Til August, Germany

Since I am missing Germany like crazy I thought I would write one last time about how amazing of a place it is. I absolutely loved it. So here is a list of reasons I would move to Germany.

1. The church bells. They ring out the hour. Also at other seemingly significant times. On Sundays you can hear them all day. There is something different, more peaceful, about a Sunday filled with bells.

2. Public transportation. I’m sorry Logan but your bus system has been beat.

3. A breakfast of fresh bread, cheeses, and meats is amazing. Granted there were mornings I just wanted some stuffed French Toast but then they gave me nutella.

4. Anyway you could ever wish your window to open is possible in Germany. I feel like half of these would never be permitted in America. We’d be scared someone would jump. Germans aren't. That or they're not willing to give up airing out their house. They’re windows are always open.

5. Purple toilet paper. If you haven’t had a chance go to Germany—Do it, if just for this experience.

This isn’t a complete list. Obviously, I loved so much more. Things like the food, people, castles, and cleanliness. It’s just a few favorites that I didn’t expect. Also I had the chance to visit Strasbourg, France. It was just as amazing as Germany. I’ve posted a few of my favorite pictures below of both places. Also there is this amazing man, Luc Arbogast, who sings in front of the cathedral. Watch him here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fGUIqUanAwQ&feature=related since my video won't upload.

Trip Disaster

Sometime during the preparations for our trip to Afghanistan my travel buddy, Jill, informed me she has absolutely the “worst luck ever” when traveling. I thought she was joking. She wasn’t.

Trip Disaster #1—Arrive at the airport. The shuttle driver asks us to pay him—in the amount of 68 euro. I have 10…dollars. Panic. Convince the man that our company is paying. Not us.

Trip Disaster #2—Check in counter. Jill’s bag weighs too much. I have two. The woman won’t let us pass. We rearrange. I now have a backpack with two laptops, our orders, a book, Nutella, and some peanuts. Jill has a sleeping bag. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem. But we are going to Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan. Yes, a real country. Yes, they lose luggage. Almost always. And now ALL my underwear is in their control. Along with my malaria medicine and EpiPens.

Trip Disaster #3—Arrive in Turkey. Head to transfers. Show the man our orders and ID card. He has no idea what I’m showing him. He tells me to buy a visa and go to passport control. We skip the visa. Passport control tells us to buy a visa. We argue. They direct us to the Turkish airport police. Turkish airport police tell us to buy a visa. No one has any idea what our orders are. Orders that we were told would get us in and out of all three countries we are stopping in. We both panic. Call the company. No one answers. Maybe because we’re in Turkey. Maybe, because it was lunch. Jill buys us visas. We enter Turkey.

The rest of the journey was pretty uneventful. Bishkek didn’t lose my luggage. The military plane was awesome. I was able to lean against the parachute door and watch the Himalaya’s pass (there are no windows on military planes). I successfully made it to Afghanistan and work. In six months I’ll once again travel back to Germany—with Jill. I’m more than scared. She really does have the “worst luck ever”.

Asleep in the Turkish Airport due to the exhaustion of 36+ hours of travel

Proud Owner of an EpiPen

If you ever make the decision to live in Afghanistan don’t be surprised if one day, by no choice of your own, you are attacked by a needle-bearing woman claiming to be a doctor. Next thing you’ll know your body will have been injected with an entire regimen of vaccinations—ranging from influenza to elephantiasis. Truthfully, there was only about 8 vaccines to choose from and I declined most of them. Bring it on, Anthrax!

The follow up “we’ve injected you full of diseases and want to see how you’re handling it” appointment could definitely have gone better. The doctor started by asking me if I had any preexisting medical conditions. I began my list. His follow up question was if I would have access to the army’s medical facilities. Nope. He shook his head. Next question—Do you have a full 6 months of any prescription medicine? Uhm possibly? Another shake. Next question—Do you have any allergies? I feel like I should have started lying two questions ago but before this logic had caught up to my brain I’d already told the doctor about my allergy. He prescribed me two EpiPens. Then as a side note mentioned if I used them I’d have to return home. If this piece of information wasn’t enough to discourage me the kind lady at the pharmacy took the time to demonstrate how to use an EpiPen. She even managed to drudge up an expired one and a cardboard box. The needle wasn’t even through both layers of cardboard before I swore there would be no way on Earth I’d be returning from Afghanistan due to EpiPen usage.

Boil the Frog

The guys at my previous job—having chased away prior secretaries within a matter of weeks—were cautioned to “boil the frog” upon my arrival. This of course meant that they were to tone down the usual hilarity and generally crude behavior. Taking it to the next level would not be tolerated until I had been properly acclimated.

Fail.

Within hours I not only had been briefed on Operation Boiled Frog but the same guy (who shall remain nameless but is rather unusually loud for a normal adult) had asked me to marry him.

My new job has slight similarities to SL. A male dominated environment. This time in Afghanistan. With 3,000 times the amount of men. Still lots of jokes. None I can join in. At least not without the guys possibly getting the wrong idea. Something that wouldn’t happen at SL, because they’d simply laugh. Or mock me. I probably won’t be able to help convince an entire base to play me in Words with Friends and watch as productivity sinks to an all time low. And no boiling the frog. You just can’t tell 30,000 soldiers to not scare away the new girl.

On the bright side no more acid induced holes in all of my clothing.

My First Ride in a Cop Car

1. Drive towards the gate you have been using throughout the entire day.

2. Observe that it seems to be closed—its dark and there appear to barriers blocking the entrance.

3. Rationalize that this is probably only because the army doesn’t want more people coming in. Surely, you can still leave.

. 4. Ignore warning signs and press forward.

5. Stop before hitting the barriers that block all traffic.

6. Flip a U-turn and head back inside the base to look for another gate.

**Warning—Spike strips are commonplace on military bases. They’re not just in movies. Or Cops.

We tried to convince ourselves that the shiny metal glinting in the rearview was really just a cool looking speed bump but when we opened the doors the “pssss” of tires and rapid sinking of the car said otherwise.

Since we’re in Germany and apparently 911 doesn’t work (in all fairness neither does our phone) we had to walk the mile back to the hotel to call the military police. One ticket and three new tires later we were grateful to be on our way back to Mannheim.

We thought we were in the clear—what tire is going to go flat after just being replaced? More importantly who has that kind of luck? We do. One of the new tires popped somewhere on the Autobahn and there we were stranded on the side of the road waiting for 3 hours for a German tow truck. The good news is we got to take a detour and see the coolest German town and eventually, we made it safely back to Mannheim—after replacing 5 tires.