking-hipsters out cold.

I love Berlin. I love Berlin. I love Berlin.

I also love Dresden. I went this weekend for a little holiday with co-counselors Sally and Carmen.

But back to Berlin. What else can I say, other then: next time I feel like running away it will probably be to Berlin and not Paris.

Enough Is Enough Is Enough

Where am I now, you ask?

I'm at an internet cafe in the sticks of Berlin.

Where was I 4 hours ago? Same cafe. But it was full. No internet now, sorry.

Where was I 2 1/2 hours ago? Same cafe. But it was full. No internet now, sorry.

Where was I 25 minutes ago? Same damn cafe. But it was full. No internet now, sorry.

Don't worry, some rude German cut me in line when ONE COMPUTER FINALLY OPENED UP.


But that's just the preface to the day that exploded: today.

This could be my last week doing this job. I've about had it. I travel every week to some different campsite with a suitcase of old supplies. Broken markers, water-stained paper, broken pencils. Where I play the same worn out game of Capture the Flag on dry, yellowing fields littered with broken beer bottles and cigarrette butts. I spend 8, long hours with bratty German children who have no desire to learn English. No respect. None. No "thank you" for the delicious icecream. Can't be bothered to do anything. "Oh, I don't want to play that game." "Must I play with?" Oh, for heaven's sake go sit at home and watch television.

The kids don't listen. They don't listen. Say it in English, they don't listen. Say it in German, they don't listen. Act it out, they don't pay attention. I would like to use a lot of choice words here to describe these children, but I won't. I will say, they don't give a flying fishstick though. Don't want to learn English. Don't want to eat this for lunch. Don't want to play this game now. Don't want to write in their journals. Don't want to act in this play. They just can't be bothered.

"No children, I'm eating right now and I can't get you some apple juice."
"No children, I can't listen to 3 people at the same time."
"No children, I can't let you eat the last sausage when 4 counselors haven't even eaten yet."
"No children, I don't want to spend any more time than I have to with you."


Just so none of you think I'm legitimately insane for accepting this job position I would like to make note of a couple things. To do this, I will be organized (unlike this camp) and write a concise list.

"Things I Was Told Before I Got This Miserable Job":

- You will have an awesome apartment right in the middle of Berlin.
- All of the counselors will be together on the weekends in Berlin and we'll go out and party.
- You get to go kayaking and canoeing and rock climbing at the over night camps. They are all right on the lake.
- You will get paid 1270 Euros a month (this is actually written on my contract).

This next list is entitled,

"A Response to Aforementioned List":

- Bull shit.
- Bull shit.
- Bull shit.
- Bull shit.


Here's the thing, I bitch and moan and someone tells me, "Just make it through. Just do it."

No. I'm sorry, but that's not the point. I am doing it. And, I'm doing a damn good job. I'm great at it, really. I can do it. And I can do it well. For what? For snotty kids who can't say thank you? For arrogant parents who only want to be rid of their children for 8 hours a day? For $300 a week? For a boss who can't even say "good job" or "well done", only, "I think you may be doing a good job. Kids, they are happy." For a life of chaos, nasty food, sleeping bags and spiders?

So you tell me, what's the point? This job is underpaid, unappreciated, and poorly accommodated.

Currently, I'm living in a tiny Boy Scout house with daddy long legs and moths everywhere. It's damp, dark and smells like an old shoe. And I'm getting treated like poo on the bottom of the old shoe I'm living in.

When is enough enough? I'd say it's pretty darn close.


If my next entry is from Paris don't be surprised.

An Interview

“What is it like working for YoYo Camps?”

“What is it like? It’s like: being a turtle, crawling around with all of my possessions on my back, with only two of my five sense in tact: taste and smell, all while being asked to navigate my way through a dirty ashtray seething with melodramatic middle schoolers.

But seriously.

I wake up. I’ve just been dreaming about the children, as I do every night. Somehow they’ve infiltrated my subconscious and I wake up feeling uneasy and worried that I’m not cut out for this job.

But I get up. I blink my eyes and I’m leading the Banana Song in Morning Circle. Three other people are singing: the two other counselors and the one, eager camper none of the other kids like.

Eight hours and four days later it’s the Big Finish. I’ve made it to the end. Smile, speak English, shake the children’s hands.

Clean up. Someone from YoYo Camps comes and all of a sudden I’m in a huge hurry to get on a train somewhere else. ‘Where?’ I don’t know. ‘What time?’ I don’t know. Just hurry. Don’t eat anything. Don’t shower. Don’t forget anything. Get in the car. Get on the train. And don’t miss the stop.

Five hours later and hundreds of miles from the Banana Song and the Big Finish I’m in the east. Always, East to west, friendly to unfriendly, Nudity to swim suits, bad haircuts to bad haircuts.

Twenty-four hours “off” and I’m doing it all over again. ‘Where?’ I don’t know. ‘For how long?’ Not sure. ‘When can I talk to you?’ On the phone? Never. ‘Skype?’ Ha. ‘Where will you be next week?’ Nobody knows, and if anybody does know, I’m at the end of “To Be Informed” list.

I know where I am now. That’s all.

“Well, that’s pretty thorough I suppose. But I still don’t really feel like I understand what it is you’re doing over there.”

Well, that makes two of us.

The Lone Camper

gnewikov camp, am ruppiner see

peter file

Looking Up

Potsdamer Platz, Berlin

up from down

up two

Wittenberg, Where Luther Was

Photos from a day trip to Wittenberg

with sally and her faithful gnome

salt & pepper gnome

wittenberg, big church

not the 95 theses door, but martin luther was once here

Please- Back to Berlin!

sick of children. repeat: sick of children.

also, sick of germany/rude germans. no need to repeat.



in other news, will be working in Berlin for the rest of the summer (unless the plan changes...which it probably will)

No Water. Repeat: No Water

We have no water. Again, we have no water. It's 100 degrees. Germans, when will you understand that TANG is not water. KOOL AID is not water. Water is clear and does not come with a "slight lemon taste". Kids need water. People need water. Dogs need water.

When we ask for water here you'd think we were asking for champagne.


Polor Bear swim tomorrow. Waking the kids up at 6 am.

Now in Gnewikov

No time to write. Train leaves in a few minutes. Last week was an amazing week of camp. I really do love too-cool-for-school thirteen year olds.

This week I'm outside of Berlin in Gnewikov at a sleepaway camp for 6 nights. Apparently we get to use canoes and go rock climbing. Alas, no internet so I will have to faithfully journal.

Enjoy the pictures from the first week.

Wolfsburg Boy Scout House

the house

on shrooms

mcgruff in a ladle

katie crash