Yankee fans plague not only New England and the USA, but the entire world.
This is a rather unfortunate, but also very true statement that has come to my attention in the past few weeks while people-watching on buses and other vehicles of transport. Inevitably, when walking the streets of Europe, whether that be in Paris, France or Mainz (Mayence!), Germany, or on a train somewhere between the two, one will see hats, jackets, and sweatshirts bearing the dreadful Yankee insignia abhorred by Boston fans everywhere.
What's worse about Yankee fans abroad, however, is their absolute ignorance to not only the basic stats and team members, but to the entire premise of baseball itself. Not only do Yankee fans at home know who Derek Jeter and A-Rod are, but they are also entirely aware that first base is on the catcher's right side, and not on his left (way to go, team, way to go). The standards for being a fan abroad are sadly very, very low.
A few weeks ago, Erich and I decided to do our duty as American college students studying abroad and expose the German people to a little bit of American culture: the sport of baseball. We decided to play catch in the middle of the street, like any well-raised American child has done at some point in his or her lifetime, with one glove and a make-shift mitt held together by a hair elastic (cardboard and winter hats, people--that's all you need). Needless to say, we got some pretty fascinated and baffled looks. If people didn't know we were American before, they sure knew at that point--especially with exclamations like "Ballin'!", "Money!", and "Wicked sweet!" being shot back and forth across the great expanse of pavement separating Erich and I. We may as well have wrapped ourselves in a star-spangled banner and blasted Jimi Hendrix. Shoulda, woulda, coulda.
Earlier this week, I made a bet with Dito, who happens to have a large, poofy Yankees jacket to call his own, that my Nalgene bottle was indestructible. He has five chances (two left...after a golf club and several throw-downs in the Inter I kitchen) to destroy my Nalgene without exposure to extreme temperatures. If he wins, I have to wear the Yankees jacket for a whole week. If I win, I get chocolate chip pancakes. And I think we all know that maple syrup is in my very near future (that is, if it were sold here).
In other news, namely that of the academic variety, I have officially completed my first Referat, or oral presentation, at a German university, which means that all of the students knocked on the table for me at the end of class (which may or may not have increased the size of my ego all too quickly). All I can say is that it is unfortunately not the last Referat I will ever have to give...and let's leave it at that. But, if you want to know anything about the post-WWII Allied Occupation of Germany, I'm your girl. Just don't ask me for a couple of weeks--my brain is tender.
Last Saturday night, Erich and I decided to go on a random rendez-vous to Wiesbaden. We walked around and found Asian grocery stores. I missed Angelo. Erich bought Ramen. All this to simply say that I forgot, many a post ago, and subsequently remembered, that I haven't yet put pictures up from the time Elizabeth, Hannah and I made a trip into Wiesbaden back in October. Wiesbaden is the city across the river from Mainz--the Rhein river, that is--that was hardly touched during WWII, unlike Mainz where, as I have said before, some 80% of the city was destroyed.
It's a shame you didn't see it--there was a showdown between the ducks and pigeons over whose turf incorporated the fountain. The pigeons were slaughtered 10-0. What a shame.
Alle meine Entchen...(yes, Track #1)
More statue imitating! We have no shame.
Ok, so it's just the train station, but still...I liked the clock.
There was a farmer's market in the main square the day we went to Wiesbaden, as is very typical of any European city I visit these days...
Marktkirche
Marktkirche
Part of the market...in front of Marktkirche! Go figure... :)
We were ultimately baffled by this mural. Thoughts?
We never found out the name of this church. But I can tell you what this church isn't called: Marktkirche. Process of elimination--that's all I'm sayin'.
War Monument in Wiesbaden
Wiesbaden is typically the place people go to see theatre performances or to even get in on some Opera-action in the Rheinland-Pfalz area. Hannah and I have plans to search for tickets this next week and put our Kulturgeld to good use. We also intend on going to a soccer game in Mainz this Sunday along with Erich and our two girlfriends from Vienna. Oh, the joy of reimbursement!
Peace, love, and counting the licks to the center of a tootsie pop (thanks, Mama Q!),
Amanda
No comments:
Post a Comment