Jennifer M. Zeiger's Blog, page 3

Cochem Village

Our navigation app instructs us to turn left right in the middle of Cochem village.

“That ain’t happening,” my husband mutters and continues forward despite how narrow the road is because it’s our only other option. The left turn the app wants us to take leads into a market square. Not only is the road narrow, but there are café tables, vendor carts, umbrellas offering shade, and lots and lots of people.  

Once we find parking, then we wander on foot back to the Marktplatz of Cochem. Last week I wrote about the castle, but in my opinion, the village is just as fascinating and far more quaint. Where the castle is like a stately old man, Cochem village is his elegant, vibrant wife. She’s colorful and full of life despite her age. 

We spent a day wandering. Passing wine cellars that in fact lead down into cellars with stone steps and curving walls older than anyone alive. The buildings rise in walls around alleys and tucked-away markets and house balconies, decorative windows, and odd doorways. 

My mind runs on overload. Wondering about the people who built these places. Picturing new stories that incorporate the city hall with its collection of miniature bells tucked into its edifice. Soaking in the organized, but somehow peaceful, chaos of the market cafés. 

In Germany, it’s common for restaurants to close their kitchens around 2 in the afternoon and then reopen them around 5. In this gap of down time, you can order coffees or teas and maybe cakes but no meals. It’s a time to sit and be social. Since our drive to Cochem and our subsequent adventure to find parking had taken longer than we’d expected, we found ourselves looking for a late lunch in this gap of down time. Oops. 

So instead, we sat in Cochem’s Marktplazt, or main square, and ordered drinks and small cakes. Three or four cafés shared the outdoor seating. How they knew which tables belonged to which café, I have no idea. But they don’t care how long you sit there. There’s no pressure or rush to move along. People wander and window shop, drink their coffees, chat quietly, and sometimes, a brave soul will inch a vehicle through the scattered tables. 

It felt like a village that time forgot. A bit of the old country still breathing with life. We found an Italian restaurant for dinner that one of the shopkeepers recommended in her very limited English. It was complete with a restaurant owner grumpy with us for not having a reservation. He still found us a small table and served us delicious food. 

So much here is unfamiliar. It feels not only like another country but another time. And it’s beautiful. The old city wall snakes its way through the village, serving as a wall along one of the roads and speaking to the past that built the village. It’s normal here. I’m sure like Pikes Peak was for me growing up in Colorado, it’s not even noticed by many of the locals beyond it just being there. 

That’s one thing I love about moving around. Now when I return to Colorado, Pikes Peak takes my breath away. She’s such a beautiful mountain. And here, the castles and villages do the same. They each have their own character but the pause and wonder they instill in me is the same. 

What do you take for granted that an outsider would pause and wonder at? 

Blessings,

Jennifer

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Cochem Castle

The drive winds through the hills, offering occasional glimpses of villages and the river Mosel. There’s a vibrancy to the trees and the fields that shifts from light celadons to deep evergreen shades. Anticipation builds within me. This is my first castle that isn’t in ruins and somewhere in the hills it sits overlooking the village that shares its name. Cochem. (Pronounced Cook-em, as far as I understand.)

We curve down another hill toward the Mosel again, and there it is. Cochem Castle. Compared to the village, it dominates the landscape with a golden mural of Saint Christopher gracing the main tower. Vineyards line the hill below, not yet growing but being prepared for the season judging by the small movements of people on the hillside.

To get to the castle and its tour, we leave our car and climb the hill, laughing along with others at how out of breath we all are. My Colorado family would be ashamed, but then, I’ve lived at sea level for a number of years now. But it doesn’t matter. Out of breath or not, I’m captivated by the path, the fortifications, the walls rising around us. There are statues of armored nights guarding the hill. I find out later, they’re actually lions. Multiple gateways with arches. Even a clock nestled in the front of one tower, its red and gold face in sharp contrast to the gray slate roof holding it. 

I could spend hours studying the details. And in a way, I did. At least on the outside. We stopped by the gift shop to purchase our tours. The English one wasn’t for another couple of hours but, to the cashier’s surprise, we bought the tickets anyway and then proceeded into the attached café just to watch people and study the world around us. 

If I had to personify Cochem Castle, it’d be as a stalwart old man who shows his age but still displays the majesty of his youth. His bones are over 1,000 years old. Much of him had to be rebuilt in the 19th century, but the reconstruction kept his original nature. Hitler removed the massive mural when he took over the castle, but then, when it was later returned to the village, the people insisted it be restored. They value the history, and it shows. 

Inside felt a bit like watching that history hodgepodged together. Each room was unique. Only a few were set up to be heated. All of them were decorated. One with mermaid chandeliers to bring good luck. Another, in contrast, with small mosaic tiles telling Biblical stories. Yet another with trophies to display the hunting prowess of the people who used to live there.

My one regret is that we couldn’t wander the castle on our own. We had to take a tour, which means we couldn’t linger and soak in the myriad of details. Castles often told stories not only in their artwork but in their very construction and Cochem’s no exception to this. For my first non-ruins castle, I was enthralled. The States have history like this in the Pueblos and such. Just as old. Just as detailed. But rarely can you experience that history as in depth just by wandering the building that’s still standing. In a way, the building speaks for itself, telling stories with its very bones. 

Blessings,

Jennifer

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Nanstein Castle

History and geography are tricky things in my brain. I understand dates and most of the time I have a general idea of where things are at. However, I’m an insanely visual person in how I learn. Because of this, history and geography truly come alive for me when I get to see places. Drive the roads, touch the walls, smell the vegetation. 

I have a far better grasp on US geography after living in Washington State and South Carolina and having to drive across the country to visit family in Colorado. I can tell you about the massive grand furs in the former and the gorgeous magnolias in the later. I’m now getting that same grasp on Europe small degrees at a time. And along with that is coming a deeper understanding of the history here. 

Of course, I’ve been taught about Nepoleon and Rome. About Grimm’s fairy tales and WWII. It’s different, though, when I realize I can drive an hour and cross the border into France. This reality locks into place an understanding of how Germany and France border each other and also why so many locations in Germany have French names. The two countries have fought over land for centuries. 

Likewise, words on a page take on a completely different meaning when I can look up from them and see the five-meter-thick wall of the castle I’m standing in and truly appreciate that, if the mortar had had a chance to dry before the castle had been attacked, it might not be ruins today. And the history of the region might be completely different. 

Nanstein Model This is Nanstein Castle.

It sits on top of a hill overlooking Landstuhl, Germany. While I stood upon one of its remaining walls, I tried to picture an army attacking it. How would they be placed? Which side was easier to approach. With its location, trebuchets would have a hard time lobing their rocks up the hill. 

But clearly they were effective. The central tower is gone. The lower wall sticks up like broken teeth from the hill below me. All due to damp mortar. How interesting that such a seemingly small detail would change the entire history of this once proud castle. 

Blessings,

Jennifer

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Faith Test

If you’ve been following this series, the new to me stuff I’m encountering in Germany, you might have noticed that over the last few weeks, the tone of my posts has started to change. At first, the differences were overwhelming and bewildering, then slowly, as those things became familiar, the other new things began to shine. I believe this is because, at first, any type of comfort zone had been stripped away. 

For me, this was a testing of faith.

It’s one thing to know that everything in life changes except for the God I so believe in. It’s another to walk a road where almost nothing is familiar. I say almost nothing because my husband and I walked this road together. Yet at the same time, both of us were off balance and so neither of us proved perfect supports as we adjusted. So, we prayed, and prayed, and prayed some more as each day we stumbled to figure stuff out. 

And God proved faithful. I can see His hand in the wonderful landlord we ended up with or the complete stranger willing to explain the tomato items in the grocery store. I can see Him even in the car salesman who sold us Squeak, our mini,—he’s now our go-to guy if we need car repairs—and I can see Him in the vet we found for the Sidekick. 

In the midst of it, the discomfort seemed to overshadow the provision. It was hard to see how each step was leading along His care. But in hindsight, as always, I can see it. Maybe you don’t believe in such a God who works in the small details of life. That’s okay. This post is just as much for me as it is for anyone else because I’m a forgetful person, and this serves as a reminder so that next time I’m off balance, I can remember how it all worked out. Such reminders are good for my faith.

My balance is returning and with it, my ability to appreciate the amazing things around me. I used to post what I called ALT posts. They were All the Little Things that inspired me. I’m going to shift back into those because wow, there is soooo much here to inspire, and I’m excited to share. =)

Blessings,

Jennifer

P.S. Here are some of my favorite ALT posts from the past

The Grandfather Clock

The Learning Curve

Maybe This is Where It All Started

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When the Sidewalks Roll Up

My parents sometimes talk about the days when it was normal for all the businesses to close. When buying groceries or going to a movie theater on Sunday wasn’t an option because the businesses shut down and families spent the time together. They joke about the sidewalks rolling up. 

I’ve never experienced this to its fullest until now. I remember alcohol stores closing on Sundays when I was younger, but that’s slowly changed. The only thing I can think of that still closes across the industry—and no matter what state you’re in—are motorcycle shops. They still close Sundays and Mondays. Perhaps because we bikers are a stubborn lot and we enjoy riding days. But I digress.

Needless to say, it’s been an adjustment to find the sidewalks roll up on Sundays and holidays in Germany. Everything but restaurants close for the day. There’s a feel to these days. An almost rolling back of time to a place where families walked together to the local bistro for handmade ice cream or rode bikes to the next village over simply because the day was filled with sunshine and an irresistible draw to be outside in its warmth. 

We were “warned” when we arrived about the German Quiet Times. And there is some need of the warning as being loud over a certain decibel can get the Polizei called on you. So, no mowing your lawn or playing loud music. 

But personally, I find “warning” too strong a term. Or the wrong term altogether. It’s an invitation. A welcome to sit in the market square, or Marktplatz, and enjoy a cup of coffee and a pastry. (Restaurants are the only thing open, but keep in mind, the kitchens close between 2pm and 5pm). An encouragement to follow the walking path through the woods and take in the blooming dogwoods, watching the white petals break lose and float on the wind. This might sound overly idyllic or exaggerated, but I’ve sat in just such a market square café and had to pick white petals out of my drink. 

If you ever have the opportunity to visit Germany, I encourage you to visit the bakery early Saturday morning. It won’t be open Sunday. Then enjoy the Sunday quiet time. Find a local restaurant, listen to the bells sing, and breath in the calm that comes with all the sidewalks being rolled up around you.

Blessings,

Jennifer

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The Bakery

The aroma of yeast and cherries draws us in. It’s cold outside and the dawn’s barely touching the horizon, but the bakery already hosts a small crowd. The display case holds coffee cakes, pastries, donuts, and many things I have no name for. Behind the counter hang baskets holding breads of so many varieties I look to the price tags to figure out what bread we might want. 

The tags are all in German. My husband and I share a glance and we both shrug. 

When we reach the counter, my husband tries to ask what they’d recommend. He’s bolder than I in trying to speak German but it still takes a moment for them to understand. Finally, a woman suggests a round loaf of what might be wheat bread. We agree to take it. The tag names it “König Ludwig Brot.” 

We also take a piece of coffee cake and a donut for breakfast, ordering them by pointing. Then we walk the short distance home and set our treasures on the kitchen island, thrilled at our first German shopping success. 

Turns out König Ludwig Brot or bread, is named after King Ludwig II of Bavaria and is a mix of rye and wheat flour. It’s delicious. So is the kornbrot and the bauernbrot. There are over 3000 types of bread in Germany. I suspect each one offers its own little piece of heaven. 

Between the bells I wrote about last week and our local bakery, I’m not sure what’s my favorite. Perhaps it’s the whole picture that I love so much. It’s like an invitation to slow down long enough to be thankful. To enjoy the simple things in life.

My husband and I have started walking to the bakery at least once a week. The baker is starting to recognize us and if she tells us something is delicious, well, that something’s now guaranteed to be part of our breakfast. 

What brings simple joys to your life? 

Blessings,

Jennifer

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The Bells

Not all the cultural differences in Germany have left me staring at something, trying to figure out how to adult again like last week’s Counter Space Adventure. Some of them, like the church bells, pull me in and encourage me listen and breathe at the end of each day.

I’m sure the bigger cities in Germany are still big cities with all their traffic and business. We flew into Frankfurt, and I blurrily remember it, but most of our exposure to the German culture has been in the villages. They’re built into the rolling hills and crop up out of the forests like hamlets from ages past. 

And every single one of them has a church that beautifully tolls the passing of the day with actual bells. I wondered at first if this would bother me. Some of the churches toll every hour. Some four times a day. The one in our village, however, tolls at noon and 6 p.m and randomly at other times that I haven’t been able to figure out. I don’t always catch the noon bells as they’re not actually loud enough to be heard without the windows open. 

The 6 p.m. ones though, I try to open a window for. There’s something almost magical when the bells start ringing over the hills. It filters through the vented windows and into my kitchen and sometimes I close my eyes just to listen to their song. It’s a beautiful, melodic way to end the working day. A moment to breathe and thank God for lovely reminders to enjoy the beauty around us. 

In a world that replaces bells with recordings for simplicity’s sake, the German’s keep the old bells of their churches and allow them to sing a call to rest. It’s one of the things I’m coming to enjoy most about the German culture. 

Blessings,

Jennifer

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Counter Space Adventures

I’m staring again. This time at the bathroom sink. It’s just that. A sink with pipes coming out the bottom of the water basin. No cabinet space beneath it and no counter space surrounding it. Where do I set my toothbrush? 

As I mentioned in last week’s post, counter space is at a premium here!

Finally deciding on a ledge of tile to the right, I finish up and wander downstairs for breakfast. I grab the toaster off the metal shelf and scootch the water kettle out of the way to make toast. Once done, the toaster returns to the shelf because it’s taking up the space for the kettle and I’d also like coffee. It’s the shuffle game of appliances. 

I’m thankful for the center kitchen island someone added to the room because without it, I’d be slathering toast overtop the stove while I’m cooking eggs. This was at our temporary lodging when we arrived in Germany but as we looked at places to rent, we found this difference from U.S. home design to be a common sight. Right along with no closets or pantries. I’m not sure why this is. Perhaps it’s a reflection of an older time when clothes were stored in trunks or wardrobes.

When we did find a few rentals with the space for a closet or cabinets added under bathroom sinks, those rentals jumped to the top of our list. As you can probably imagine, when we set up our home, the design differences also subtly changed the way we set everything up. There was this tension between what was familiar, and at times looking for a cabinet that felt like it should be there but wasn’t, and then punting to figure out a spot to store dry groceries, or toilet paper, or shoes.

This is going to deep dive for a moment. Awhile back, I posted about wearing socks with sandals and how, depending on where you live in the States, it makes logical sense, or it doesn’t make sense and leaves you with wet socks. Yet we rarely consider that sometimes people have a good reason for something even though it doesn’t fit into the small spot of the world we currently inhabit. 

How often, I wonder, do we wind up arguing with someone because of these differences? The German way of setting up a house isn’t wrong. It encourages gorgeous wardrobes. (Narnia anyone?). And neither is the American way wrong. It’s just different.

And if we really deep dive into the language differences, this tension becomes greater. I won’t go too far with this, but German is a very literal language. For instance, the word for ambulance is “sick wagon.” Volkswagen is “people wagon.” Does this change the way Germans’ approach the world? Does it make us perceive them as overly blunt when, in reality, they’re speaking in a way that’s normal to them? 

Okay, deep dive done. I just love getting to know new cultures and seeing the differences. I love taking away the ignorance that makes me assume things and replacing it with understanding that allows for grace in my interactions with others. 

What assumptions have you found wrong once you truly got to know someone or something?

Blessings,

Jennifer

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Power and Appliance Adventures

I check the charging box for my vacuum again, just to make sure it says 120-240 volts and 50-60 hertz. It does. I check the outlet adaptor to make sure it’s firmly plugged in and it is. All right. Time to see if it works. 

I plug it in and set the vacuum on the charger. She pleasantly tells me, “Charging.” 

Yay! I got one thing right! It’s a little thing, but it’s so, so encouraging. And as a self-proclaimed clean freak, this one makes me quite happy. The blender, the mixer, the toaster, my hair dryer, my hair straightener…this list could go on, but none of these things are dual voltage. You can use a converter, but then you’re anchored to the converter’s location for all said appliances and the kitchen counter or bathroom sink are only so big. (We’ll talk about lack of counter space in next week’s post!) 

You see, the U.S. runs off a 120 volt/60 hertz grid. Germany runs off 240/50. The outlets don’t even look the same. Thus, the above-mentioned adaptor, which works if the appliance is dual voltage. I now treasure the things that are dual voltage but it’s a whole new aspect to moving when you have to check every single appliance for its power adaptability.

*Sigh*. So again, I’m staring at something that’s an aspect of our everyday lives, wondering if I’ve gotten it figured out or not. To a certain degree, I feel like I’m learning how to adult again. Well dang, I thought I had this figured out. God does like to keep me on my toes!

Blessings,

Jennifer

P.S. Power adapters aren’t the only thing we’ve been adapting to! Last week I posted about the driving/parking differences. If you missed it, you cand check that out here.

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Centuries Old Roads – Parking Adventure

We stare at the parking spot in consternation. It’s backed by a shoulder high brick wall and topped with a fence. On either side are the cement walls of the house we just signed a rental contract for and the neighbor’s garage. After a moment to think, my husband tries again to angle the car into the space, and again finds he can’t make the turn. Both our moods are souring. We’re locked into the rental house. This is our home for the foreseeable future. Yet neither one of us thought to check if we could fit our car into the designated parking spot beside the building.

We’re not even in our American SUV because that’s still on a boat somewhere on the Atlantic. We’re in the rental car that’s smaller by over a foot in length. And it doesn’t fit. 

“Guess we’ll have to park on the street,” I mumble. 

My husband grunts and tries a different approach. He finally gets the car into the space, and we sit there, neither of us reassured that he made it work. 

“Glad we’re getting the mini,” he says. 

Me too. Since our SUV is still months from arriving, we shopped around for an old beater and found a blue and white mini just that morning. It’s got rust spots and a squealing belt, but it’s tiny and the right price. 

We now call it Squeak. And it’s a huge blessing that fits into all the tiny parking spots we’re finding in Germany. 

I love the cobblestones and bricks, the rolling hills and houses that are built against each other in a wandering maze that follows the roll of the land and not a human grid. It’s clear horses and foot traffic once dominated these roads and only later were they retrofitted for cars. I wish I could describe it better. It’s dynamic. You have to be polite because that’s the only way two-way traffic and parking works in the villages. And now that I’m not jet lagged and overwhelmed trying to read the road signs, it’s fun. But note to self for the future, pay attention to parking before signing a rental contract!

Blessings,

Jennifer

P.S. If you missed previous posts in this series, Grocery Shopping and doing Laundry have proven to be just as interesting!

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