Telcos and Dashboards

Work progresses, as is its wont. The volume remains much the same. My highly sophisticated scheduling for the release of a product update has kicked off, thrilling texts need to be written.

Seeing as my mug has now been plastered online in a different place, my anonymity is somewhat hindered. Hence, if you want some mild entertainment reading some very forced blog-esque English, you can do worse than to go to http://blog.ts.fujitsu.com/Face2Fujitsu/

Last Thursday involved a short 5 minute tele-conference talk on current marketing activities to around 20 people around Europe, it was thrilling.

A hike in the hills

Last weekend involved a jolly hike in the Alps with Almuth, Lucy and Anna. Sadly, the weather was not as good as the previous expedition. However, were it not for the rain, we would not have stopped in Cafe Irmi and enjoyed the hilarity of a somewhat incompetent late-middle-aged waitress and the Muckefuck Kaffee.

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Ginger-spiced bundles of delight

The winter/pre-ante-christmas season does at least bring with it some small succour in the form of Lebkuchen, Magenbrot, Pfeffernüsse, Contessa thingies, Chocolate Hearts etc. These are heaped fetchingly about the local supermarkets in piles guaranteed to make me buy multiple varieties.

Unable to resist their confectionary siren song, the kitchen did rapidly end up stocked with more of these than almost any other foodstuff, save drinking yoghurts, buttermilk and kefir. People at work seem mildly horrified that I am almost single-handedly fuelling the pre-christmas food buying frenzy. Apparently it is not the done thing to be eating them this early, much like with Easter eggs.

On a similar culinary note, it seems that the German pork stereotype is not far from the mark. The canteen does offer a choice of four main items for lunch every day, but they seem only to be able to cook pork with any degree of skill. Earlier last week, I calculated that pork had been served on 6 consecutive days and had each time been the only appealing option. Mmmm Wurstschnecke...

Now is the winter of our mild peevishness

We are still on summer time here in Augsburg, yet this appears to have little bearing on reality. It has snowed each of the last two days and the weather forecast suggests it is going to do the same today. This is not a major problem except in as much as it adds an extra degree of indecision to the morning routine, namely: "Do I really want to go to work by bicycle today?".

This is influenced by several factors: stepping outside the house feels like being immersed in an unforgiving ice bath, the pavements are additionally slippery and hence dopey students less readily avoidable and cars threatening instant injury when pulling out of sideroads are now an even greater risk. A moment of weakness resulted in a commute by car on Friday, the excuse being that the bike really needs a serious clean before it is in decent riding condition.

In an attempt to ameliorate this tiresome state of affairs, I have obtained a balaclava, ensuring that I not only look like a criminal but also have a warmish face. The added bonus is that old ladies seem to have become inexplicably charitable towards me of late. I must try heading into the convent across the road.

The other nuisance is that winter tires are apparently a necessity in this part, enforced by the police. It is utterly ridiculous to buy these in October, but they might become necessary later on. Another unwanted expense.

Garmisch, München, Provins, Leipzig

Thankfully Deutsche Bahn and the trusty Skoda afford a degree of freedom from the confines of Augsburg.

The 30th of August is spent clambering about the mountains near Garmisch with Almuth, Matthew and Anna. The weather is stunning, the scenery more so. All perfectly rounded off with a glass of buttermilk and sheep-based entertainment. Amazingly good for blowing away cobwebs.

The weekend of the 12th of September is spent seeing my father's new house in Provins, now very partially decorated but looking pretty good. A brief trip into Paris on Saturday affords a visit to a wine bar and a crêperie with Simon and Alex. Much profitable discussion of the relative physical merits of European females is had, along with other topics of gravity. Sunday involves a lengthy garden party. Miranda helps relieve the overwhelming Frenchness. The 9 hour drive is exhausting but bearable.

The 20th of September is spent in Munich. The Residenz is incredible, even if finding the entrance takes half an hour what with endless Oktoberfest barriers. The endless signs stating that the entire contents/fabric of a room has been destroyed in WWII really impresses how much damage was done by allied bombing. The "Deutsches Museum" is like the London Science Museum but bigger and with even more exciting interactive sections and more detail on industry. The musical instrument section is mostly closed for renovation, grr. Most importantly, Oktoberfest. The beer is lethal, insanely strong and unavoidable. I have precious little memory of how I got back to Augsburg, save the time and platform of my train, drunken self-organisation once again proves its power. However, I doubtless would not even have made it to Munich Hauptbahnhof if Almuth had not endured my feckless insobriety. My umbrella is the only casualty.

The second rattle up the A9 of the year on the 25th September brings me to Leipzig, where Emily is spending her year abroad. The town itself is very attractive, mysteriously dominated by a massive market for the weekend, wherein is found excellent Backfisch. Two museum trips: the "Museum für Bildende Kunst" is doubtless a good example of its type, certainly in architectural terms, but does little to assuage a mild indifference towards 20th century impressionisty art. Dutch Masters are somewhat more entertaining. Clothing fascists ensure that no item of clothing is slung over the shoulders or worn in any unorthodox manner. I am content to re-don my jumper. A pony-tailed man, known only as the Jacket Warrior is not so amused at being asked to wear his eponymous vestment and has a quite vigourous argument with two members of staff. The musical instrument collection in the Grassi Complex is excellent: amazingly comprehensive with the first known fortepiano, a harpsichord with views of Pisa on the inside of the lid and some amazing woodwind and string instruments. Musical bargains are had in the form of singing in the Thomaskirche (although not by the main choir), the Josquin being particularly good, and in € 14 tickets to "Die Zauberflöte". All in all a very decent production. The singers were generally good, with Pamina pulling an extraordinary aria out of the hat. Prime empty seats mean we manage to get an excellent view after the interval. Much eating of stollen, brioche, foie gras and other unmentionables occurs, Augsburg will feel positively ascetic. Igudesman and Joo round off the weekend in fine style.

Living

So, the last post was made from the furnished security of my temporary flat in Kissing. I have been occupying my present flat for just over a month now and it has worked out wonderfully.

Many painful trips to IKEA have provided a reasonable amount of furniture at a bargain (although not insubstantial) price. Assembling it was painful and time consuming, putting in light fittings doubly so. A surfeit of boxes and a hastily shut boot managed to crack my front windscreen through the wonder of direct cardboard contact front to back.

The position of the flat could not be better, the journey to work is but a short 20 minutes by bicycle, the kitchen works, the washing machine is bearable. Things are comfortable, it is a place to which I look forward to returning after work.

My landlord/lady are both absolutely lovely and were it not for them I would not have got an affordable garage space in which to leave the car. Needless to say, getting a residents' permit for an English car involves changing the number-plates. This needs German insurance, which needs TÜV for English cars, as well as new headlamps and description documents. No thanks. The car gets plastered by Umweltzonebußgeldverwarnungszetteln with high regularity. As I don't use it in town (the irony...) I am anticipating vast fines in the near future.

Ummeldung was as painless as these things can be. 2 hours waiting is manageable... A letter arrives in the post warning me I need to send an Arbeitsbestätigung for the "Vollzug des Freizügigkeitsgesetzes der EU". Irritation ensues, HR departments are pestered for documentation. A few days pass. Another letter arrives telling me that actually I don't need to send anything, because the appropriate material has been obtained from my previous Behörden. AAAAAA!!!

Work

It has now been nearly 2 months since nose first hit grindstone. Several things have changed. There was a minor crisis as the company announced the introduction of "Kurzarbeit". This effectively means that people are obliged to work 20% reduced working hours i.e. one day less/week and get 20% less pay. This of itself is hardly ideal, let alone when the same level of output is tacitly expected. The alternative is of course simply firing people. However, given the large amount of paperwork and redundancy pay, as well as the fact that around 10% of employees have been laid off over the last year, the option of simply working people harder for less money seemed like a super plan.

Thankfully, common sense and huge disgruntlement put paid to this merry scheme within a week, resulting in a retraction from the upper echelons. My colleagues were unsurprisingly very happy at this, even though some of them had taken days off in order to get rid of some of their built up overtime (which would no longer have been useable). Another benefit of retraction is that muggins would no longer be the only full-time employee in his office...

Sadly, the retraction of Kurzarbeit did not extend to the making redundant of a colleague at work. My colleague's contract having been up for renewal a month previously, the President himself decided not to renew it. At any other time, this would have been a formality, at this point it was a handy cost-cutting measure. What is so ridiculous is that the person losing their job seems to be exceptionally friendly, intelligent and competent.

The net result of this is that I have been given his job. This is turning out to be far more engaging than the sort of odd-jobs one does as a Praktikant, which by their short miscellaneous nature conversely end up all being rather similar. The job involves dealing with lots of people in lots of different countries and managing all the marketing necessary for the release of two ranges of products. This can involve anything from devising new texts to describe products to getting kit couriered to photo-studios, who then produce the images necessary for PR agencies to produce brochures. Unfortunately, there is still work left from my previous Praktikant engagements, which is still to be finished. This is proving difficult as there is a vast amount to learn in a very short space of time. Sending out mass emails is still mildly intimidating. God forbid I should get a raise, lest my bargainsomeness be reduced.

Long overdue

As some of my keener followers may have noticed, there have been no updates to this 'blog for many a moon. So, this of itself rather content-free entry serves as a forewarning:

There are about to be several themed entries. They will be long and painful, much like Currywurst.

A curious evening

Today was the day I picked up my flat keys. Walking between the car park and the flat, the effect of Mariä Himmelfahrt on the city is drastic. The place is absolutely dead. Upon seeing the flat completely empty, it becomes clear that furniture will definitely be necessary. I encounter another resident, but only very briefly. I forget her name within minutes.

Today is also extremely hot. Hence, I decide to pack the bulk of my things in the evening and move them into the flat when it has cooled down a bit. Things get later than expected. I bump into my landlord on the stairs, who looks at me as if I am faintly unhinged, lugging boxes to the car at past 21.00. I get to the flat at around 22.00. Much heaving ensues, there are many stairs, extremely steep and uneven. I meet another of the tenants, a friendly ground-floor dwelling woman having a cigarette. It seems that news of "the new renter" has spread. At around 22.50, the work is done. Starving and exhausted, I resolve to head home and aim to grab something on the way.

There is no food on the way. However, I remember that there is a McDonalds, beacon of holiday-bucking slave labour, not far from the flat. Arriving, I am faced with a trio of grinning people, one of whom raises his phone and starts taking pictures, motioning me to stay in the car. I oblige, figuring that anyone else at McDonalds this late must be as deranged as me. Getting out, the camera wielder asks me:

"Do you speak Deutsch?!"

"Ja"

"Komisch, auf der rechten Seite zu fahren oder?

"Nein, nicht besonders, ich bin daran gewöhnt."

"Bist du in der Bundeswehr oder was?"

"Nein, ich mache ein Pflichtpraktikum."

"Ein Jahr?"

"Genau."

Another of the group:

"Sein Deutsch ist besser als dein Englisch."

I take advantage of this switch of speakers to head into the welcoming fluorescent glow of the McCafé, but it strikes me at the same time that this level of immediate openness and friendliness without the aid of alcohol would be unusual in England, but seems less so here.

I gain a free glass with my McChicken-Menü. It offsets the fast-food guilt, but only slightly.

Arriving back in Kissing, the sky is incredibly clear. I walk out of my street and away from the violent orange of the sodium street lamps. Heading into the large open area nearby, the light fades. The stars are dense, the milky way a smudgy streak across the sky, a few late Perseids flash. I am standing opposite a dense field, but in a brand new parking space, in a brand new road in front of the empty space where there will be a brand new house, whose occupants will need brand new street lights to make sure they cannot see the stars.

The 2nd Week

Seemingly continuing in the trend of only updating weekly...

Work has progressed reasonably well this week. I am starting to settle down in the office, get used to the dynamic etc. The work I am expected to do is also becoming clearer and more varied. I get to do a mixture of translation, correction and original content. The first two are fairly easy and of interest, in as much as it is funny to see the German thought process behind the slightly mangled English sentence. The latter is considerably more difficult but substantially more enjoyable; I am simply given a list of bullet points and asked to spin them into fluent English marketese.

The extent of work required for the database has also become evident. There is an absolutely vast amount left to be done, with very little time left to do it. There are over 100 items left to check through, which involves making sure that the right images, marketing text and technical data are present. These problems can normally be corrected, but it looks like I am going to have to produce a lot of new text extolling the virtues of cushioned backpacks. I think I am single-handedly expected to remedy the understaffing problem...

There was an office social evening at a beer garden. The beer and food were excellent, the weather was fine and it was a nice opportunity to chat with my co-workers without it being a distraction for them.

To finish, two brief quotations:

"It is amazing how, in such a large and successful company, the little things are done so badly."

"It is ridiculous, we produce infrastructure, yet our own doesn't work!"

Episode II: Revenge of the Bureaucracy

Early in the week, an email arrives at work. In it, a list of six administrative items I have yet to supply and need by Friday in order to get paid for August. These are: Sozialversicherungsausweis, Lohnsteuerkarte, Bankverbindung, Kopie meines Reisepasses, Krankenkasseformular and Einkommensteuerbefreiungsformular. I explain that my upcoming change of address makes the first two items well nigh impossible to obtain, supply the 3rd and 4th and set about completing the last two.

For some reason, EHIC cards/E111 forms are not quite enough in these parts, and some other form of insurance is preferred. The DAAD offers reasonable insurance for students spending years abroad in Germany (full health/medical cover for €23,50/month) and are very easy to deal with, so I might recommend them to anyone who finds themselves in a similar situation.

A Lohnsteuerkarte, while strictly unnecessary when earning the kind of wages normal for Praktikante, or indeed anyone on their year abroad, still seems to be something people like you to have. Getting hold of a Sozialversicherungsausweis individually is quite difficult and is something your employers/university/school should be able to help you with if necessary.

Here's to a happy Ummeldung in the coming week.

The factory

On Thursday after lunch I am given a whistlestop tour of the manufacturing buildings by Günther L and Claudia N, the two people primarily responsible for the databasing program. Günther is in his early 30s and is almost evangelical when it comes to conveying his enthusiasm, not only for his database but for the strengths of his employer: "this is the most flexible factory in the world!". He is also keen on football and Ritter Sport. Claudia is a rather fierce late 40-something, somewhat less friendly and a lot less talkative than her co-worker.

There are four huge halls of which I see three. Things progress from one end to the other getting progressively closer to the final product. The number of products, people and machines is extraordinary. Work continues non-stop at a rate of about 10,000 units/day.

What really leaves an impression is the makeup of the workforce. A man at either end of the production line and nothing but women in-between. Günther says that this is because men are terrible at small scale repetitive work: "If you employ men you will produce far more faulty products. Women are much better at detailed work, and their hands are smaller. You only need men for the lifting." Claudia mutters grimly "and they're cheaper too".

Gainful employment

So, as the title of the 'blog suggests, work started on the 3rd August. The company is spread over a huge area comprising manufacturing buildings, offices and logistics. The buildings vary in modernity, from the 60s to the last few years.

The Office: Product Marketing is in one of the older buildings. The welcome into the team has been extremely friendly. There appeals to be a great deal of enthusiasm now that 'unser Native Speaker ist da!'. This is, I think, on account of the fact that, since the merger cum takeover, all work has to be done in English, despite everyone actually being German. That said, everyone at the office is extremely welcoming and friendly. I have been stalked online and all seem tickled by the fact that I am a tenor, hmm. I am currently occupying a holidayer's desk, though we will see where I end up. I have been supplied with my own laptop which I don't bother taking home.

It is too early to say exactly what work entails. The first couple of days were spent getting settled in and looking over some product material to familiarise myself with what is being sold. I was registered with the canteen, whose food is pretty edible and ridiculously cheap for Praktikanten. Pork saltimbocca + spaghetti + yoghurt choc dessert + bitter lemon all for €2.55! I have been given an access card, which automatically registers when I arrive and leave to make sure that I don't slack.

I was then trained in the use of a fairly complicated piece of databasing software, designed to integrate all the processes of the company, from individual components right up to marketing. It is not hugely easy to use, but has the potential to be extremely powerful. It has only been in use for a little over a year, so there is a still a degree of teething trouble. It is incredibly flexible in what you can do with it. However, with flexibility comes more options, which can be a little bewildering.

The major issue for marketing in particular is that entering info in boxes in order to produce material is very different from mocking up sheets. For some people, this shift in working style appears to have been neither easy nor welcome: "I used to be able to make up a sheet in Word in 30 minutes, now it takes me half a day!" However, if one imagines 30 documents, the same detail in all of which needs to be changed, it makes far more sense to have something that can change everything simultaneously. Furthermore, with this one program, it is possible to manage all the printed material, online shop material and online marketing material simultaneously and cohesively. The end saving in work will be great, but in the short term it is not as easy.

This is where muggins the foreigner comes in. I have not yet taken sides in the great fight and, as such, am seen as a useful go-between. I get trained in the software by the people who run it, then go back to marketing and help deal with it there. What is more, if I unintentionally insult either side, this can be put down to linguistic inexperience...

The next month is set aside for entering all the material for accessories and peripherals, which is one of the last things to be done. It is very overdue, but hopefully I should be able to get it done quite quickly, within the next couple of weeks perhaps.

Would you like some internet with your lingerie?

My current residence is sadly devoid of interwebs. I have managed to alleviate this problem by buying a rather inelegantly named Internet Stick from Tchibo. Yes, Tchibo, the place that sells coffee, household wares and underwear. It does have limits on download/upload etc. but is quite a handy solution for internet in a fix.

I try covertly to top up my account online while at work (Tchibo apparently being one of the few sites unblocked by the company's draconian filter, though it has since been blocked...), but when faced with an intimidatingly large picture of a scantily clad woman (in anthracite jazzpants apparently) I close the window sharpish. I suspect even the title of the page 'So sinnlich - Dessous, Nachtwäsche & Accessoires' will be hard to explain away.

It also strikes me that 'sinnlich', a possible translation of which is the somewhat unappealing 'fleshly', is not a good word to mix up with 'sinnvoll' when doing translations or otherwise...

Bureaucracy

You would have thought that, having been through the mill once before, one might be wiser to the paper-fuelled lunacy that is living in Germany and hence be better able to deal with whatever ink-festooned nuisances come fluttering in one's general direction. Sadly, this was not the case.

I had been informed that I should not register with the 'Einwohnermeldeamt' until I was to be living in the same place for the forseeable future. As my current accommodation was temporary I didn't. It then becomes apparent that I need to get a German bank account to register with the company so I can receive my salary, such as it is. So I go to the bank. There I am informed that I will have to pay for a current account unless I can prove that I am in fact a Praktikant/Student.

A few days pass and I get a copy of my contract and a copy of my Immatrikulationsbescheinigung for the bank. Back in the bank (where at least you get free drinks) I am told that without an official document from an Einwohnermeldeamt, I will be unable to set up the account. I point out that I was specifically instructed not to melden. Unfortunately, this doesn't get me anywhere, at which point it becomes clear that melding is going to be the only option. It is a frustrating Wednesday afternoon.

The Kissing Einwohnermeldeamt has conservative opening hours, to say the least. However, as sheer luck would have it, Thursday is the day of the week when they are open after midday. I am still forced to get to work stupidly early to avoid cutting my working day dangerously short. I get to the Kissing Rathaus, which looks more like an elementary school than a government building. I am supplied with the necessary paperwork for einmelding pretty rapidly. However, it is when the person in the office sees the dread word 'Britisch' on the form that I am told that I will also need to apply to the 'Ausländerbehörde'. I feel the blood rage beginning to set in when I am told that, thankfully, all the necessary paperwork is in the same office. For this paperwork two 'biometrische' passport photos are necessary. Extremely handily, I had kept a couple of passport photos in my wallet for months, just in case such a situation should arise.

When I point out that the whole procedure is a little silly as I will be moving shortly and I am only doing it to get a bank account, the woman behind the desk says 'Well lets just pretend I don't know about that.'

Finally back to the bank to get the account, which is achieved within minutes. Then back to the flat via a petrol station. I only mention the station because it was down a funny back street and had a staff of one: a sweet little old lady. I have never encountered such a friendly person behind the desk, let alone such a venerable one. She was so nice I thought her worthy of enshrinement...

Now only three weeks until the Ummeldung...

Accommodation merriment

So, it has been 10 days since the last post. A fair amount has occurred since then, to be split across several posts.

I am living somewhere! The roof flat at Beethovenstraße 54, Kissing. The area is full of extremely new houses, this particular street not even featuring on Google Maps, nor its adjoining road Verdistraße, *groan*. The 'Neugebiet' is fairly nondescript and not very close to the centre of Augsburg, around 20 minutes drive away. Thankfully it is not too far from work either, again only 20 minutes. At least it has a couple of REWE's, which are the closest Germany seems to get to UK supermarkets in terms of range of products and quality.

The flat itself is clean, very new as one might expect, pretty sizeable and not too unreasonably priced. Either way, it makes a good base whence to organise everything here. Pictures will follow eventually.

Next week, I will be moving to my accommodation for the rest of the year. This will be as close to the centre of town as it is possible to get, almost directly behind the Rathaus. I am renting the flat from friends of my father. It is in a moderately old building with a stream running outside the front door. The area is full of restaurants and places to drink, which is good. Again, rent is not unreasonable, and this place has the benefit of being within easily cyclable distance of work. Unfortunately, it is unfurnished, which is going to necessitate buying some furniture from IKEA or scabbing some off people at work.

Most importantly, however, there will be space for friends to crash!

Anonymity

It has occurred to me that I don't particularly want my employers to snoop out this 'blog. I have removed the name of the company from posts and will be changing all names where necessary.

The final journey & One for the feminists?

Fairly lengthy drive from Brandenburg to Augsburg, nothing serious in comparison to previous capers. Stefan and I go to see the "Gartenreich Wörlitz" on the way. A full post on this will follow when I have a quick enough connection to upload photos.

Stopping in two rest areas in Bavaria, I see this type of sign:

Apparently these signs are a measure to encourage female safety in car parks. However, there is no evidence that there is more or less assault in German car parks than in any other country. Furthermore, the main reason for these signs, namely that more women are assaulted in car parks than men, seems to me entirely specious, given that more women are assaulted than men full stop. According to the Polizeiliche Kriminalstatistik 2007, 94.4% of all 40,333 'Straftaten gegen die sexuelle Selbstbestimmung' were committed by men, who also committed 99% of all 6,456 instances of rape. Women represented 95.8% of all victims in these cases.

Germany is by no means one of the worst countries, coming in at #24 with 9 rapes/100,000 people, behind the UK at #13 with 14/100,000, the US at #9 with 30/100,000 and South Africa's unbelievable 119/100,000. One has to bear in mind that these are only reported statistics. Actual figures can be much higher: according to a sign I once saw at Johannesburg airport, a woman is raped every 30 seconds there alone.

Even when you throw extra CCTV and alarm buttons into the mix, these signs seem to be a very ineffective way of combatting a problem that is far wider spread than motorway service stations.

Meanwhile, to return to a somewhat lighter note... In this delightful post-feminist/male chauvinist world of ours, these signs have been healthily mocked. I would hope that this has arisen out of an appreciation of the silliness these signs represent, but I fear that this hope is misplaced. In any case, I include a few examples:

And all this when I was just stopping for a Red Bull...

The hospital, a retrospective

Sometimes, the vague mists of time can give one occasion to look back on things through the rose-tinted glasses of nostalgia. To make sure that this does not happen, and to preserve the horrors of the medical experience here, I simply quote Simon's post on Katherine's wall. This expresses far more succinctly than I managed what it was like (and I just wanted an excuse to repeat it for the amusement of all).

"You have nothing to fear if you fall ill in France; you can be sure to end up dead and to spend your last precious moments being verbally and/or physically abused by some obnoxious nicotine-drenched excuse for a doctor. Meanwhile whoever accompanies you to the hospital will have six hours to wish he had some Domestos and a chemical suit to clean the toilet. For a less balanced assessment of French healthcare, see Marius' blog."

The little black book

In a drive to improve my uptake of new words, I have purchased a small Moleskine notebook from Hugendubler, home of books and Wocochinos, opposite the Gedächtniskirche. Unknown words are written down for future reference, along with the location and date to help remember them. Mistakes are rapidly filling the pages. I hope I manage to persevere with it.

Dreieckig oder rund?

Have you heard the one about the two tour managers who walked to the reception?

They were regaled for a full half hour on the complexities of the key numbering system of the hostel.

Herr W seems to think that both Stefan and I are not only English, but entirely lacking in nous. The hostel comprises two "Häuser", imaginatively named 1 and 2. The rooms are numbered 124, 203, 132 etc. It does not require extraordinary powers of deduction to work out that the first number refers to the house, the second to the floor and the third to the room.

Herr W clearly thinks otherwise. This system is detailed with painstaking accuracy. The list of rooms, already indicating the number of beds/room, is heavily annotated. Every double room is circled, despite the 2 next to it. Lines are inserted indicating the floor of the room, despite the previous lecture. Finally, small circles and triangles are drawn, corresponding to the shapes of the keys for the two häuser.

The length of the conversation is exacerbated by regular interruptions from guests, one of them particularly unsatisfied. Apparently, it is absolutely necessary to change the bed linen because polyester sheets are simply unacceptable. In the words of the disgruntled lady, "Ich habe keine Sekunde geschlafen!" Given that the hostel only costs €22/night for huge rooms, this bourgeois crisis is rather unwarranted.

Final negotiations at the reception reveal more oddities. Not only is the use of a tally to mark wine consumption considered rather backwards - "Hier benutzen wir römische Zahlen", but apparently .co.uk suggests that we are from the Ukraine.

The Choir Tour

Much as with the week's holiday in France, a brief selection of highlights follows:

Moving everything I own up many flights of extremely steep stairs.

Kartoffelkäfer, if only for the name.

Berlin Schönefeld Airport, waiting for the S-Bahn at 0:30.

La Piazza, for the faux Italian who admitted he was actually Kenyan.

Boat trip on the Havel, for the amazingly unfriendly waitress (special mention to the staff at Berlin Cathedral, commiseration prize to the Potsdam Church lady).

Rossmann: A great place for all your toothpaste, breadbasket and bathroom mirror needs...

Starbucks: For not being Schloss Sanssouci (and for hijacking the Fernsehturm).

Hugendubel: For the magical Moleskine vocab diary (to be detailed later perhaps) and Wocochinos!

Restaurant Ranke 2 for the following situation: During an intense discussion of politics I was forced to make the following statement, "I think I may have dropped some Boulette in my shoe."

Café am neuen See: two excellent evenings.

And, last but not least: Somerville College Chapel Choir, for being such a lovely bunch of people and fine musicians, tolerant of an extra Germanist.

Radio entertainment

Classical radio keeps me interested on my journey. Seemingly good stations include:

Bayern 4, MDR Figaro, Deutschlandfunk. Honourable mention to MDR Sachsen, whose reverb enhanced oom-pah-pah accordion music kept me laughing for a full ten minutes while hurtling along. Or maybe that was the energy drinks...

An odd degree of Anglophilia on the radio: one station going on about 'das britische Understatement', another with a festival entitled 'England, oh, England'. Sadly the Latvian National Choir's rendering of Purcell does not live up to the good intentions of the organisers.

Arrival in Germany

The Stau is a peculiarly German phenomenon. It is a traffic jam that occurs without warning and usually only for a few minutes. It involves slamming on the brakes and praying that you don't hit something or get hit from behind. There is almost always a sign warning you that you are in a Stau area. They seem almost animal in nature, like a vehicular elk.

The first Stau happens because of a tank being transported. I was not expecting such an early reminder of the might of the German war machine...

Further Staus are mostly caused by roadworks, it is in a break from one of these that I stop at Lonetal Ost service station, somewhere north of Ulm.

A strange place, as these stops often are. The interior is of a mostly red and white persuasion. Food is offered in the form of either Burger King or Gusticus. As the latter sounds like an infection, I opt for the former.

And now a riddle, to be answered afterwards: Was Schöneres gibt es als einen Grillabend?

Overheard while ordering food: "Ach scheiße! Ich hab' mir den Finger gegrillt." My Long Chicken Menu is inexplicably flavoursome.

A male Gusticus worker gets into a deep conversation with a female counterpart at Burger King. The situation is fraught with possibilities for a roadside Romeo and Juliet adaptation.

Ein Restaurant, wo den ganzen Tag gegrillt wird.

The fourth journey

Milan to Brandenburg. Started at 8:20, arrived at 21:30. 641 miles (about 1030 km,) 11hrs 41mins driving. Tired. Red Bull works wonders for concentration. Distance looks ridiculously huge on Google Maps.

In the spirit of European togetherness induced by driving through 6 countries in two days (France, Italy, Switzerland, Liechtenstein, Austria, Germany), I will make an exception to my usual rule and compliment the Swiss. Their scenery is impressive, their motorways pretty, their Vignette fairly priced (in comparison to Austria) and their petrol cheap.

How anyone managed without GPS is beyond me. Still cannot quite believe how easy it is to leave Milan and navigate halfway across Europe.

Augsburg accommodation chaos

Madness. Flat is not available until 1st August. I say flat, they said flat, they meant room. Bathroom shared, facilities shared. Am now investigating other options, sadly all more expensive. Possibility of renting a flat from local Antique Dealer looks promising. Still one week without roof however...

The third journey

Travel re-organised around ankle. Massive drive to be undertaken on second leg (of journey). Hotel + garage booked in Milan.

Left Les Issambres at 16:30, should have been in Milan by 20:30. However, world-statesman Bono and his noise-making accomplices make it absolutely necessary for the police to shut half of Nice's motorway exits. 30km long traffic jam. Arrive in Milan at 22:30. Hotel room small, dark, but very clean with good bathroom and comfortable bed. Car & possessions locked behind fetching pink garage door. Not too bad for a last minute €115 Euros. Breakfast too.

The dramatic final hours

Mosquitoes. Normally a mere annoyance. Until you have a 10 hour drive the next day. It was on Tuesday evening that a particularly ambitious mozzie decided that, rather than eating a normal meal, it would tap into a veritable feast and go for a tasty foot vein.

3o mins later the pain sets in. 2 hours later and despite several anti-histamine pills, walking is no longer possible. It is at this point, around midnight on Bastille day, that I decide to go the hospital, as the pain is heading further up my leg. Saint Simon comes with to the hospital.

Never have I been treated more rudely than in Fréjus-Saint Raphael hospital. Aside from the very long wait, which is in fairness to be semi-expected for non life-threatening injuries at A&E, the number of doctors was risibly low - 2! is Bastille Day really that important? - and the staff made no effort to explain what needed to be done to negotiate the French hospital system. I was asked why I had bothered turning up at all, as if allergic reactions can't be dangerous and then dealt with in as offhand a manner as possible before being told to go. If it were not for one very friendly orderly explaining that 'go' actually means pick up your prescription and leave, I would have been without medication.

Finally returned home in the morning at 6.00, plans for travel to Augsburg scotched. The Venerable Wareham kindly picks up my prescription from the bottom of the hill later on.

Avoid French hospitals at all costs. I suspect just going to a normal GP the next day is vastly preferable.

Les Issambres & St Tropez

A week of relaxation overlooking the Mediterranean, with a trip to St Tropez thrown in. As it is strictly holiday material I will dwell only on a few choice aspects.

Table-tennis: Losing to Edmund, repeatedly, even if only in knockabouts.

Churchill: We will fight them... ... ...on the beaches, Simon.

With a tow-row-row-row-row-row-row for the British Grenadiers: Simon and everyone.

Mike Oldfield: with a special mention to Ali.

Géant Casino, Fréjus: the last minute dash with Tom (Bon)

Petrol-fired barbecuing: Tom.

Cooking: Noreen a particular stalwart.

Mosquitoes (more on that later): to my noble co-sufferer Katherine.

Lethal drinkies: Elen, whose making sure I was alright and giving of pillows is one of few memories left of that evening.

Dorling Kindersley Cards: with quizmaster Usman.

The second journey

Drove to Chez Wareham in Les Issambres near Sainte Maxime on Mediterranean coast. 559 miles, 10hrs 20 mins. Easy trip except for one factor:

One rarely appreciates how good the average standard of driving is in the UK until one goes to France. The roads seem to be dominated by a complete lack of consideration for other motorists. This includes though is not limited to: stopping the car in the middle of roads, on corners etc. wherever most inconvenient; tailgating at all speeds for no reason and refusing to overtake; not moving lanes to allow someone to move themselves. Anyone considering driving on their year abroad should not consider tackling the Autoroute network without prior experience of continental driving, preferably accompanied. This rant will not appear again, hopefully.

Paris

A few days have been spent in Paris continuing the dangerous eating trend established in Provins. Having spent quite a lot of time in Paris over the years I did very little sightseeing, but rather lounged about.

The one small exception to this pattern of laziness was heading to the Louvre where I visited the French pictures section, the last part of the museum I had not seen. Found that the later the pictures got, the less they appealed, a sad reflection of Medievalist tendencies perhaps?

The only other excitement was thinking that my wallet had been lost/stolen. Over-complicated sofa-bed mechanisms make fiendish pickpockets.

Provins

Provins (my first stop in Europe) turns out to be a very attractive medieval town around 60 miles east of Paris (or should that be 96km?). At the centre of many major medieval trading routes, it was one of the richest towns of 13th century France.

Highlights include the ramparts, the Tour César and the Église Saint Quiriace, pictures to follow.

Other tourist highlights include the American-style tourist train, ferrying sedentary visitors between such spectacles as the information centre and 'Arkangai: Les Cavaliers des Steppes' pictures definitely not following...

The first journey

The trip to France by car was surprisingly easy. Sustained by endless CDs, the 350 miles passed relatively quickly, especially during the final romp through the countryside.

The Eurotunnel is bliss. Arrived at the terminal 10:20, train left at 10:43, arrived in France 12:20 French time. If only they weren't going bankrupt, they might be able to lower their prices to compete with the ferries. Here's hoping they don't charge me for the return not taken.

8 and 1/2 hours to go!

The packing is finished.

The car, after having lurked in a BP past midnight is fuelled and the tires sorted. Thanks to the fine folk at Vulcaniza, the oil and filters have been changed and, thanks to the fine folk of miscellaneous eastern european extraction who work out of a shed down a backstreet, the interior and exterior are clean and gleaming, ready to be dirtied over the 340 miles that beckon tomorrow. I also have a handy reflective jacket, headlight covers and a warning triangle, in case the French police do their usual trick of stopping cars on the 'Autoroute des Anglais' in order to pick up money in bribes.

I leave at 8:30, I arrive, hopefully in one piece, at around 17:00 French Time. I can only hope that there are no problems with Eurotunnel or south London traffic.

The continent awaits...

Final preparations

It is now Wednesday afternoon.

I leave for France on Friday, starting in Provins and then Paris for a few days. After that I will head to chez Wareham in Les Issambres for a week before heading to Berlin via Augsburg for the week-long Somerville Chapel Choir tour. One week in Augsburg later and it all kicks off.

Thanks to having lived out of a suitcase at home, re-packing after university is minimal, but enough to cause minor anxiety.

Currently listening to: I sing the birth - New York Polyphony

Highly unseasonal.

The job and the finding thereof

As mentioned in the 'blog description I will be working for a large company, selling computers. It is one of the largest companies in Southern Germany. The marketing division in Augsburg is responsible for all company activity in Europe, the Middle East, Africa and India. I am the 'rent-an-english-speaker'. My job is to correct any mistranslations on brochures, leaflets, datasheets etc. although hopefully I will get to do some other things as well.

I found the job by trawling through old emails sent to the Modern Languages Faculty asking for student interns. While most of these offerings seem to be in France, there are occasional German nuggets and, having seen this job posting over a year ago, I applied for it in September. Some not very exciting CV emailing, telephone interviewing and minor bureaucracy later, I was given the job.

Pay is a fairly meagre €810, but considering Germany has no minimum wage I could be doing a lot worse.

The deadly first post

My only previous venture into 'blog territory was the dreary mawkish effusions of a mid-teenager on livejournal. This 'blog is intended to be a little more functional; it is meant to be a way for anyone interested to keep up with my goings on during my lengthy sojourn in Germany.

I plan to chronicle with reasonable frequency what happens during my year abroad so that it might be of some faint interest. I hope also that the 'blog might be useful in some ways to anyone going on a year abroad in the future.